Chapter 9
For the next forty-eight hours, every sound felt like a warning.
A car door.
A knock.
An unknown number.
A stranger standing too long near the train platform.
Police told us not to panic.
That was easy for them to say.
Mom and Nia still lived six hours away.
Curtis called Mom immediately.
She got angry.
Not scared.
Angry.
“I'm tired of running because of your mistakes.”
“Mom, please.”
“No.”
“It's not permanent.”
“I moved out before. I changed Nia's routine. I'm not doing this every time some fool wants revenge.”
I understood her frustration.
But Curtis had changed too.
He didn't argue.
“Please do it for me.”
Silence.
“For me,” he repeated.
Mom finally agreed to stay with Aunt Renee again.
Police increased patrols near the apartment and Nia's school.
Curtis's probation officer told him not to travel alone at night.
My employer even adjusted my schedule when I explained the situation.
For once, I didn't hide family problems until they exploded.
That was progress too.
Three days passed.
Nothing.
Four days.
Nothing.
On the fifth day, police located the man.
He had gone to Indiana.
He wasn't coming after us.
At least, there was no evidence he had been.
All that fear.
All that tension.
And then suddenly it was over.
Curtis sat in my apartment after the detective called.
His hands shook.
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
“I hate that Mom has to think like this because of me.”
“I know.”
“I hate that Nia knows.”
“I know.”
He looked at me.
“You ever wish I wasn't your brother?”
“No.”
The answer came faster than I expected.
Curtis looked surprised.
“I've wished you'd stop doing stupid things.”
He laughed through tears.
“That's fair.”
“But no.”
I sat beside him.
“I've never wished you weren't my brother.”
He nodded.
We sat there in silence.
Months earlier, silence between us would've felt hostile.
Now it felt safe.
Spring came slowly.
By April, I was nine months into the apprenticeship.
Mr. Harris called me into his office.
I immediately assumed I'd done something wrong.
He didn't waste time.
“We're selecting apprentices for advanced controls training.”
I stared at him.
“Okay.”
“Your name came up.”
I almost looked behind me.
“My name?”
“Yes, Carter. Your name.”
“What does that mean?”
“Extra classes. Industrial systems. Better opportunities later.”
“How much does it cost?”
“Company sponsored.”
I blinked.
“Why me?”
Mr. Harris frowned.
“Because you've earned it.”
I wasn't used to people answering that question so simply.
“You want it?”
“Yes.”
“Then stop looking confused.”
I smiled.
“Yes, sir.”
I called Mom.
She screamed so loudly I had to move the phone away.
“I knew it!”
“You didn't know what industrial controls were ten seconds ago.”
“I knew you'd do something impressive.”
Nia grabbed the phone.
“Are you rich now?”
“No.”
“Then call me when you're rich.”
She hung up.
Mom laughed.
Things were better at home.
Not perfect.
Better.
Mom had gotten promoted to shift supervisor.
Not a huge raise.
Enough.
Aunt Renee helped with Nia after school twice a week.
Mom paid her something small even though Renee protested.
“It makes me feel responsible,” Mom explained.
That sentence meant more than the money.
The biggest surprise was Curtis.
He stayed employed.
Six months.
Then nine.
Then a year.
Every paycheck, part went to restitution.
Part went to Mom.
Part went into savings.
He started attending night classes in logistics.
The man who once laughed at my apprenticeship was suddenly studying for a certification.
I never let him forget it.
“Look who's acting better than everybody now.”
“Shut up.”
“No, seriously. Mr. Education.”
He threw a pen at me.
By summer, we were doing something neither of us had imagined.
Planning a surprise for Mom.
Not a vacation.
Not jewelry.
Something practical.
Her apartment lease was ending.
The rent was increasing again.
Mom had talked about moving somewhere smaller.
But that would mean changing Nia's school.
Aunt Renee found a two-bedroom apartment in a quieter neighborhood through a friend.
Lower rent.
Closer to Mom's work.
Closer to Nia's school bus route.
The problem was the deposit.
First month plus security.
Almost two thousand dollars.
Old me would've secretly paid everything.
New me called Curtis.
“How much can you contribute?”
He didn't hesitate.
“Five hundred.”
“I can do five.”
“Aunt Renee?”
“Three.”
“Mom?”
“She has four saved.”
That put us close.
We asked Uncle Darnell for the final amount.
He agreed.
Nobody sacrificed everything.
Nobody rescued everyone.
Everyone contributed.
That difference felt huge.
We told Mom at dinner.
She stared at the apartment listing.
“What is this?”
“Your new place,” Nia said, unable to keep a secret for even thirty seconds.
Mom looked at me.
“No.”
I laughed.
“You haven't even seen it.”
“No because I know that face.”
“What face?”
“The Malik-is-about-to-pay-for-something face.”
Curtis laughed.
“He only paid part.”
Mom turned toward him.
“What?”
We explained.
Everyone contributed.
The deposit was covered.
The monthly rent was less than what Mom paid now.
Mom started crying.
“I don't want you boys draining your savings.”
“We aren't,” I said.
Curtis nodded.
“Malik made a spreadsheet.”
Mom laughed through tears.
“Of course he did.”
We moved her in the following month.
Two bedrooms.
A small balcony.
A clean kitchen.
Nia chose the room with the bigger window.
Mom tried to argue.
Nia said, “You don't need sunlight. You're old.”
Mom chased her around the apartment.
For one afternoon, everything felt easy.
Then I found something while helping unpack.
An old cardboard box.
Inside were photographs.
Dad.
Curtis as a teenager.
Me with missing front teeth.
Mom younger.
Tired even then.
At the bottom was an envelope with my name.
MALIK.
Dad's handwriting.
My hands started shaking.
Mom walked in.
She stopped.
“Oh.”
“What is this?”
She looked at the envelope.
“I forgot that was there.”
“Dad wrote it?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“A few months before he died.”
My throat tightened.
“Why didn't you give it to me?”
“You were twelve.”
“So?”
“He wrote one for you and one for Curtis.”
“Where's Curtis's?”
Mom's eyes dropped.
“He got his.”
“When?”
“After the funeral.”
I stared at her.
“And mine?”
“I couldn't.”
“Why?”
She sat on the edge of the bed.
“Because yours talked about leaving.”
I frowned.
“Leaving?”
“Your father knew he was sick.”
Dad had died after complications from a heart condition.
We knew he was sick.
We didn't know how little time he had.
Mom continued.
“He worried you would grow up thinking you had to take care of everybody.”
My chest tightened.
“What did he write?”
“I don't remember every word.”
I stared at the sealed envelope.
“You opened it?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“He told me.”
Mom started crying.
“He said you were sensitive. You watched everybody. Even as a little boy, if somebody was sad, you'd sit beside them.”
I looked down.
“He made me promise I wouldn't let you turn into someone who lived only for other people.”
My eyes burned.
Mom laughed bitterly.
“I did the exact opposite.”
“Mom.”
“I depended on you.”
“You were struggling.”
“That doesn't make it right.”
I sat beside her.
“Why keep the letter?”
“Because I knew someday I needed to give it to you.”
“Why now?”
She touched the envelope.
“Maybe you finally did what he wanted.”
I opened it alone that night.
Dad's handwriting was shaky.
The letter was short.
He told me he loved me.
He told me to protect Nia when she came along someday, though Mom wasn't even pregnant with her yet; apparently they'd talked about another child.
He told me to respect my mother.
Help my brother.
Work hard.
But one paragraph broke me.
Son, helping family does not mean carrying everybody on your back. If you spend your whole life saving everyone, one day you'll look around and realize you never built anything for yourself. Love people. Help people. But build your own life too.
I read it five times.
Then I called Mom.
She answered quietly.
“You read it.”
“Yes.”
“Are you angry with me?”
I thought about it.
“No.”
“You should be.”
“I was.”
“For not giving it to you?”
“For a lot of things.”
She went silent.
“But I'm not right now.”
Mom cried.
So did I.
Later, I called Curtis.
“Do you still have Dad's letter?”
Silence.
“No.”
“What happened?”
“I ripped it up.”
My heart sank.
“When?”
“After the funeral.”
“Why?”
“He told me I had to look after you and Mom.”
I understood immediately.
“You were sixteen.”
“Exactly.”
“I thought he was giving me one more job.”
Curtis laughed sadly.
“So I tore it up.”
I told him what mine said.
He listened.
Then whispered, “Maybe Dad didn't know what he was doing either.”
“What do you mean?”
“He made me feel responsible for everybody.”
“And told me not to.”
“Yeah.”
We both laughed.
Families were strange.
Parents tried.
Children remembered different versions.
People got things wrong even when they loved one another.
The next month, Curtis asked me to attend his final probation hearing.
Mom came too.
So did Aunt Renee.
Nia sat between us.
The judge reviewed Curtis's work history.
Restitution.
Community service.
Testimony.
Counseling.
Then she said the words we'd waited for.
“You have fulfilled the required conditions.”
Curtis closed his eyes.
It was over.
Outside the courthouse, Nia jumped into his arms.
“You're not a criminal anymore.”
Mom gasped.
“Nia!”
Curtis laughed harder than I'd heard him laugh in years.
“I guess not.”
He put her down.
Then looked at me.
“Dinner?”
“Your treat.”
His smile disappeared.
“Why?”
“Because you're employed.”
Mom burst out laughing.
We went to dinner.
Curtis paid.
And when the bill came, nobody argued about who owed what.
I thought our story had finally reached the quiet part.
Then Mr. Harris called me into his office the following Monday.
A man in a suit was waiting inside.
Mr. Harris pointed to the chair.
“Sit down, Malik.”
I did.
The man opened a folder.
“We have a proposal for you.”
“What kind?”
He smiled.
“A five-year accelerated track.”
I stared at him.
“To what?”
“Project supervision.”
My heart started pounding.
“There is one condition.”
Of course there was.
“What?”
“You'd need to relocate after your current phase.”
“Where?”
He turned the paper toward me.
“Denver.”
I stared at the city name.
Another move.
Another beginning.
Another chance.
Then my phone buzzed in my pocket.
A text from Nia.
ARE YOU COMING HOME FOR MY BIRTHDAY?
May you like
I looked at the offer again.
And suddenly Chicago didn't feel far enough from home to make the decision easy.
