I sat in the parking lot of my church waiting for the boys. I told them to come an hour before the dinner was to start, because they are usually late. At 7:14 p.m. my phone rang: “Talia, we’re at Black’s crib, we on our way.”
Two minutes earlier, Grit’s had called to tell me that his mother didn’t believe that we were going to a dinner. “Let me speak to her,” I said. “Yes, the boys will be coming with me to a dinner at the Blackstone Community Center. The Towne and Toppin Foundation has invited us to meet some of their donors.” “Are you driving?” she asked. “Yes, I am.” She said, “I don’t want Vince driving my car and getting into trouble.” “I know,” I told her. “I am driving so he doesn’t have to.” “He is on his way,” she said.
At 7:16 p.m., Vince drove his mother’s car into the parking lot. Jason got out and asked if he could ride with me. “I smell like weed, Talia,” Mitch said, “I have to stop at a store to buy a white T.”