“Yes. Someone left him near the door of one of the hotel rooms at the Brownsville Inn.”
“Are you serious?”
“That’s what I heard.”
“Wow,” I said. “That’s unreal.”
“They say the manager found him and turned him over to the police. Then the police gave him to a foster family to keep while they searched for the birth mother.”
“But they never found her.”
“No…they never did. At first, they thought she was a local girl. You know, some frightened teenager who gave birth to a child and was afraid to tell her parents. And then they thought she was a streetwalker. But after they couldn’t find her, they figured she was just some stranger who gave birth somewhere near Brownsville that night and took the child to the hotel for someone to find.”
“Was the baby found inside the hotel?”
“No, they found him on the stoop in front of the manager’s office. And when they found him, he wasn’t even wearing any cloths. He was just wrapped up in a sheet.”
“Really?”
“That’s what I heard.”
“Man, that’s crazy.”
“Who’re you telling?”
“And no one ever came forward?”
“No. And after they didn’t, Junior Miller and his wife adopted him. And folks say over the years, that boy gave them pure hell. I mean, he stayed in trouble, especially after Junior’s wife died.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Drugs mostly.”
“He’s an addict?”
“He was a crackhead,” she said. “But he’s not anymore. Curtis helped him get off drugs and back on the right track. He’s been clean for years.”
“Curtis helped him?”
“Yeah,” she said. “And the two of them have been close ever since.”
“Really?”
“Really,” she said. “That’s why it doesn’t surprise me that Reverend Jacobs thinks Curtis may have turned to him. It doesn’t surprise me at all.”
“Yeah,” I said. “That makes sense. It makes a lot of sense.”
Satisfied, I leaned back against the seat, watching quietly as she guided the car south along Highway 17, slowing a few minutes later to turn off the main highway onto a side street, which she followed through a steep curve. She stopped at a little white house just across from the cemetery. It was strange but even though we had been separated for nearly a decade, nothing seemed to have changed. She was still the same sweet, caring person who I had fallen in love with. I stared at her, thinking that when this was over, I would take up with her where we had left off before I had gotten into trouble and jail separated us.
“That’s it,” she said, pointing out the house.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s see if he’s home.”
We got out and made our way to the porch. At the front door, I raised my hand and knocked. A moment later, I heard the dead bolt click. Then, the door creaked open, revealing a middle-aged black man standing on unsteady legs. He had been drinking. I could smell the liquor on his breath.
“Mr. Miller,” I said.
He leaned back and looked at me. “What’s left of him,” he said, swaying from side to side.
“Is Reggie home?”
“Reggie,” he stammered. “What you want with Reggie?”
“I need to talk to him,” I said.
He furrowed his brow, then leaned slightly forward, gawking at me with narrow, bloodshot eyes. I was still wearing my funeral suit, and I saw him look at my tie and then at my shoes.
“You a cop?”
“No, sir.”
“Then who are you?” he asked, slurring his words.
“My name is Reid,” I said. “D’Ray Reid.”
“Reid!” he said, lifting his unsteady head. “You some kin to that convict they looking for?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “He’s my brother.”
“Your brother!”
“Yes, sir.”
Suddenly, he furrowed his brow again and backed against the door frame for support. He looked at me with furious eyes.
“Reggie ain’t got nothing to say to you,” he said. “You hear?”
“I understand they were friends,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “But that ain’t got nothing to do with nothing.”
“Well, I was hoping he—”
“Look! I done told you he ain’t got nothing to say to you.”
“But—”
“But nothing,” he said. “Now, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”
“Mr. Miller—”
“Alright,” he slurred. “I see you hard of understanding. Be here when I get back if you want to.”
“Mr. Miller,” I called to him. But he didn’t answer.
He staggered inside the house, and when he returned, he was holding a shotgun. He raised the gun and pointed it at me.
“Now, I said leave.”
“Mr. Miller!” Peaches said, stepping forward. “Don’t you remember me? I’m Miss Lewis…you know…from the church.”
He staggered back and looked at her through squinted eyes. Suddenly he recognized her.
“Miss Lewis!” He repeated her name in a tone indicating his surprise at seeing her.
“Yes,” she said, smiling. “It’s me.”
“He’s drunk,” I mumbled.
Peaches raised her finger to her lips and shushed me. Then she turned back to him again. “I haven’t seen you at church lately,” she said.
“No, ma’am,” he mumbled, lowering the gun and averting his eyes. “It’s been real busy at work lately.”
“I understand,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
He had been wearing a dirty baseball cap. He removed it from his head and clumsily clutched it in his hands. He looked about nervously for a moment or two, and I sensed that he was ashamed of having her see him in his state of drunkenness.
“Would you like to come in?” he asked, stepping aside. His eyes were still averted.
“No,” she said. “We don’t have much time. We’re trying to find Curtis.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“We sure could use your help,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said again.
“Is Reggie home?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “He in there.”
“Could we talk to him for a minute?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. He turned his back and yelled into the house. “Reggie! Uh, Reggie! Get your tail out here, boy.”
A moment later,