Free Dying in the Dark by Valerie Wilson Wesley

the house and waved it in front of us, trying to put us at ease.
    Jake scowled. “Last minute don't get it, brother-man! You should have done that project instead of going to the game.”
    “We're going to work all night.” Jamal pleaded for understanding.
    Jake looked doubtful.
    “Really!” Jamal added.
    Jake glanced at me and rolled his eyes, which made me smile.
    “Let's go. The sooner you get there the sooner you can get started,” I said.
    “Catch you later,” Jamal said to Jake, giving him the half-hug that men give one another.
    “You, too, man.” Jake grinned to let him know that all was forgiven. “Check with you later on tonight, Tarn?”
    I didn't answer for a moment. I could hear the affection and concern he had for me, and I knew that he probably had something he had to talk to me about; maybe Phyllis, maybe his daughter, maybe even the feelings he had—or didn't have—for Ramona Covington. But I was mad that she was there, and I didn't want him to know it.
    ‘Actually I have plans for tonight,” I said breezily, avoiding his eyes as Jamal and I left.
    I'm not sure where that lie came from, probably the same place as the one I'd told Larry Walton. Fortunately for me, Jamal was so overwhelmed by the sight of our new car, he forgot to ask me what those plans were.
    “Wow!” he said when I pointed out the new Jetta, dashing toward it like a kid heading for the tree on Christmas morning. ‘And it's red, too! Ma, this is dope! This is dope!” I buzzed open the door for him and he jumped in, grinning so wide it made me chuckle. “Ma, wow. You really did it this time. You can even open it by remote. You really did it! I can't wait to drive this thing.”
    “You'll wait until you get your license.”
    “Soon, Ma, soon,” he said, which made me sigh. One more thing to worry about: Jamal on the road. He patted the dashboard as if it were alive. “This is way better than the Demon.”
    “That wouldn't take much,” I said, and we both laughed at the fond memory of our trusted old car.
    “Open it up!”
    “I'm not going to ‘open it up’ in the city. A ticket would be all I need.”
    “Let's go on the Parkway. If we have enough time. What time is your date?”
    I didn't answer him. One bold-faced lie an hour was enough. I headed to the Parkway, shifting into fourth, then fifth, glancing in my rearview mirror to make sure I was clear of cops. It was fun chasing down the highway cheered on by my son as our car rang with his laughter. But my feelings were bittersweet because I knew how short the time left between us would be. After “opening it up” to Jamal's satisfaction, I dropped him off at his friend's house with a peck on his cheek and a quick scolding about the dangers of procrastination. I drove into my driveway, then sat there for a while, thinking about Jamal and how much I would miss him, about Jake and how I'd lied to him, and then, for some reason, about Larry Walton. I was smiling, though, as I got out of my car and headed into my house. I had a new car, a great kid, and, courtesy of a good friend, a job that would pay me good money in a week and a half. I had seen better days in my life, but I sure had seen worse.
    My self-satisfied grin was still on my face as I turned the lock and came into my kitchen. Then I stopped short; something was wrong. Someone had been in my house. Small things were out of place: The chair that leans against the wall had been turned to the right. The blue glass jars that hold my sugar and flour were pushed away from the wall. The tablecloth was askew, the window cracked, the doormat pushed to the left.
    My heart pounded. I held my breath.
    Was he still here?
    “I'm warning you, I've got a gun and I'm licensed to use it!” I made my voice sound tough, threatening, but I had no gun. It was locked in a safe in my bedroom. I was scared, and the tremble in my voice gave me away because I wanted to turn tail and run.
    But was I imagining things?
    Could Jamal