Free Southland by Nina Revoyr

cinderblock. The floors were covered with a faded carpet, pukeorange and worn through in many places. The furniture all looked like garage-sale pieces or hand-me-downs from Staples.
    But the building was jumping. Swarming with life. And Jackie, despite her discomfort, couldn’t help feeling invigorated.
    “Yes, it’s quite a madhouse,” Loda said as they turned another corner. There were several small children clumped together in the hallway, and they scattered as the women approached. “We run several different programs here—literacy classes, which are my responsibility, a GED course, computer training, after-school, day care. The after-school program is James’s baby. He’s who I’m taking you to meet. He started that several years ago, along with the young fathers program.”
    “I’m sorry, who is he again?”
    “James Lanier. He grew up a few blocks from here, and he was just a little boy when your grandfather had the store. He seemed very interested in talking to you. Which is something. He usually doesn’t make a lot of time for people who aren’t connected to his programs.”
    Jackie didn’t have time to wonder what this meant, because Loda had stopped in front of a closed door. She rapped lightly. From inside a muffled voice bid them to enter.
    Loda pushed the door open and stepped in. Jackie followed. The man behind the desk was looking down, writing something. “James,” Loda said, “this is Jackie Ishida. Frank Sakai’s granddaughter.”
    “Hi,” Jackie said. She was oddly nervous.
    The man looked up at them and rose from behind his small desk. He seemed huge in the tiny office, and Jackie had the impression that if he spread his arms, he could touch the walls on either side of him. Lanier was about 6’3", and he looked like the former athlete he was—big biceps, thick chest, and slim, solid hips, with a slightly rounded belly. His clothes were neat but not overly dressy—khakis, a white shirt, a thin black tie. He gave Jackie a quick, undisguised once-over, then held his large hand out over the desk. “James Lanier.”
    His voice was surprisingly quiet for such a powerful-looking man. Jackie shook his hand firmly, and the solid anchor of his arm made her feel both grounded and unmoored. She felt this man could see right into her, the neat structured piles of her, the lines of her she’d never cross or blur. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you. Thanks for seeing me today.”
    Her voice sounded false to her, and to Lanier as well. He waited a moment before he spoke again. “No problem. Thanks for driving down here.”
    Loda excused herself, and as she left, Jackie resisted the urge to say no, don’t leave, but if you leave, don’t close the door. But Loda left, and the door clicked shut. Lanier sat down and indicated that Jackie should do the same.
    Jackie sat in a plain brown desk chair. She looked around the office, at the books and folders on the table, the scattered papers on the desk, the pictures and plaques and children’s drawings on all the walls. She noticed the baby pictures on the bulletin board above Lanier’s shoulder and wondered if any of the children were his. “Nice office,” she said, too brightly, and Lanier raised an eyebrow.
    “It’ll do.”
    It came out harsher than he intended. But he wasn’t sure what he thought of this granddaughter. She was so clearly out of her element here. Different from Sakai, whom he hadn’t known well. But who was as much a part of the neighborhood as the eighty-year-old trees in front of his apartment. Rooted deep. Expected there. Permanent. And this fresh cutting, potted in richer soil, producing not nearly as special a plant. A stranger, outsider, even though her beginnings were here.
    Lanier, like Sakai, was an insider. It was his business to know the neighborhood, to be aware of which people were harmless; which kids were on a dangerous course he needed to try and disrupt; which kids were already lost. He lived and breathed