Free Derailed by Jackson Neta, Dave Jackson

idea. We need to talk and pray about it. If the answer is still no, we should make that clear before expectations gain momentum. The last thing we need is for DaShawn to get all revved up over the idea and then we have to shut him down. We
do
need God’s answer here.”
    â€œWell, we need somethin’, that’s for sure. ’Cause we can’t cover that mortgage on our own.”
    After passing another tidy bungalow with its drapes pulled—seemed like everyone’s drapes or blinds were pulled—we came to the cul-de-sac. I stopped and swept my hand toward the big, new house that took up the whole end of the street. “At least we don’t have to pay
his
mortgage. Can you believe that thing?” All the other homes on our street were modest brick bungalows of one sort or another except for our greystone and a redbrick two-flat on the other side—classic Chicago neighborhood. “What possessed someone to build an enormous house at the head of the street? It’s out of place. Doesn’t fit.”
    â€œWho knows? Maybe he grew up here and got rich and just wanted to come back to the old neighborhood. Wouldn’t that be better than fleeing to the ’burbs the minute they make it?” She pulled on my arm. “Come on. It’s cold just standing here.”
    I looked back over my shoulder as we started down the other side of Beecham. “Yeah, but did you check out that big black Lincoln in his drive? Maybe he’s a Lincoln lawyer like the guy in Michael Connelly’s novel.”
    â€œYou and your detective books. We were talkin’ about what we’re going to do with our first-floor apartment. And I think . . . maybe we should consider Rodney—it could be temporary, at least until we know what’s going to happen to your mom. He seems very cooperative. Except, what’s with him callin’ you Harry all the time? I thought he was callin’ you Dad.”
    â€œAh, don’t mean nothin’. Just street talk.” But I had to admit I’d liked it when at first he was calling me Dad.
    â€œWell, if you say so. And you know, it might be good for DaShawn, havin’ his dad around.”
    I gave her a skeptical look, but I knew what it meant when she started spreading her mother-hen wings. I drew in a deep breath. “Aw, I don’t know, Estelle. Too many maybes. Yeah, he’s clean—but how long is he going to stay that way? And what if Rodney doesn’t get a job and can’t pay his rent? Then we’d be stuck. We’d have to kick him out so we could get someone else in there. Could get real nasty.” I shook my head. “Just wish we weren’t dependent on that rent money.”
    She loosened her grip on my arm and moved away slightly so she could look at me. “So, what would we do if we didn’t need his rent money? Just let him keep on livin’ there without payin’ rent? He might need some tough love, Harry. Whether we needed the money or not, he needs to take responsibility for himself.”
    I scratched my chin, thinking about what she said. “Well, you’re right. If we had to kick him out, it could make a world of difference
why
we did it. Would we be doing it for his sake because moochin’ off people ain’t right? Or because we’re desperate for the money? Hear what I’m sayin’?”
    â€œWell, yeah, but . . .” Her voice trailed off.
    When we were halfway down the other side of the block and she still hadn’t finished her sentence, I prodded, “But what?”
    â€œOh, I don’t know.”
    â€œEstelle, think about it. Are you
really
open to him livin’ below us?” I remembered what she’d said about family when she was talking about caring for Mom, but Rodney was a whole other ball of wax.
    She heaved a sigh. “Well, you’re right. If we end up squeezin’ him because we’re