Free Love on the Run by Zuri Day Page B

well as his toys. “Who are the kids going to look up to if all of us leave?” he’d challenged his brothers. Neither Michael nor Gregory had had the answer to that question, so after that they’d left him alone.
    Moments later, Michael noted the smell of something amazing and the sounds of something jazzy as he knocked on his mother’s door.
    Gregory answered. “Hey, man.” He glanced over his shoulder and then continued in a lowered voice. “You all right?”
    Michael nodded, stepping inside the room and giving his brother a shoulder bump greeting. “I’m good.”
    â€œAnd your client?”
    Michael’s brow furrowed. Aside from a text relaying her fears that Jarrell Powell might know where he lived and what type of car he drove, he’d not heard from Shayna, nor had he been able to reach her. “She’s okay, I guess.”
    â€œWas Troy able to find out anything?”
    â€œI don’t know. We’ve been playing phone tag since last night.” Michael walked over to the fireplace and nodded at the image in a large picture hanging above the mantel, as if in greeting, rubbing the frame with his fingers. He continued to stare at the picture of his father, the one the sons greeted at every visit. As strange as it may seem, he gathered strength every time he was near this work of art, sensed his father’s presence, heard his father’s voice answering the questions in his head. But before he could get to the most important query, the one about Shayna, his mother entered the room.
    â€œHello, son!” Jackie Morgan came around the corner with arms outstretched. A tall, slender woman with thick black hair and smooth brown skin, she was often mistaken for a much younger lady, sometimes a decade younger than her fifty-five years. Today, her shoulder-length hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail, her face was devoid of makeup save for a hint of gloss on her lips, and the scent of vanilla and lilacs clung to her as loosely as did the ankle-length flowery dress that draped her frame. “You look worried, son,” she said after hugging Michael and then pulling back. “Everything all right?”
    â€œEverything’s fine, Mom.” Dang! Pull it together, Michael. Of the three boys, Michael had always been the one who wore his emotions on his sleeve, or in today’s case, on his face. Yet he was determined to keep his worries to himself. At least for now. “Something smells good. What is that . . . roast beef?”
    Jackie and Gregory exchanged glances before she followed her son into the dining room. “It’s rump roast, son,” she answered. “Gregory, why don’t you choose a nice bottle of red, a burgundy perhaps, or a smooth cabernet? Food’s almost ready. Have either of you heard from Troy?”
    As if on cue, the doorbell rang.
    â€œWhat’s up, my peoples, my peoples!” Without a doubt the most gregarious of the three, the youngest Morgan man made an entrance of swagger and noise, walking over and giving a quick nod to Sam’s portrait before exchanging fist pounds with his brothers. He then went over to Jackie and lifted her off the ground.
    â€œPut me down, boy!” Jackie’s pummeling of Troy’s back was halfhearted; she squealed like a schoolgirl when he spun her around. As she landed, she turned to see Michael standing by the window, texting. His expression suggested that something was going on with him, but she was close enough with her son to know that she’d find out nothing that he didn’t want to tell her. She only hoped she could lighten whatever load he carried while he was here. “Michael, I need you to set the table. Gregory,” she continued, heading to the kitchen, “let’s put those surgeon skills to work and have you carve the roast. Dinner is ready.”
    For the first few minutes after sitting down, the most prominent sound in the