THE OFFICER TURNED A HOSE ON THE CHILDREN—THEN THEIR FATHER CAME THROUGH THE GATE
Malik Reed saw Officer Wade Keller change his grip on the garden hose.
Until that moment, Malik had been trying to find an explanation for what was happening in his backyard. He kept expecting the adults to begin acting like adults, to ask a question, listen to an answer, or at least explain what they wanted.
Then Keller lifted the hose.
Malik looked toward his sister.
Ava was standing beside Noah, farther from the pool than she had been a moment earlier. Her blue swim shirt was already damp from swimming, her braids drawn back from her face, and one hand hovered near the nine-year-old’s shoulder as though she was deciding whether to guide him toward the lounge chairs.
They were moving away.
Malik could see that.
So could the officer.
Only a short time before, Ava had been arguing about cupcakes.
She wanted them in the middle of the folding table, where nobody could accidentally brush past and knock the frosting against something. Malik thought the middle was where everyone would reach across them for pizza.
They had rearranged the table twice.
The final arrangement had satisfied neither of them completely, which usually meant it was the one they would keep.
It was a bright Saturday afternoon in Hawthorne Lakes, Virginia. Sunlight warmed the concrete patio, leaves moved above the fence, and the swimming pool held a blue so clear that every ripple seemed to carry a separate piece of light.
The backyard looked exactly like the sort of place where children ought to be able to enjoy an afternoon without thinking about anything beyond the next game.
There were lounge chairs along one side of the patio. Towels hung over chair backs or lay folded where the children could reach them.
The food table stood several feet from the water.
Malik had checked that distance himself after somebody suggested shifting it closer to the shade. He did not want people carrying full cups along the pool’s edge or backing toward the water while trying to decide what to eat.
At seventeen, he had reached an age where adults expected him to notice things.
He was also still young enough to resent the expectation when it arrived as a list delivered while everyone else was already having fun.
That afternoon, he had accepted it without much argument.
He wore a faded orange T-shirt over navy swim shorts, with slides that made a soft slap against the patio when he walked. His short curls were still wet at the edges from a brief swim earlier.
He had helped carry the food outside.
The watermelon was heavier than it looked in its container. The pizza boxes tried to slip when he stacked too many at once.
Ava followed him with the cupcakes, walking with an exaggerated caution that would have been funny if she had not been so serious about protecting them.
Malik moved out of her way.
She set the tray down, checked that none had tipped, and gave him a look that suggested he might have ruined them simply by being near.
He raised both hands.
She almost smiled.
That small almost-smile was how most of their affectionate moments happened now.
Ava was twelve.
She had begun regarding any suggestion from her older brother as something that needed to be examined for possible condescension. He could tell her a shoe was untied and receive the same expression she used when somebody explained something she already knew.
But she still checked where he was when the younger children became too loud.
She still trusted him to help without making a show of helping.
Malik tried to deserve that.
Not perfectly.
He teased her too much sometimes. He pretended not to hear when she wanted him to carry something she could manage herself.
But he knew the difference between her wanting independence and her needing someone close enough to step in.
Earlier, Noah had nearly knocked a cup from the table while reaching for a strawberry.
Malik caught it before it tipped.
The boy froze, expecting a scolding.
Malik simply set the cup farther back and moved the fruit closer.
Noah relaxed.
He wore a green swim shirt and black swim shorts, and his hair remained damp long after the rest of him seemed dry. He had spent much of the afternoon moving between the pool and the snack table, apparently unable to decide which offered the better reason to stay in one place.
He was nine.
His happiness was still easy to read.
So was his worry.
When a game became too rough, he laughed a little louder before deciding whether he wanted to keep playing. When someone splashed unexpectedly near his face, he brought both hands up before he could stop himself.
