Page 143 of Kentrell

He didn’t speak for a while. Maybe two minutes. Long enough for the vents to warm and fill the truck with soft heat. Like he wanted me comfortable. Like he didn’t want nothing getting in the way of what he was about to say.

“He had a whole other family on outwest—tucked away,” he finally said, eyes still on the road. “Kept my granny ‘nem hidden. For when he got into it with his wife... or just felt like creeping away to play house with his mistress and the girls they created together.”

I reached for his hand again. He took it without hesitation, locking our fingers.

“How did your granny find out about them?” I asked gently.

“She didn’t.” His voice went flat. His jaw clenched. “His wife followed him back to my granny crib one day. That’s what my mama said. She packed her kids into their station wagon and dragged them all the way to the Lowend to see what Al Bridges was up to.”

He shook his head like he was watching it unfold behind his eyes.

“My auntie Tanya told me my granddaddy’s wife and her three kids jumped on my granny. So she, my mama, and my other auntie jumped in too.”

My eyes widened, but I didn’t say anything. Just listened.

“It took my granddaddy, two neighbors, and the police to break everybody up.” He looked over at me, a dimpled—smirk playing at his lips.

“Why are you laughing?”

“’Cause that shit crazy.” He chuckled, deep and low. “That’s what I come from.”

“So… did your granddad at least try to explain things to your granny?” I asked.

The smirk faded. He shook his head.

“Nah. His bitch ass high-tailed it back outwest and never spoke to her again.” His jaw tightened. “And what’s fucked up is… he knew my granny longer. My mama and Auntie Tanya older than the three kids he had with his wife.”

“So why didn’t he just marry her?”

“Shit, ask him?—”

“He’s still living?”

“Yeah, his punk ass still alive,” Kentrell spat. “My mama and aunties talk to him every now and then, but I ain’t never met him. Don’t care to.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause he fucked over my granny, G. Simple as that.” He licked his lips, then looked at me. “Some people might say I’m a fucked up individual, but Sylvia Johnson treated everybody she met like family. Aside from maybe his wife, there ain’t nobody dead or alive that could’ve ever said anything bad about my granny.”

“Is she still alive?”

“Nah. She died exactly ten years after that shit went down.” His tone dropped. “I was five, but I remember her. Spent my first years with her.”

I didn’t say anything. Just squeezed his hand a little tighter.

“My mama had me when she was fourteen. My daddy was sixteen,” he said, more to himself than to me. “They ain’t know what the fuck they was doing. Just running the streets, getting into shit. It was cool... until it wasn’t.”

His jaw ticked again.

“Man… I remember when they showed up at her doorstep with Kenwan. Lied like he was theirs, but she knew better.” He gave a low, almost bitter chuckle. “Her neighbor couldn’t wait to tell her my daddy had another woman… Velvet.”

“Your brother’s mom?” I asked gently.

He nodded, eyes distant now. “Yeah… but she ain’t trip. Just opened the door and took my lil brother in like he was hers… ’cause deep down, she already knew. None of them was really built to be parents. Not for real.”

I stayed quiet for a moment, letting his words settle between us. Letting the weight of them land where they needed to. Then I turned toward him just a little.

“What about Kenwan?” I asked softly, our fingers still tangled on the console. “Do y’all still… I mean, are y’all close?”

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