"You forgive him?"

"No, I mean I love him. It's a direct line."

"Is that possible?" Vicki didn't get it.

"Yes. Listen to me. I'm older, I'm taller, and I know." Dan reached over and moved a stray tendril from Vicki's face. "You're looking for the perfect man, babe, and all there is is me, and your father."

Vicki blinked, and suddenly there was a rustling at the threshold to the waiting room. They both turned. Reheema's surgeon, an older man in wrinkled blue scrubs and a puffy patterned hat, came bustling in, his face drawn with concern.

"Doc?" Vicki said, alarmed, sitting up.

FIFTY

By early morning, the snow had finally stopped falling outside the hospital room window, leaving the sky a pure sapphire-blue that appeared only in the coldest winters, as heaven's own reward. Vicki sat in the high-backed chair while Reheema slept, a transparent green oxygen tube looped under her nose, and her hair black and fuzzy on the thin white pillow. A thermal blanket was pulled up to her neck, covering the bandages from her surgery. The doctor had said that she was going to live, but her recovery was going to be slow, so Vicki had sent Dan home.

In time Reheema stirred and her large eyes fluttered open, and Vicki got up and crossed to the bed, feeling a rush of relief. It was one thing to have a doctor say she was going to live, and another to see her finally wake up. Vicki eased onto the edge of the bed, near Reheema. A splint had been taped to the top of her hand where the IV went into the vein, and her long, dark fingers bent slightly, with the residuum of dried blood under her fingernails.

Reheema opened her eyes and managed a weak smile. "Back off," she said, her voice hoarse. "Last time you got this close… you tried to strangle me."

Vicki smiled. "That was before."

"Before what?"

"Before I knew you'd sue me for it."

Reheema smiled again, then it faded quickly. The spirit was willing, but the body was definitely weak. She looked as if she could barely keep her eyes open, but when she did, they flashed with attitude. "I'll drop that suit… you treat me right."

"Now don't get fresh. I've been here all night and we haven't fought once."

"I was asleep."

"I'll take it. How do you feel?"

"Fine."

"Congratulations, you're out of intensive care."

"Dumb… to stay in here too long. I feel… fine."

"Oh yeah, you look fine. You know, I bet Dan you wouldn't make it. The minute you woke up, I lost fifty bucks."

Reheema smiled again. "Montgomery dead?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Vicki couldn't deny it. "And Bale's going to prison. I'll give you the details when you feel better."

Reheema smiled contentedly.

"Oh yeah, where'd you get the gun?"

"Where'd you… think?"

"My top drawer?"

"You hid it under your panties… bein' all badass. Oooh." Reheema smiled again, then ran a dry tongue over her lips. "Yo, got some water?"

"Sure." Vicki picked up the beige plastic pitcher on the rolling bed table, poured water into a Styrofoam cup, and held it to Reheema's lips. "The doc said you'd be thirsty after the surgery, because they had to put a tube down your throat. I asked them, hey, can I put the tube down her throat? But they said no."

"Sorry I messed up your car." Reheema sipped some water, then eased back onto the pillow.

"It's okay." Vicki flashed on the bloodstained door on the TV news. She wasn't sure she wanted the Cabrio back, even if they could clean it up. "Lucky for me I already own an Intrepid."

"I get the Intrepid." Reheema eased back onto the pillow. "You take the Sunbird."

"I can't drive a stick."

"Then I got something… to teach you, Harvard."

"I could've told you that," Vicki said, and smiled. She set the cup on the bedside table, reached for Reheema's hand, and cradled it, which they both pretended wasn't happening until Reheema started to drift back to sleep.

And only then did Reheema's hand close around hers.

FIFTY-ONE

It was an August afternoon, and a nectarine sun shone on tall, leggy cosmos, their flowers neon orange, chrome yellow, and vivid magenta. Next to them sprouted a bunchy row of zinnias, in dusty pinks and lemony hues, their heads like pompoms. Honeybees landed on the flowers, then buzzed along. A young mother in jeans shorts and a red Sixers T-shirt stood with a toddler, picking black-eyed Susans with breakaway yellow petals and an unlikely black button at the center. The air felt humid as a hothouse, but it smelled sweet, earthy, and clean.

"This is amazing!" Vicki said, delighted.

"Nice, huh?" Reheema beamed. She looked relaxed and healthy in a white cotton T-shirt and khaki shorts that showed long, muscular legs. Bits of soil caked her knees and covered the beat-up toes of her white Nikes, and only an occasional stiffness in her movements suggested that her healing process wasn't yet complete.

"Very nice! It's great!"

"We're proud of it." Reheema tugged a curled brown leaf from a mass of tiger lilies, which formed an exotic backdrop to a grouping of lovely golden flowers, each one shaped like a sunny star.

"What are those yellow cuties?" Vicki asked, pointing.

"Coreopsis."

"Listen to you! Coreopsis! You feelin' the coreopsis?"

"I know, right? I'm a black girl with a green thumb."

Vicki laughed. "But no gardening gloves."

"Please. I'm not crazy."

Vicki laughed again. They were standing in the new community garden on Cater Street, which was located in the vacant lot that used to be the crack store. The neighbors had cleared the lot, built raised beds out of railroad ties, and created a garden on the right side of the lot, which got full sun almost all day. The left side was cleared, too, though beds had yet to be constructed. Vicki was thrilled to finally see the garden in bloom; she'd stopped by on her way to Devon, since it was time for an obligatory Sunday dinner with her parents.

"Now which plot is yours?" she asked.

"We don't do it that way. The way we do, the people like me who want to grow flowers, we sign up and plant the flowers together. We planted 'em in May, and now we all pick the ones we want."

"Sounds good."

"I made the rules, of course."

"Of course. You're the Block Captain."

"I'm the Block Diva," Reheema corrected, and they both laughed. "People who want to do vegetables, they sign up for vegetables. The vegetables are behind the flowers, over there."

Vicki shielded her eyes from the sun and looked against the brick wall, in the back bed. Tomato plants stood in neat green lines, tied to stakes by brown string, and an older woman in a sleeveless housedress and orange flip-flops picked ripe beefsteak tomatoes. A row of red and green pepper plants lined up in front, and on a patch of tilled soil lay thick furry vines with large, light green leaves and striped clubs of zucchini, one as big as a Louisville Slugger.

"That zucchini's a lethal weapon," Vicki said.

"Mrs. Walter's pride and joy. She grows so much damn zucchini, she's making bread every day, then relish. You ever eat zucchini relish?" Reheema wrinkled her nose. "S'nasty."

"Now you got suburban problems. You thought it was easy, being rich?"

"Ha! Be careful what you wish, right?"

Vicki laughed, and Reheema did, too, at the ridiculous notion. The neighborhood had begun a comeback, in only two seasons. The town watch patrolled regularly, rarely wanting for volunteers. Neighbors repainted the trim on their houses, replaced asphalt shingles that had fallen off, and put new Astroturf on the porch floors. Trash was stored in cans, not strewn on the street anymore, and the sidewalks had been swept. Best of all, people were outside without fear. This afternoon, mothers hung out on front stoops, talking while little girls jumped rope and boys practiced break-dancing on a flattened refrigerator box. The sight taught Vicki that, however hard-won, justice wasn't an end in itself. Instead, it was a beginning, enabling people to be safe, happy, and free. The rest was up to them.