"You trained?" Maya nodded. And went to Ruth's. Maybe. Denise smiled.
You're a terrible liar. I wasn't lying. You inherited that argument from your father, too. Maya reached for toast. For a moment, neither woman spoke.
Marcus's photograph watched from the refrigerator. Denise finally said, "First day. First day. You nervous?" No. Denise raised an eyebrow.
Maya sighed. A little. That sounds more believable. Mia looked down at her toast. She had attended another college briefly before Marcus became sick.
Then came hospital visits, missed classes, withdrawal forms, funeral arrangements, medical bills, and the kind of grief that made ordinary deadlines seem ridiculous. Riverton was supposed to be the restart, affordable tuition, a manageable bus route, business administration, something practical, something that could eventually help her rebuild what Marcus had left unfinished, though she wasn't yet sure what that meant. Denise reached across the counter and squeezed her hand. You don't have to prove anything to anybody there. I know.
And you don't have to carry everything alone. Maya's eyes flicked toward the bills on the refrigerator. Denise noticed. I'm talking about more than money. Maya gave her a small smile.
I know. Denise looked toward the black sports bag by the door. You carrying the belt? I always do. Why?
Maya shrugged. Habit. Denise understood there was more to it. The belt wasn't a weapon. It was a reminder.
Marcus had once explained it better than either of them could now. Denise repeated his words. Strength is knowing what you could do and choosing what you should do. Maya looked toward her father's photograph. Dad said that after I almost got disqualified.
Denise laughed. He said it every chance he got after that. He loved repeating himself. He called it reinforcing wisdom. He called everything wisdom.
For the first time that morning, Maya laughed. The sound warmed the little kitchen. Then the city bus appeared through the front window. Mia grabbed her backpack and sports bag. Denise followed her onto the porch.
Jefferson Heights was waking around them. A delivery truck rattled over a pothole. Someone rolled open the metal shutters of the corner market. The smell of coffee and wet pavement lingered in the cool air. Maya hurried toward the bus stop.
Maya. She turned. Denise stood on the porch with both hands around her coffee mug. Your father would be proud of you. The words struck harder than Maya expected.
She nodded because answering would have betrayed too much. Then she boarded the bus. As Jefferson Heights passed outside the window, the streets slowly changed. Small brick houses became renovated town homes. Pawn shops became cafes.
Old storefronts gave way to polished office buildings. And finally, Riverton Community College rose ahead in glass, steel, and pale stone. Maya stepped off the bus and looked up at the campus. Students crossed the broad plaza beneath banners promising opportunity, community, and your future starts here. She adjusted the strap of her worn sports bag.