Those people don't know what's happening to you, he said. Not because they don't care, because you haven't told anyone. I can't go to people I've helped and ask them to help me back. That's not That's not what I'm proposing. His voice was measured.
Precise. I'm proposing we tell the neighborhood what this house means. Not you, the house, the person who lives in it. What this block would lose if that person had to leave. He paused.
A community fundraiser, not charity. A statement. A way for people to put their hands up and say, "This matters to us and we are not letting it go. Olivia's jaw tightened. "That's not," she started.
"Olivia, I spent my whole life proving I didn't need anyone," she said, and her voice cracked on the last word just slightly. Just enough to be real. "I don't want to become someone's. You're not a project," he said. "You're a person, and people who matter to their community are allowed to need their community." He leaned forward slightly.
"Let me do this. Not for you with you. There's a difference. She looked at him for a long time. I hate this, she said.
I know. I hate needing anything. I know. If this goes badly, it won't. You don't know that.
No, he said, but I know this neighborhood. I know the people in it. And I know what you've done here. He held her gaze. Trust me on this one thing.
The silence stretched, then barely above a whisper. Okay. He nodded, went home, and the next morning, a Saturday, Marcus Carter started making phone calls. The first person he called was Darius. I need to organize something, he said.