It’s a book.
Iz would give me a book.
I trace the aged leather, the letters pressed into the weathered cover.
Montage of a Dream Deferred by Langston Hughes.
I flip open the front cover, and my blood stands still in my veins when I note the date—1951—and the famous poet’s autograph.
A signed first edition.
I turn to the spot slotted by an index card, a crisp contrast to the worn, fragi
le pages. The poem is “Harlem,” and the familiar refrain asking what happens to a dream deferred stings tears in my eyes.
I can’t ever read this poem without remembering the day my cousin died in the front yard. There are some moments in life that will always haunt us, no matter how many joys follow, and that day is one of those. I’ll never forget reciting this poem in my bedroom closet to keep Jade calm while one of her brothers shot the other.
Iz couldn’t know its personal significance to me, but as I read the card, I understand why he chose it.
GRIP,
Our brothers live so long with dreams deferred, they forget how to imagine another life. For many of them, all they know is frustration, then rage, and for too many, the violence of finally exploding. You symbolize hope, and I know you take that responsibility seriously. I hope you know I believe that, and that nothing I’ve said led you to think otherwise. Bristol’s right—our biases are our weaknesses. Few are as patient as she is to give people time to become wiser. Thank her for me, for giving me time and for encouraging you to work with me. Together, I think we will restore the dreams of many.
Merry Christmas, Iz
Chapter 23
Bristol
THIS ISN’T my first Grammys, but it’s the first time two of my clients have been nominated for multiple awards. Rhyson has won several in the past, of course, but tonight, Grip and Kai are up, and I think Rhyson and I are more nervous than they are.
“I’m still not sure about that lighting.” Rhyson watches a video of Kai’s rehearsal from earlier today on his phone. “Can we talk to the LD one more time?”
“Leave the lighting director alone,” Kai says from the corner where she and her stylist are consulting about her dress for the red carpet. “Rhys, you’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?” he asks absently, eyes still fixed on the video.
“The thing where you try to control the whole universe and act like a crazy person?” She stretches her eyes wide like he should know. “That thing.”
He looks up, one dark brow cocked, and stops the video, setting the phone down on the table.
“It’s your performance, Pep.” He shrugs. “If you feel comfortable with uneven lighting for the biggest performance of your life, who am I to disagree?”
“Rhyson!” I roll my eyes at my brother. “Don’t do that. The lighting was fine.”
“Fine?” His disgust is palpable. “Fine, not perfect. She should have perfect, Bris, and you know it.”
Kai and I exchange a look that says we hate it when he’s right.
“Okay.” I grab my phone and bag from the dressing room table. “I’ll go talk to the lighting director.”
“It’s the blue wash,” Rhyson says with a satisfied smile. “The setting at the beginning of the second verse.”
“Right. Blue wash, got it. I’ll see you guys back at the hotel.” I pause at the door. “And Sarah will be with you for the red carpet tonight.”
“Oh, great.” Kai gives me a wide smile. “What are you wearing for your first public appearance as an engaged woman?”
“Ugh.” The sigh drags past my lips. “Don’t remind me. As if I don’t have enough to do without having to think about getting red-carpet ready.”