Chapter 82
With numb fingers, he tucked Darian’s money into the wallet. He glanced at the boy again, stared hard at him, as if the picture would tell him what he was afraid to ask. The kid had Darian’s eyes, definitely, dark and laughing. He had the wide mouth, too, though for the photo it was closed in a lopsided grin. His skin was much lighter than Darian’s, a sandy mulatto color that looked a lot like Ange’s, and his tight curls were cut short, just a rasp of hair across his scalp, the way Lamar wore his. Stacy sneaked a look at Darian out of the corner of his eye—the resemblance between him and the boy couldn’t be denied. A son then, as he originally thought, or maybe a nephew, or a cousin? Just ask—
I don’t want to know.