He’d just been to Keisha’s funeral, which had been delayed for the arrival of her paternal grandparents, who’d insisted on driving up from Mississippi. “Don’t know why they want to come now,” Keisha’s mother had told him. “Didn’t want nothing to do with us when Keisha was alive. They thought I’d used that child to trap their precious son. As if that man would ever let himself be caught in a trap. He took off the day I told him I was having his baby. Hasn’t been seen since.” “Why did you tell them, then?” Walker had asked her. “Wasn’t me who called them. It was Devon’s no-good brother, Jermaine. He said his mama and daddy had a right to know. What right, I ask you? Ain’t none I can think of. They ain’t never even sent that child a birthday card.” “Maybe they regret that now,” Walker suggested. “What good is regrets gonna do my baby?” Walker hadn’t had an answer for that. But he had noticed the elderly couple at the funeral, the man’s shoulders stooped, the woman’s eyes red from crying.
