Three minutes and twenty seconds later, a squad car turns onto Riverside Oaks Drive. Lights off, no siren, just the low rumble of the engine.
Officer Brandon Hayes steps out. He's 34, nine years on the force. He sees two Black kids with their hands full of Christmas lights and decorations. He sees exactly what Patricia wanted him to see.
"Hey! You two! Come here!"
Jordan looks up, confused. "Us?"
"Yeah, you! Come here! Now!"
Jordan and Julian walk toward the officer, slow, careful. They've never been in trouble; they don't know what they did wrong.
"What are you doing here?" Hayes asks.
"We're decorating," Jordan says. "For Christmas."
"Decorating what?"
"Our house." Jordan points behind him. "That's our house."
Hayes looks at the house, looks at the boys, doesn't believe them. "Whose house?"
"Ours! We live here. We live at 1247 Riverside Oaks Drive."
"You live here?" Hayes's hand moves to his belt, rests near his radio. "Who's your parents?"
"Our mom, Tanya Davis. She's at work."
"Uh-huh. You got any ID?"
Julian's eyes go wide. "We're ten!"
"Then how do I know you're telling the truth?"
"We can show you inside," Jordan offers, his voice shaking a little. "We can show you our room."
"Stay right there. Don't move."
Hayes walks toward his patrol car, reaches for his radio.
That's when Patricia Brennan steps off her porch, crosses her lawn, stands on the sidewalk with her arms crossed—watching, waiting. She wants to see this.
That's when Tanya's car turns onto Riverside Oaks Drive.