END OF PART THREE

My Neighbor Called 911 on Five Black Men Relaxing in Their Own Backyard — And Their Identity Is Revealed

PART FOUR — THE OPEN GATE

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Invitation Nobody Expected

Marcus read Nia’s yellow invitation again before he asked why she had printed forty copies.
Nia pulled another sheet from the folder under her arm and laid it on the kitchen counter.
She had drawn a small diagram showing the grill, the patio tables, and the narrow gate beside the garage.
“Forty people will never fit back there,” Marcus said.
“Forty people won’t come,” Nia answered.
“You sound awfully certain.”
“Half of them won’t want to talk about what happened, and the other half will worry that coming means taking a side.”
Marcus studied his daughter’s careful handwriting.


She had not written a word about Margaret Collins or the police.
The invitation simply promised food, music, and a chance for neighbors to meet the people who lived beside them.
“You don’t have to solve this for me,” he told her.
“I’m not trying to solve it for you,” Nia replied.
“I want to have my birthday cake without wondering whether someone will call the police because my friends came over.”
That sentence made Marcus put the paper down.
He had spent the previous week answering questions about policy, professional conduct, and the neighborhood association.
He had not asked his daughter what she wanted from the Saturday that had been interrupted.
“Then we’ll make it your party,” he said.
“You can invite your debate team, and I’ll invite the men who were here the first time.

”
“And the neighbors?”
“We can invite them too.”
Nia folded her arms.
“Even Mrs. Collins?”
Marcus considered the question rather than answering quickly.
“An invitation isn’t an agreement that what she did was acceptable,” he said.
“It also isn’t a promise that she can come here and insult somebody.”
“So we make rules.”
“We make expectations,” Marcus corrected.
“Everybody who comes treats everybody else like a guest.”
Nia smiled at the distinction, although Marcus suspected she would use it against him during her next debate.
They carried the invitations to the dining table and began writing names.
Marcus wrote Mrs. Allen first.
He wrote Sergeant Ruiz’s name on a separate card, then crossed it out.
She had been involved professionally, and he did not want her attendance to suggest an official endorsement.
He decided he could thank her at another time.
When they reached Margaret’s name, Nia placed the pen in his hand.
“You should write this one,” she said.
Marcus wrote the address carefully.
He left the envelope unsealed until he had read the invitation one last time.
The words at the bottom still caught his attention.
Everyone who is invited belongs here.
He sealed the envelope and put it beneath the others.