Bobby Love - The Redemption of Bobby Love: A Story of Faith, Family, and Justice

Copyright 2021 by Bobby Love and Cheryl Love

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

ISBN 9780358566052 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780358566229 (ebook) | ISBN 9780358581703 (cd) | ISBN 9780358581871 (audio)

Photographs courtesy of Bobby and Cheryl Love

Version 05172022

v2.0921

For our parents:

Annie Miller & James Edward Miller
(Bobby)

Reverend George Leon Williams & Gertrude Williams
(Cheryl)

Jeremiah 29:11 For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the LORD, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you an expected end.

Romans 8:28 And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.

The Redemption of Bobby Love is a memoir. The story youre about to read is true and is based on our memories and recollections of the events we lived. To protect the privacy of the people who did not agree to have their stories told in these pages, we have changed the names and identifying details of most of the people mentioned. In a few cases, to limit confusion, we have created characters who are an amalgamation of multiple people in our lives.

It was still dark when I opened my eyes. Bobby was asleep next to me, but I could hear Jordan rattling around in the kitchen. It was Thursday. That meant Jordan had to catch the subway by 6:15 in order to make it to school for his 7:00 a.m. class. I gave thanks that the twins were so responsible that they didnt need reminding to get up for school and out the door on time. As high school juniors, they showed us every day their growing maturity. I peered at the clock on my nightstand and sure enough, it was 5:30 a.m.

I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Bobby, grabbed my robe from the chair, and padded to the kitchen without bothering to put on my slippers. Even though our little Brooklyn apartment was crampedBobby and I slept in the living room, pretending it was a fourth bedroomat least it was toasty warm. Even in January, my bare feet werent cold on the linoleum floor.

Jordan was drinking the milk from his cereal bowl, standing at the sink. I made a face but didnt say anything. I knew he was rushing. Instead, I went to fill the kettle for my tea and Jordan dashed back to his room to collect his things. Before he could make it out the door, I stopped him. Wait a minute, Jordan, I called, making my way over to my son. He knew what I wanted.

We bowed our heads together, and I reached for his hands. Normally I would have woken up Bobby to pray with us, but I decided to let him sleep.

Father God, in the name of Jesus, I ask you to keep us safe and covered as we go about our day, I began. Jordan grew still as I prayed over him, as I did every day for all of my children before I allowed them out of the house. It was our regular ritual, no exceptions.

Amen, I whispered and smiled up at my son, who was now several inches taller than my five-foot-seven frame.

Jordan bent over and kissed my cheek. I love you, Ma, he said before he slipped out the door.

I tiptoed back to the kitchen as I heard the teakettle begin to whistle. I grabbed a peppermint tea bag out of the box in the cabinet and set my tea to steep. The sun hadnt yet come up, but I knew it was going to be a nice day. The weatherman had said it was going to be sunny and in the low forties, which was a blessing for a New York winter. I thought about how many layers Id have to put on for my walk to work. After fourteen years walking to the same office, the same thirty-minute route, I knew exactly how to dress for my daily commute but still look appropriate for the office. As a nutrition coordinator, I didnt have to dress fancy, but I always wanted to look nice for the clients I was helping get back on their feet.

I glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost 6:30 a.m. I knew Id have to check on Justin shortly. He had a different schedule than his brother and didnt have to be at school until 8:00, but his commute included two different subways, so he needed to be out the door in less than forty-five minutes. I picked up my teacup, took a sip of the warm liquid, and closed my eyes to savor the taste for just a minute.

A loud banging on the front door interrupted the moment.

My eyes flew open. Without thinking, I called out with my best Brooklyn attitude, Who is it?

I couldnt imagine who would be knocking at this early hour in the morning. I hoped the tone of my voice conveyed my annoyance and anger at whoever was on the other side of my door.

Apparently it didnt, because they knocked again. Louder this time. More insistent. Whoever it was had now woken up my husband. Bobby called out from our bed, Go next door! This is apartment two A! He too sounded annoyed at this unwanted early-morning intrusion.

If whoever was on the other side of our door was indeed looking for our neighbor in 2B, I was ready to go off. That woman was bad news. We were always seeing strange men coming in and out of her apartment. She cursed and hollered at her kids so much, we werent surprised when Child Protective Services showed up the year before, threatening to take her children away. I started to make my way to the door to see if whoever it was needed to be set straight. As I walked past the living room, I noticed Bobby hardly seemed concerned and was still lying in bed, the blankets pulled up around his shoulders. Even though hed have to get up in a few minutes anyway, I let him enjoy his last few moments of rest. I could handle whoever it was pounding on the door.

Open up, this is the police, we want two A!

I scrunched up my face in confusion. Did the police get another complaint about that woman? Did they need to talk to witnesses? I peeked through the peephole and saw the unmistakable blue of a police uniform. I nervously smoothed my hair down, pulled the edges of my robe tight, and slowly cracked open the door.

Thats all it took.

A wave of police officers poured into our apartment. All men. At least ten of them. Maybe twelve. There were Black ones, white ones, and a few who looked Latino. They just pushed their way in, forcing me backward toward the kitchen so they could all get through the door.

My first thought was Did the boys get into some sort of trouble? But most of the officers went right into the living room and crowded around Bobby, who was still in our bed. I couldnt make my way over to him because the other officers were practically barricading me in the kitchen, but I managed to push around them enough so I could at least see what was going on. Bobby was still lying down. Police officers surrounded him. I could hear one of the officers barking at him: Whats your name? Then a pause while Bobby answered.

No, your real name! the officer said.

I could see Bobbys lips were moving, but I couldnt hear a word he was saying because he was speaking so quietly.

Whats going on? What is this? I cried to anyone and everyone, but mostly to Bobby. Nobody answered my questions, though. All the attention was on my husband.

Are there any guns in the house? one of the officers shouted at Bobby. I saw Bobby shake his head no, but two of the officers took off toward the back of the apartment anyway.

Wait, my kids! I shouted, now turning my attention away from the living room. Our apartment was a typical railroad apartment with a long hallway that led to the bedrooms and bathroom. We had given the twins and our daughter Jessica the bedrooms because we figured they needed more privacy than we did. Our eldest daughter, Jasmine, was married and had already moved out.