I’d had enough. Given my brother’s refusal to appreciate the gravity of his situation, I didn’t see the point in humoring his persecution fantasies or delusions of grandeur any longer. If he wasn’t going to take his life seriously, why should I?
I patted him on the back. “Okay, Sam Spade. Blankets are in the closet there. Take the couch. Get some sleep. There’s nothing here worth stealing, and if I find something missing in the morning, I swear to fucking God, Chris, it’ll be the last time I ever let you inside.”
My brother grabbed my wrist.
The soft light of the room yellowed his flesh like greasy chicken skin.
“What?”
He dropped his voice to a whisper. “You need to hear what I have to say.”
“I’m listening.”
“You sure you can keep a secret?”
“Yeah, Chris. I can keep a secret. But I don’t have time to play make-believe. I’m a grown-ass man with grown-up shit to do. So either tell me what that bullshit at the station was really about or-”
“It’s big, little brother. Real big.”
“Jesus Christ! Tell me, already.”
Chris looked out the corners of his eyes, held a finger to his lips, and beckoned me nearer.
I leaned in, my ear right next to his mouth, so close I could feel his hot breath.
“I shot the sheriff,” he whispered. “But I did not shoot the deputy.”
Chris let go my wrist and hurled himself back onto the sofa, howling. About knocked himself out with that one. “But I swear it was in self-defense!” He was barely able to get the words out through the guffawing.
“You’re an asshole.”
“Come back, little brother. I was kidding. Where you going?”
“To bed. See you in the morning.”
“I’m serious. We really did find something. Don’t you want to know what it is?”
“No. I don’t.” I slammed shut my bedroom door.
When I woke in the morning, he was gone.
CHAPTER FOUR
I let my truck idle while I scraped the ice from my windshield. The bright morning sun rose over the crest of Lamentation Mountain, splashing orange splotches through snow-covered birches, halos ringing between tall evergreen trees. The news put the damage at over a foot, considerably worse than the original forecast. They were calling for an even bigger storm to roll in next week, a real Nor’easter. Trace flurries drifted down, floating aimlessly, catching the glint of the sun’s rays. I watched my breath crystalize in front of me.
I pulled around the front of Hank’s to fill up. Would run me close to sixty-five dollars, thing sucked so much gas. The floor of my cab was littered with crinkled receipts and stiff papers, empty coffee cups and crushed cigarette packs, Gatorade bottles, fast food bags; the inside of my ride looked like a refugee camp. Waiting for the pump to stop, I gathered all the junk and threw it away. Doesn’t seem like much, but I felt like I accomplished something. Jenny was always complaining about what a slob I was.
Went inside to grab a coffee and a copy of the Herald, even though I seldom read the damn thing these days. I used to be up on the latest news; now I bought the paper mostly out of habit. A high school kid took my money. He was wearing an Ashton Redcoats varsity wrestling jacket, so we shot the shit about that for a few. He said they were leaving for Regionals tomorrow. I told him about the year my brother and Adam Lombardi won the State Championship. He said, “Cool,” but to him I was probably just an old guy reliving his glory days. And not even my glory days, but my piece-of-shit junkie brother’s. I couldn’t fathom thirty when I was seventeen.
Back on the road, I was able to dial in the classic rock station, 105, The Bone. The Outfield’s “Your Love” came on. Always made me smile. We never settled on an official song, but I used to tease Jenny that was it, and I’d belt it out when I wanted to mess with her. Used to piss her off since the song is about the singer’s girlfriend, “Jenny,” being on a vacation far away, and him screwing around with another, younger girl. Jenny wouldn’t really get mad, though, more like fake mad. She knew I only teased her when I was in a good mood.
I blasted the tune, which crackled in and out through the static, as I fired up the day’s first cigarette and the caffeine started to kick in, sunbeams smacking the snow and ice that coated my hometown. I rolled down the window and let the cold, brisk mountain air wash over me. Pulled down the visor and strapped on my sunglasses, let the cigarette dangle from my lips, and cranked the radio up louder. You take your small victories wherever you can find them.
Jenny’s place was past the trestles in the center of town, above the same bar and grill where she worked nights, The Landover. A dumpy two-bedroom, it wasn’t much nicer than mine. The proximity to her job was convenient, since Aiden was just upstairs and she could pop in and check on him during breaks. Her boyfriend, Brody, worked second shift at the die shop, so it’s not like Aiden was alone long.
Early Saturday morning, most people still in bed following the storm, the streets empty, nothing open yet besides the Dunkin’ Do-nuts and gas stations, the town perfectly peaceful, I tooled freshly plowed streets, tapping out a beat on the dash and feeling pretty damn all right. I didn’t give my brother another thought. Which was how I’d managed to deal with him all these years. Out of sight, out of mind.
On weekends when I was a kid, my dad would go into town for his morning paper and bring us back a dozen donuts. A time-honored tradition. It was time I started building memories like that for Aiden. I flipped a bitch and circled back to the Dunkin’ Donuts.
“You know I don’t want him eating sugar,” Jenny said, snatching the box from me.
“One donut won’t kill him.”
“No, it won’t. But refined sugar is not good for his development. It’s been linked to depression.”
“Depression? He’s not even two yet. Where’d you hear that?”
“In the baby books. You should try reading one sometime.”
“Enough shit hasn’t gone wrong for him to be depressed yet.”
“Fine. But I still don’t want to have to deal with a hyperactive child all day.”
“You don’t have to. I thought I could bundle him up, take him down to the Little People’s Playground, play in the snow a bit.”
“Fine,” she said again, “but I still don’t want him eating sugar.”
“Fine,” I said, mimicking her, prying the box from her hands and flipping open the top. “You eat them then.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Like I can eat a donut.”
I grabbed a plump, powdered jelly, moving toward her. “Open up. You’re looking pretty damn thin.”
Jenny flushed and started backing up, lips cracking a smile. She’d answered the door in an old Pink Floyd T-shirt of mine, sleep-tossed hair, those long legs showing underneath, so smooth and touchable, bare feet tiptoeing on linoleum. This was when she looked best in my opinion, first thing in the morning, all rumpled, no makeup, no fuss, just-rolled-out-of-bed, perfect.
“Come on, Jenny. One bite.” I cocked my arm.
She started batting at me. “Knock it off, Jay,” she said, trying to look stern, but giggling. “I mean it.”
I had her retreated in the corner, pretending I was going to force-feed a jelly donut like those obnoxious couples do with wedding cake. I was kidding, of course, but I got her laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe. Which made me start to laugh too.
I dipped and darted like I planned to grab her waist and pull her in, but she jerked away and slapped my hand, then held a finger to her mouth and pointed at the bedroom door, which I took to mean that Brody was still asleep.