— Was your granddad always a cop? said Pete.
— Yes, forever. He was sixty-two when he retired. I think he had to at that point, legally and all, but it was hard for him. But when he was really young, twenty or so, he was a boxer. Grandma used to tell me about it. They had these old newspaper pictures. This handsome boy wearing funny trunks, with a funny haircut. A moustache. Got his dukes up. I couldn’t recognize him at all except for the eyes. It’s hard for me to imagine that time in his life.
— Was he a cop here in town?
— Always. Here’s something. The last guy they executed here? Grandpa arrested him. The man had killed another cop. They executed him, out behind where they have the library now. Grandpa never talks about it. I only know because my mom knew. She told me about it once when we were visiting her aunt. We took the train down to the city to visit, and on the way back Mom told me a lot of things I never knew. It’s funny what happens when you grow up. How you learn about things in the lives of the people you love. The big things, the bad things. They happened before you even existed.
— You find out and it changes things.
— I guess.
— You don’t think so?
— Well, I think with the people you love, unless you find out they’re murderers or something, you still love them. It’s just you find out they’re actually people. They’re not giants any more.
— My uncle is a murderer, said Pete.
— What?
— I can’t say for sure. There aren’t many things other than murder that you do that long in jail for. But I can’t say for sure because nobody in my family talks about anything except Jesus. My grandmother is dying and nobody talks about that. My real dad ran off somewhere before I was born and nobody talks about that. My uncle was in jail for seventeen years and definitely nobody talks about that. Half of what I make at the gas station goes to Saint Barry for rent-he counts it every time- and you don’t hear anybody talking about that. I don’t even talk about it. If it weren’t for Jesus I would live in one quiet house. Are you cold?
— Yes, a little.
He reached into the front and started the car for the heater to blast again.
— You know what they told me about sex? said Pete. They left a booklet on my bed. I was twelve. It was called The Christian Path to Growing Up, and it was a booklet full of reasons why if you beat off or if you neck with a girl you’re going to hell.
— My mom told me everything, said Emily. I could have done with just an explanation. I didn’t need her to talk about techniques.
— That’s better than a booklet about the evils of necking, believe me.
— Tell me how evil necking is, said Emily.
She moved against him, shifting out of the blanket. Her pale body moved fluidly in the dim light. She kissed him with her tongue inside his mouth and her fingers tracing along his cheek.
There was nothing to compare this feeling with.
He wanted her to be vulnerable, wanted her to need him as much as he felt he was beginning to need her. He was even willing to believe that it was so, that she did need him as badly. She moved on top of him and slid her hand down his stomach.
— Do you want to go again?
— Yes, said Pete. Anything for you.
— Good. After that, you’ll have to take me home so I can go to bed like a good girl.
A few nights later, Pete picked up Lee and Helen after work to take them to Donna and Barry’s house for supper. Lee had dressed in what he had for a formal occasion, jeans and a collared shirt and his Carhartt coat. Helen wore big hoop earrings and a leather jacket over a tight-fitting dress. Lee held the door for her and she got into the passenger seat. He got into the back.
Pete had assembled a picture of Helen from what Lee had told him, and in person she was not far removed from what he’d imagined.
— Haven’t I heard a lot about you, said Helen.
— Hi, said Pete. Hey, Uncle Lee.
— Hey, Pete.
They drove out to the house.
— This is a nice-looking joint, said Helen. Why don’t you move out here, Brown Eyes?
— It’s filled up with people out here is why, said Lee.
They were halfway up the walk when Donna opened the front door and stood there thinly against the backlight, wearing grey slacks and a cardigan. Lee went up first. He and his sister embraced stiffly and he went to kiss her on the cheek but she had already turned her head. Helen came up the steps and took both of Donna’s hands. Pete could see his mother’s shoulders climbing in defence.
— Hello, said Helen. What a big beautiful property you guys got out here.
They were shown into the living room. Helen was as misfit a figure as Pete could imagine, but she seemed oblivious to it. Donna served them hot apple cider. Lee took Helen’s jacket and showed her to the couch. Irene’s recliner remained vacant. The Christmas tree was crooked. Donna went into the hallway and tapped on Barry’s office door.
— He’ll be out in one minute, said Donna. He’s working on his sermon for Sunday.
Donna came back into the living room and Pete brushed past her to the office door. The door was open a few inches so he opened it fully and stood on the threshold. Barry was at the desk with his study bible open beside him.
— Just a moment and I’ll be out.
— Take your time, said Pete. My mother is only half panicked. You’ve got a couple minutes before she loses her mind completely.
Barry put on a look of forbearance: What is it, Peter?
Pete took the week’s rent out of his wallet. Barry darted a look into the hallway. Then he composed himself again.
— You’re a day early with that, said Barry, taking the money.
He counted it carefully and stowed it in the strongbox in the drawer. Peter craned his neck to spy a bible quotation Barry had transcribed and underlined on his legal pad. It was about the angel appearing to the terrified shepherds, bidding them be unafraid, for that day a child was born.
— Do you believe that about the angel coming down to talk to the shepherds?
Barry blinked, tugged at his ear: Why wouldn’t I?
— I’m just curious.
— How God calls us is up to God. That’s exactly what I’ll be talking about on Sunday. It would be good to see you there. It would be good for your mom to see you there.
Pete went back into the hallway. When he was going back through the living room, John and Luke were being presented to Helen. They were both wearing the dress shirts they wore to church, pressed and tucked in, and they had identical left-sided parts in their hair.
— Couple of little heartbreakers, said Helen.
Donna served a roast ham with peas and a macaroni salad. Lee and Helen were seated next to each other across from John and Luke. Barry sat at the head of the table. Pete and his mother took their usual places. The spot for Irene at the other end of the table remained conspicuously empty.
Barry said they would pray first. They held hands around the table and Pete watched them bow their heads. He was holding John’s hand. The boy had his eyes pinched shut. Barry told the Lord thanks for the food and the fellowship of family. Across the table, Lee’s eyes were closed. Helen was looking at Pete, grinning.
Amen was said. Donna served their plates.
— Would you tell us about yourself? said Barry. We’ve heard a little bit.
Helen shrugged, hand to her chin. The boys stared at her.
— I didn’t come from around here. I don’t know anything about this town to tell you the truth. It’s funny how we end up in certain places. I went to college for a year or two, this was, like, ‘67 …
She laughed as she spoke. Barry smiled sociably. Donna and Lee were both staring into their meals, slicing through their ham with something approaching savagery. To see them, you would conclude, finally, that they were sister and brother.