“We don’t need gifts from him.”
“It’s not a gift, it’s a loaner,” Owen said. “Something to drive, is all.”
Arlen looked out the window and saw that there were two cars beside Rebecca’s old truck: Solomon Wade’s gray Ford coupe and a blue convertible with whitewall tires.
“To drive for what?” Rebecca said.
“I’ve found the boy some work,” Wade said.
“No.” She shook her head. “No, he will not work for you.”
“Now, Rebecca. Times are hard, and I’ve found Owen an opportunity. Him fresh out of prison? I’d think you’d be more appreciative. Why, you’ve done some work for me yourself, have you not?”
She didn’t speak.
Solomon Wade said, “I’ll leave y’all to sort this out. Owen, you be in touch, hear? I need you, and there’s dollars in it. Stacks of them.”
He walked through the door and out to his car. Tate McGrath was waiting in the passenger seat; evidently he’d driven the convertible down.
“I don’t understand you,” Owen said to Rebecca. “I don’t understand you a bit.”
“Owen, you’re not to work for him. I won’t allow it.”
“You won’t?” He had a challenge to his voice, his eyebrows raised.
“That’s right. That man is-”
“Is the only person in this county who sees anybody gets paid,” Owen said. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but there’s a Depression on, Rebecca. And Judge Wade sees that people get paid. What’s he ever done to you?”
“What’s he done?” she echoed. “What’s he done?”
“That’s what I asked.”
Her whole body was trembling. “He’s a criminal. He hurts people and he steals from them and-”
“No worse than most of the world.”
“And he kills them. He’s a murderer.”
Owen laughed. “Oh boy. You been hearing some tall ones. Who’s telling them? This guy?” He pointed at Arlen.
Rebecca stood there and stared at her brother, who gave a mocking smile in response, and she didn’t say a word.
“I’m going for a drive,” Owen said. He walked past Arlen and through the door, and a minute later the convertible was roaring away.
“Why won’t you tell him?” Arlen said. “Damn it, he needs to know.”
She wouldn’t look at him. “I will. It’s just… not the right time.”
“Well, it better be the right time soon,” Arlen said. “Because I’ll tell you something-that brother of yours isn’t some confused kid who got himself into trouble. He thinks he’s going to be a gangster, and he likes the idea.”
“That’s not true!”
“No?” Arlen said, and they exchanged an unpleasant stare.
“Listen,” he said after the pause had gone on awhile, “I thought you were waiting here until he got released. I thought the only reason you were staying at this place was to keep Wade happy until your brother got released.”
“That’s exactly why I stayed.”
“Well, Rebecca, he’s been released. And he says he’s going to stay.”
“He won’t. He’ll leave.”
“Going to take some convincing to get him to do that. I talked to the boy last night. He thinks he’s the next Al Capone.”
“That’s just talk.”
“Hell, yes, it’s just talk. What isn’t talk, though, is the idea that it’s what he wants to be. He thinks Wade is aces. So if you want him to be hitting the road with you, you’re going to need to tell him the truth of it. Your father didn’t drown; he had his throat cut. That kid needs to know.”
She nodded. “I’m going to tell him. I don’t want to do it here, though.”
“What do you mean you don’t want to do it here?”
“Owen is… rash,” she said carefully. “Foolish at times. He’s so young.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I can’t tell him the truth when he is around Solomon Wade and Tate McGrath,” she said. “Don’t you understand that? He won’t want to leave; he’ll want to settle scores. He doesn’t know enough to see that you can’t settle scores with men like that. I’ll tell him once we’re gone from this place. First, though, I need to get him away from here.”
“You’re trying to protect him from Wade,” Arlen said, “and from himself. You might be able to do one. I can guarantee you’ll never be able to do the other. The kid’s going to chart his own course. Seems like he’s already well under way.”
“I just need to get him away from here.”
“Well, why aren’t we going, then? Every day we linger is another day he falls in deeper with Wade.”
“I can’t… I’m waiting on something.”
“Waiting on something?”
She looked away.
“This is how it goes,” he said bitterly. “I’m trusted only so far. You still keep your secrets, though. The ones that matter most.”
“Arlen, it’s not an issue of trust. It’s not. And I’ll talk to Owen. You’ll see-as soon as he comes back, I’ll talk to him.”
He didn’t come back that day, though. When the knock on the door came just after sunset, they both assumed it would be Owen. It wasn’t.
It was Paul Brickhill.
36
HE LOOKED TIRED AND THIN, with a face streaked by road dust and sweat. His shoes were caked with mud and split on one side from miles of walking. Rebecca held the door open and stared at him and didn’t move. Arlen was sitting at the bar and he could see over her shoulder to the boy, who looked back at him without a word or a change of expression.
“Maybe I could step inside?” he said at last, addressing Rebecca.
“Yes, come on, get in here.”
She moved aside and let him pass, and he dropped his bags to the floor and walked over to the bar and looked at Arlen. Neither of them spoke. Arlen’s first thought, the one that had cut right through him at the sight of the kid, was relief. He was glad to see him again. Then he remembered the smoke he’d seen in Paul’s eyes, remembered the purpose for the whole damn terrible thing, and thought, No. You weren’t supposed to come back.
Paul gave him that steady gaze and then went around the bar and pulled a bottle of gin off the shelf. He poured a glass of it, took a sip, and then came back and sat on a bar stool a few down from Arlen. He looked up at the clock.
“Still working,” he said. There was no note of pride in his voice. Not like there had been with the generator.
“Yes,” Rebecca said. “Thank you so much for that. Paul, let me get you something to eat. You look like you need it.”
“I could stand to eat.”
“I’ll fix something right away.” She’d walked over to him and laid her hand on his shoulder, and he turned his head and stared down at it and then lifted his eyes to hers, cold eyes, and she removed her hand.
“Right away,” she murmured again, and then she left.
It was quiet, nothing but the sound of the kitchen door swinging slower and slower until it came to a stop, and then all that could be heard was the ticking of the clock.
Arlen said, “You all right?”
“You care?” Paul lifted the glass and drank a little more of the gin.
“Of course I do,” Arlen said. “And you know that.”
Paul shook his head wearily. “Sure, Arlen. Sure.”
“Look, son, the way it happened-”
“I don’t want to hear it. Not ever again. Just don’t speak of it.”
Arlen went silent. They could hear Rebecca moving around in the kitchen, laying a pan on the stove and sparking the burner.
“Where you been?” Arlen said. “Where’d you go?”
“I went to Hillsborough County. The CCC camp down there. Ones that are working on the park, where you wanted us to go after we got off the train?”
Arlen nodded. “I remember it.”
“Yeah? Well, if I wanted to have a chance with the CCC again, I should’ve gone down earlier.” He turned the gin glass in his hands, his face dark and sullen.