Say You Still Love Me(47)

Kyle has burned through one cigarette already. He lights another. “We were living in Albany at the time. My mom was working at IHOP. She got fired because the owner figured she must have known what my dad was doing. He said he couldn’t trust her.”

“Did she? Know, I mean.”

“She’s never admitted to it, but she definitely had to know he was doing something shady. I remember this one day he came home on a Saturday night with this fat wad of cash. She had a big coffee can where she stuffed it in, then put it in the cupboard above the fridge. I asked her why she didn’t just put it in the bank. She laughed and said sometimes you have to hide your money. So yeah, I’d say she knew. But did she know he was stealing from old people?” He shrugs. “She acted all horrified when news started spreading, but I’m thinking it might have been an act. She visits him.” He studies a cut on his index finger. “She finally stopped trying to make me go, though.”

I don’t know what to say so I say nothing, and instead smooth a tentative hand over his back. His tension practically vibrates beneath my palm. He really must not like talking about this.

“Before my dad got busted, things were okay. After, though, everything turned to shit. We got kicked out of our house a few months later, for not paying rent. We moved to Poughkeepsie, ’cause that’s where my mom grew up and it’s actually closer to Fishkill, where my dad’s at. We stayed with my grandparents in their tiny bungalow for a few months until my mom landed a job working reception at a tire shop. Now we’re in this apartment, above a Seven-Eleven. You know, in one of those strip malls.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He chuckles softly. “About living above a Seven-Eleven?”

“No! I mean yes, but about everything.”

“Yeah. It sucks. That’s why I like coming to Wawa. It’s peaceful here. I can be someone different. Someone who doesn’t have half their family in prison.”

I frown. “Half?”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot the best part, didn’t I?” His gaze wanders out to the black skies. “My two older brothers are in jail for trying to rob a fucking bank.”

My mouth drops open in shock. I’m thankful for the darkness. “Are you . . . is that for real?” Or am I unwittingly playing another round of two truths and a lie?

“Look it up. Poughkeepsie Journal. They did a nice, big front-page spread with the three of them pictured side-by-side. It’s titled ‘Criminal Gene Runs in Family.’?” He swipes a hand through the air in front of him dramatically; his voice is thick with bitterness.

He’d only mentioned a little brother before. “But I thought you said—”

“Yeah, I lied. I’m sorry. I’ve got three brothers. I just like to pretend that two of them don’t exist.” He butts the rest of his cigarette out against the rock.

“So that story about being in an armed robbery the first night—”

“Was true. I was in an armed robbery. I just left out a few key details. Like, the part where my two idiot brothers told me to stay in the car while they went inside to take care of some bills and how I didn’t listen. Big surprise, right? But it was January and it was cold, and the heat in that car barely works, so I said fuck it and I went inside, and found the two of them with pantyhose over their heads, pointing guns at the tellers. I knew it was them right away by their voices. It was surreal . . .” He shakes his head slowly, as if replaying it in his mind. “They started yelling at me for not listening. Apparently they needed me to wait in the car so I could drive it away when they came running out.” He snorts. “Then they yelled at me to watch the security guard to make sure he didn’t do anything funny. The poor guy was sixty-seven years old and they’d taken his gun from him as soon as they came in. He wasn’t gonna do anything.

“I told them to get the hell out of there before they got themselves into more trouble. They wouldn’t listen . . .” They wouldn’t listen. “I don’t know what their plan was, but it went to shit, fast. Someone triggered the alarm for the cops and the place was surrounded in no time. They surrendered.”

“Oh my God! That’s insane, Kyle!”

He studies the ground. “Yeah, that’s one word for it.”

I try to picture Rhett standing in front of a teller with a gun in his hand—or something equally crazy—but I can’t. “What was going through your head during all this? Were you scared that they’d hurt someone? I mean, they’re your brothers.”

“Honestly?” His chuckle is low and sounds sheepish. “I remember wondering where they got those pantyhose from. Like, if they went out and bought them or took them from our mother’s dresser.”

I burst out laughing, and he joins in, releasing some of the tension in the air around us.

“So, what happened after?”

“The cops figured I was in on it, so they arrested me. That’s when I got scared. I thought I’d end up in jail, too. But they dropped the charges after they reviewed the security tapes and witness statements.”

“And your brothers?”

“They just got sentenced a few weeks ago. Nine years. They’ll be getting out around the same time as my dad. Max will be thirty, Ricky will be thirty-two.”

“Just think, if you hadn’t gone in when you did, you would have driven the car away.” If they’d been caught, Kyle would be an accessory to an armed robbery. He would have ended up in jail, too, or juvenile detention, given his age.