The Unwilling(58)

“Kindred spirits, then.”

Jason shook his head. It was all so familiar. “I’ve never understood these delusions of yours.”

“Delusions!” X raised his voice for the first time. “How many men have you killed, my friend? And how many of those deaths do you actually regret?”

“That was war. It’s different.”

“But is it different there?” X pointed at Jason’s heart. “Does a song not play each time? You alive, another dead…”

“I’m not doing this with you. Not again.” Jason backed away, knowing X could kill him if he wished. There’d be a blade nearby, a shard of glass, a twist of wire …

X trailed languidly behind. “I did take pains to bring you here.”

“Tyra’s pain. My pain.”

“You’re upset. I understand. We can try again tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow will be no different.”

“Yet time is not our friend.”

“The electric chair. Yeah, I heard.” Jason kept moving: the second step, the third.

“If you knew my heart, you would feel differently.”

Jason climbed higher, and X watched him go, a smile on his face. “The heart, my young friend, and all the songs that play.”





21


An hour after we climbed from the creek, I was back in the car, and Becky, again, was leaning above me. The sun hung below the trees. The light was soft on her face. “This was good,” I said.

“Come anytime, Gibson French.”

Without intending it, my gaze slid to the house behind her. The porch had collapsed on one side. The screens were rusted and torn.

“Hey, handsome. Eyes front.” Becky touched my cheek, and turned my head. “It’s just a house. It’s not who I am.”

“Chance told me not to come.”

“And I told you, Chance is an idiot. Will you stay a little longer?”

“I need to go.”

“Important business?”

“Kind of. Yeah.”

A hint of doubt showed in her eyes. She sensed my unease, but misunderstood the reasons. “I’m a cool girl, you know. We can talk about other things. It doesn’t have to be so heavy.”

“I think you’re the coolest.”

“So let’s go somewhere. Sunset. Dinner. The place doesn’t matter.”

Her words made sense, but others did, too.

Be a man …

For once in your sheltered life …

“I’m being pushy,” she said. “And that’s not normally my thing. Just tell me you’re not blowing me off.”

“I’m not.”

“Is that a promise?”

“It is.”

She bent low, her elbows crossed on the window frame. “Tell me I’m beautiful.”

“You’re gorgeous.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because you’re a gorgeous, beautiful girl, especially in your underwear.”

She blushed and looked away, but was not unhappy. When she turned back, we kissed, her lips softly parted, her breath warm and sweet. When she drew back at last, the grin was in her eyes, and she held up two fingers.

My second kiss …

That’s what she meant.

I held up the same two fingers, then put the car in gear, and watched her dwindle in the dusty light. She shielded her eyes to watch me, too; and I considered how fast the world was changing. A week ago, life was the quarry, the dive, a few cold beers with Chance. Now there was Becky and Jason, my father and mother, a house full of lies.

Maybe this is how it feels, I thought.

Adulthood.

I preferred the clarity of single-mindedness, so I thought about the best way to help my brother. Before, the answer would have been simple. My father was a cop, with his own kind of clarity. But I couldn’t ask for his help—he’d worry more for me than Jason, and act accordingly. Should I visit Jason in prison? I debated as I drove, then stopped at a pay phone and lied to my mother.

“How late?” she asked.

“I’m not sure. A few hours.”

“What are you doing?”

“Something with Chance. Nothing big. Hanging out.”

“But your father—”

“Just tell him for me, okay?”

I hung up because I knew how the rest of it would play. On Chance’s street, I parked a half block down, and watched my back as I walked to his house. It was that kind of street. His mother came to the door when I knocked, her hair streaked with gray and pulled back in a kerchief. She’d worked two shifts already, but none of that tiredness touched her eyes when she saw me. “Gibby, sweetheart. Come inside. You’re in time for dinner.” She gave me a hug, then called out to Chance. “Chance, come say hi to Gibby.”

Chance emerged from the back hall, surprised to see me.

“Can we talk?” I asked.

“Yeah, sure. Mom?”

“Dinner in ten minutes. Gibby, do you like creamed chipped beef on toast?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Chance led me to his room, a small space with a single window. “Have you ever had creamed chipped beef on toast?” He closed the door. “Dried beef, milk sauce, and Wonder Bread. Your basic staples.”