The banister leading upstairs would be polished and glossy, the corners of the stairs well vacuumed. Their bedroom would have a little more character, at least a couple of pieces of antique furniture. The headboard from some nineteenth-century captain’s home on the North Fork, with a carving of a three-mast square-rigged blowing-mainsail whaling ship dead center. When they made love, they’d have to prop the pillows just so, to keep from getting welts.
At around three in the afternoon Chub pulled into the driveway. I slid farther down in my seat even though he didn’t glance in any direction except Kimmy’s as he crossed the lawn. She brushed her hair back with the side of her glove and left a dirt smear across her forehead. For some reason it made me groan.
Chub had lost a little weight and grown a Vandyke that he kept well trimmed. It suited his face. He’d started losing his hair as a teenager and now kept his head shaved. He walked with a light step. He practically skipped after Scooter, who squealed with laughter and tried to run away. He scooped her up, set her on his shoulder, and spun around while she held her arms high, fingertips brushing blossoming buds on the ends of tree branches. She slid down into his arms, where he held her tightly against his chest and marched over to Kimmy. They kissed and then he pressed his forehead to hers for a moment.
Nothing they did was out of the ordinary, but it seemed exceptional to me. I saw the life I wanted, or the life I thought I wanted. The only part that was ugly was the creeper parked on the other side of the street, staring at them.
Chub had put in only a half day. His clothes looked too clean and fresh for a grease monkey. Maybe he’d gone legit and let other mechanics work under the hoods and transoms at his garage, but I couldn’t see him stepping out of the game completely. He certainly hadn’t crawled under any soccer mom’s SUV today. So what else was he doing with his time? Paperwork? He’d still be known on the circuit. Crews and strings would still be coming to him for engine work and plotting getaway routes. Was he turning them away? Or did he just pick and choose more carefully now?
I grabbed the door handle like I might climb out. And do what?
I could step up their brick path and watch as Chub turned and saw me, hit his usual pose of cool, sort of locking his legs and leaning back. He’d invite me in and it would be awkward at first, Kimmy unsure of what to say or how to act, il th to act, l at ease that I was there at all because I’d be staring at her. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. But soon things would loosen up. We’d act a little stupid, joke around, and share old stories. Nothing serious would be broached until later, after the beer bottles started to pile up. Chub would be thankful I’d deserted Kimmy. It had allowed him to step in. But he’d still resent me and consider my leaving a betrayal of our friendship if nothing else. His face would fall and that wounded expression would cross it inch by inch, starting with the frown lines in his forehead and down to his lower lip, which he’d be chewing on. Eventually he’d taste blood and stare at me for a lengthy time, steeling himself to either grab one of the bottle necks and crack me across the temple or let most of his anger slide and give me a hug.
Kimmy wouldn’t have any of it. She would still hate me. She would always hate me. I didn’t blame her. I hated me too.
Even as she said, It’s good to see you. How’ve you been? I’d know what was really moving through her heart. The real questions she wanted to ask, the honest indictments she would make. I’d left her alone to wallow through the misery of the miscarriage and our broken engagement. I’d left her to endure the onslaught of questions and insinuations by her family and friends as they snapped open the headlines and came at her, saying, This mass murderer, this sicko. He’s your boyfriend’s brother, isn’t he?
All those bodies left behind in Collie’s wake, but the only one that meant anything to her would be ours, the one that hadn’t come to full term, which she’d lost without anyone knowing, without anyone to console her. Not even me.
With a sharp tug I angled the rearview mirror so I could see them in it. See myself with them. I ran different scenarios. I saw other ways to impress myself upon the world. I could ease out of the car, move across the lawn as if it had been me who spent a thousand hours pushing the mower back and forth, using the edger to trim the borders, the way my father did, the way Chub did. Drop him with a shot to the kidneys. Kneel before the baby and hand her a teddy bear, get her to giggle, draw her into my arms. Lift her up and move to Kimmy, then press my forehead to hers, smell the loam, taste her life. Turn my back to Chub coughing in the grass and dream him gone. It’s what we all did when we wanted something badly enough. Let the irrational thoughts slip through, the idea that by sheer force of belief we could make things change, adjust, divert, back up. It’s what a thief does in the shadows, willing himself to vanish.
Step inside with my family and put the baby in her crib and take Kimmy by the hand to the bedroom and love her the way I would’ve if I hadn’t run away in my weakness and fear. I clutched the door handle until my fingers were white and cramped. I forced myself to let go. I cocked the rearview mirror back to where it belonged. When I looked over again, the front lawn was empty except for one pink barrette and the plastic bowl, tilted on its side.
8
The screw whose house I’d crept made me go through the same regimen as the day before. I spoke my true name. He led me to the small side room where I was frisked. He was a little rougher this time and clenched my nuts hard enough to make me grunt. Again I was politely asked if I would voluntarily succumb to a strip search.
I thought, I know what your wife’s lingerie looks like. Youust fix Tl drove to work today without a license, without any credit cards in case of an emergency.
He repeated the question.
I told him to fuck himself.
Instead of telling me to leave, the screw moved me along.
I was led to the visiting room full of long tables that Collie had pointed out to me yesterday, where we could talk face-to-face. It was rough enough talking to my brother on a phone with reinforced glass between us. I wasn’t sure I wanted to get so close to him.
The screw held me in place with his palm against my chest. I could see Collie seated across from a woman who was talking animatedly. Pages of open books and legal pads in front of her flipped to and fro. She tapped them angrily. When she tossed her head a lash of glossy black hair whipped through the air. She wore a dark business suit with killer heels and glasses with thin black frames that accentuated the sharp Asian angles of her face. No matter how she turned I couldn’t see her eyes, only the glowing reflection of the ceiling lights in her lenses. Collie looked cowed, his chin down like he was a berated child. I thought, What in the fuck. I’d never seen my brother shrink like that before. It simultaneously elated and unnerved me.
“Don’t shake his hand,” the screw told me. “Don’t pass him anything or take anything offered.”
“Right.”
Three minutes later the woman gathered up her belongings and packed them into a briefcase. She leaned in to say goodbye to him and their lips met briefly. She pushed her seat back and moved to the door. It opened and she walked past me. She stepped like a thief, her footsteps silent.
I was ushered in. Collie stood and sort of jumped forward just to spook the screw. It worked. The tension thickened. Then Collie let loose with a laugh. The sound of the door slamming and the lock turning bothered me worse than it had yesterday.
Collie gripped me in a bear hug.
“We’re not supposed to touch,” I said.
“I’m going to die in less than two weeks. If I want to hug my own brother I goddamn will.” He pushed me off, took me by the shoulders. “Thanks for coming back. I knew you would.”