Now
“That was a good picture of Caleb,” Derek says, surprising me. “I didn’t know Mom even had any pictures, much less a good one.” He looks at me. “That was the first you knew his name? When you saw it in the paper?”
The little finger on my left hand is still cushioned between the blades of the garden shears. But Derek has let up on the pressure. “No, it was when Detective Fyfe told me,” I say, hearing the tremble in my voice. “But…seeing it in the paper like that made it more…”
“Real?” he finishes for me after I hesitate.
After a moment, I nod.
He leans back, pulling the garden shears from my finger, which allows me to breathe a little easier. “I read that article,” he says. “The writing sucked. He waits till the end to tell everyone that my brother was only thirteen. Like it doesn’t matter. What it said about your father… That really happened? Your father died saving that girl?”
“Yes,” I say, my voice a hoarse whisper.
“Did he really put his gun down?”
“That’s what they say.”
“That’s rough. You taking over for him like that, that’s not easy. Guess you really love your brother to be willing to do that.”
“Yes.” Where the hell is he going with this?
“I loved my brother too, you know,” Derek continues. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t.”
I don’t say anything.
“You want some more water?”
“Please.”
Derek goes to get it and gives it to me the same as before.
“Better?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say. Then I add, “Thank you.”
He tosses the empty cup to the side and sits back down. “Sounds like your dad was really into your brother playing baseball. All that attention he gave him… Must’ve made you jealous.”
“No,” I say, hesitating. “Not at all.”
“Come on. I can hear it in your voice.”
“No, really. It just…”
“Just what?” he asks.
“We were different.”
“Yeah. He was the favorite son and you weren’t. Seems pretty straightforward to me. Happens all the time in families. Not your fault you weren’t the athlete your dad wanted.”
“I…I tried…”
“To be an athlete? Play baseball?”
I nod.
“But you gave it up.”
“Yes.”
“How old were you?”
I look at him. “Ten.”
“So you were already a disappointment to your dad before your brother started playing baseball.”
I open my mouth, then close it.
“Clearly you didn’t measure up to the vision Daddy had of the perfect son. Thank God he had Devon, huh?”
“Please stop it.”
“Doesn’t that piss you off?”
“I told you!” I snap. “We were just different. Had different interests.”
Derek stares at me. “Okay, I’ll bite. What were you interested in?”
After a moment, I tell him, “School choir.”
He almost smiles. “Really? You liked to sing?”
“Yeah.”
“Were you any good?”
I don’t answer.
“Did your dad like to watch you sing in the choir?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head. “You answered that kind of quick. Maybe too quick. You still in choir now?”
I hesitate. “No.”
“Why?”
“I stopped.”
“You mean you had to stop. To take care of your brother. Did you want to?”
“It was no big deal.”
“That’s not my question. Did you want to stop?” He leans in, waving the garden shears in front of me. “The truth, remember?”
When I don’t respond, he lays the flat part of the shears onto my left hand.
“No,” I answer finally, my voice a harsh whisper.
“Right,” he says, pulling back. “Anything for your brother. Don’t talk about what you want, only talk about what little brother wants. Even the last conversation you had with your dad… That’s a shame. Really.”
I look at him. “What are you talking about?”
Derek looks at me. “It was your last special walk with Daddy before he was killed, and what does he talk about? Your brother. How he’s going to get better and better. How great it is he’s going to get to play fall ball. What a great kid he is, blah blah blah. I’ll bet he did that a lot on your special walks.”
“Wait a minute, that’s not—”
“And then to make things worse, he got himself killed protecting some kid he doesn’t even know, leaving you to hold the bag to do his job. Take care of your brother. Make sure his baseball career’s going okay. What a bastard.”
“Stop it!” I blurt out. “He’s not… You don’t have the right—”
“I have every right!” Derek suddenly shouts, his spittle dotting my face. “Your brother’s alive. Mine isn’t. Because you killed him. That gives me the right to say what the hell I want!” He grabs hold of my little finger again with the blades of the garden shears.
I feel them pressing again. Glancing down, I can see where blood has started to trickle out from under the blades.
“I’m in control! We talk about what I want to talk about! You were jealous of your brother. Mad at your dad. Mad at him even now, right? Truth, remember? You know the penalty if you lie. The man’s using his private time with you, his oldest son, to talk about Devon. Then he dies saving another kid’s life. Where did you fit in? When were you going to get your moment? When were you going to become important enough for him to—”
All at once, he starts to cough. It doesn’t last as long this time. When he’s finished, he leans back, even pulling the garden shears away.
I should keep my mouth shut, but I can’t. “What do you care? Why is it so important to you?”
I don’t know how he’s going to react, and I shut my eyes. When nothing happens, I open them to find him staring at me.
After a long silence, he sighs. “Fathers,” he mutters. “They can be a pain sometimes. You should have met my dad; he was a real prick. You’re not the only one who had to watch over a younger brother…” He falters.
I wait, expecting him to continue. He says nothing for a long time. I hate this silence game. Am I supposed to say something now? He’s holding the shears in his lap. Maybe he’s had a change of heart. Maybe…
And just like that, the blades slide easily back into place.