The Favor Read online

  Gabe sat next to his brother, close enough that their knees touched. He could’ve taken the gun, but he didn’t. He simply sat, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. Their feet, next to one another, were the same size, and he couldn’t remember when the hell that had happened.

  They sat in silence long enough for the night to fully arrive and the first few stars to come out. Gabe took a cigarette from his breast pocket, tucked it between his lips. The Zippo in his pocket was heavy, and heavier in his palm when he took it out to flip open the lid. He lit the flame, which was set too high. The afterimage of the flames stayed with him when he closed the lid and blinked against the sudden dark.

  “I told Bennett he should go home, watch some TV,” Andy said. “That I’d be there in a few minutes to hang out with him, we could maybe play some of that new Sky Shooter game.”

  He lifted the gun from his knee, letting it dangle from his finger. Then he opened the cylinder and emptied the bullets from inside. They clattered onto the concrete steps below his feet. He handed the gun to Gabe, who took it and set it to the side.

  “I sent him home f-f-first,” Andy said, and took a breath to stop the stutter. He looked at the sky. “I made sure he wasn’t there. And that he was okay, I made sure he was okay, Gabe. And he was. When I came in and saw them, saw the old man putting his hand on his shoulder like that, that look on his face, that smile, I thought, No. Not the kid. Not the kid, too. Do you know why I thought that, Gabe?”

  “Yeah, Andy. I do.”

  Andy shuddered. He rubbed his face with both hands. He bent forward to press his cheeks against his knees, but only for a moment before he sat up again. He looked at his brother. “Me, too. I remember. I remember...not everything. But enough, I think.”

  “I’m sorry, Andy.”

  Andy nodded, once. “I think I didn’t want to remember, not for a long time. But when I saw him with Bennett, I couldn’t afford to keep forgetting.”

  Gabe had no answer for this. So he did what he thought he should’ve done years and years ago, when he had the chance to make things different. He put his arm around his brother’s shoulders and held him tight. Andy buried his face in Gabe’s neck and clung to him, his skin hot. But only for a couple seconds. Then he took a long, deep breath, sat up straight and looked Gabe in the eyes.

  “I could’ve done it,” he said. “This time, I really could’ve. But I didn’t.”

  Then they sat in silence again for a long time.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  NAN WAS GONE.

  There was grief, but there was no denying there was also relief. Janelle had slept through the night without interruption every night for the past week, and that simple, human luxury had made all the difference. She woke now without an alarm.

  The family would be descending on her in a few hours. There’d be food and laughter and no small amount of tears. She had envelopes of photos to distribute, along with a list Nan had left for specific items she wanted given to certain people. Janelle sat, stretched. Swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the bare floor cool under her toes, though the day would get much hotter.

  She looked through the window next door, but the curtains were drawn, the way they’d been for the past week. She’d seen Andy at Nan’s funeral. He’d been at the church and the meal in the social hall after. He’d hugged her hard, his eyes bright, and had ruffled Bennett’s hair. She hadn’t seen Gabe since the night Nan died and he’d told her everything.

  Showered and dressed, she checked on Bennett, who was still sleeping. It was summer, and he’d been up late playing his video games the night before. He’d grown, she thought as her gaze traced the familiar lines and curves of his face. He would always keep growing.

  Downstairs, Janelle made a pot of coffee and pulled a plastic bag of Nan’s cinnamon rolls from the freezer. She defrosted one and tucked the rest back behind the frozen peas and broccoli, where nobody would find them. She had three dozen of Nan’s rolls, and she intended to make them last as long as she could. Eyes closed, Janelle savored the sweet icing and let herself mourn.

  She didn’t open her eyes at the click of the back door opening, but she knew who it was. Not Andy. Not Gabe.

  “Dad,” she said quietly.

  Time had been harsh. He still wore his hair long, but it had gone thin and mostly gray, the ponytail at the back of his neck straggly. Lines had carved themselves into his forehead, and bracketed his mouth and nose. His shoulders were a little hunched, though his clothes—a pair of faded jeans, cowboy boots and a faded black concert T-shirt—were the same as she remembered. His smile hadn’t changed much, but it faded quickly when she didn’t return it.

  “Your uncle Bobby said you’re all getting together today.”

  “He invited you?”

  Her dad had the grace to look a little uncomfortable. “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.” Janelle gestured at the coffeepot. “You want some coffee before you leave?”

  His mouth opened, eyebrows going up. “Janny. C’mon.”

  Janelle cupped the mug, warming her hands and sipping at the fragrant liquid. Steam bathed her face. She looked at him without smiling. Without blinking. Without much of anything.

  “I can understand why you might hate me,” her dad began, but stopped when she gave her head a minute shake.

  “I don’t hate you, Dad.”

  “I’ve let you down. I know it. But, Janny...I really want to—”

  She held up a hand then. “You can stop. Just stop, okay? You’re not going to change. You’re not going to say anything to make up for all the years you let me down or broke your promises, all this time when you simply just didn’t give enough of a damn to be around. You can’t make it up. Ever.”

  Her dad took a step back, hands on his hips. “That’s harsh.”

  She shrugged.

  “I have a right to be here today,” he said, his voice a little ragged. “Bobby said you’ve got a list Mom left, of things she wanted given out.”

  “You’re not on it.”

  This seemed to hit him harder than anything else she’d said. He took another step back, this time to put a hand up in the doorway. His shoulders hunched farther. He hung his head.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  She shrugged again.

  He looked up at her, mouth thin. “I grew up in this house, Janelle.”

  “From what I understand, you took what you wanted from it already.” Her chin lifted, the coffee slopping a little when her hands shook. She gripped the mug harder to quell it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her in any way distraught. “There’s nothing here for you.”

  Her father shook his head. “That’s not true.”

  “Oh, I think it is,” she said. “You’re not on Nan’s list or in her will, and I’m pretty sure your brothers won’t be in favor of giving you anything but a boot to the ass on the way out.”

  “I’m not talking about stuff,” he said finally, running his hand over his straggly hair. “I’m talking about...you. And my grandson. I’d really like a chance to get to know him, Janny. A chance to get to know you again, too. Can’t you... Jesus. Can’t you just find it in yourself to forgive me?”

  She had, she realized, forgiven him a long time ago. But forgetting was something else. When she didn’t reply, her father let out an exasperated sigh.

  “I’m your father.”

  “Which doesn’t mean very much, at the end of the day,” she said calmly. “I wish you the best, Dad, but you don’t get to waltz in and out whenever you feel like it. That’s not how it works. Not for me, and certainly not for Bennett.”

  “You won’t even give me a chance,” he said sullenly.

  Janelle gripped her mug hard enough to turn her knuckles white. “You’ve had your chances, plenty of them. You had your chance when I was a kid, and when you told me you were going to come visit Nan and you didn’t show up. You don’t get a chance to mess with my kid’s life. Period. You don’t deserve him.”