THREE
* * *
I drive him out of town, out of Glenoak. He doesn't say much, but he doesn't have to. The facade is gone, vanished, the stiff, confident, smug face he wears for the world disappearing as we clear the city limits. It isn't Kevin the policeman anymore, not Kevin the rugged, quiet, polite man with all the answers. He's my brother now; he knows I can see through the lies he wears and so he lets them down.
Just a little boy in a policeman's outfit.
I find a side road, pull off, park the car. I open my door. He doesn't move.
"Come on," I say to him.
"I don't want to," he says softly.
"We need to talk," I say. "It'll get too hot in the car."
"Don't care."
I reach over, touch him gently on the shoulder. The fabric of his uniform shirt is stiff, a bit coarse.
"Come on, Kev. You know it's important."
He tenses, shakes his head. He looks very small.
In time he climbs out. I lock the car and we walk across a nearby field to sit under the shade of an old tree.
"How've you been?" I ask him.
"Fine."
I sit down next to him. I've heard that men don't like to look you in the eye when they talk, but I wish, this time, that he would.
"I'm glad you sent Ben back to Buffalo," I say.
"I had to."
"Mom was laughing when she told me why he ran away."
He cracks a grin. "Like she's never seen one before."
"Must have been quite a sight, her walking in on him and Janice."
Ben. Ben doesn't know, never has.
Never will.
We sit silently for a while. A soft breeze rustles the leaves above us.
"You love her?" I ask gently. "You really love Lucy?"
He nods.
"Yeah."
"But she doesn't know."
"No," he says. "She doesn't have to."
"You're going to marry her, Kev. Doesn't she have a right to know?"
"No! She doesn't!" he shouts.
I don't react. I never have, never will. He gets angry like this sometimes, Kevin does, and I know he won't hurt me. Instead I just go silent. Instead I just remember.
Remember.
* * *
I drive him out of town, out of Glenoak. He doesn't say much, but he doesn't have to. The facade is gone, vanished, the stiff, confident, smug face he wears for the world disappearing as we clear the city limits. It isn't Kevin the policeman anymore, not Kevin the rugged, quiet, polite man with all the answers. He's my brother now; he knows I can see through the lies he wears and so he lets them down.
Just a little boy in a policeman's outfit.
I find a side road, pull off, park the car. I open my door. He doesn't move.
"Come on," I say to him.
"I don't want to," he says softly.
"We need to talk," I say. "It'll get too hot in the car."
"Don't care."
I reach over, touch him gently on the shoulder. The fabric of his uniform shirt is stiff, a bit coarse.
"Come on, Kev. You know it's important."
He tenses, shakes his head. He looks very small.
In time he climbs out. I lock the car and we walk across a nearby field to sit under the shade of an old tree.
"How've you been?" I ask him.
"Fine."
I sit down next to him. I've heard that men don't like to look you in the eye when they talk, but I wish, this time, that he would.
"I'm glad you sent Ben back to Buffalo," I say.
"I had to."
"Mom was laughing when she told me why he ran away."
He cracks a grin. "Like she's never seen one before."
"Must have been quite a sight, her walking in on him and Janice."
Ben. Ben doesn't know, never has.
Never will.
We sit silently for a while. A soft breeze rustles the leaves above us.
"You love her?" I ask gently. "You really love Lucy?"
He nods.
"Yeah."
"But she doesn't know."
"No," he says. "She doesn't have to."
"You're going to marry her, Kev. Doesn't she have a right to know?"
"No! She doesn't!" he shouts.
I don't react. I never have, never will. He gets angry like this sometimes, Kevin does, and I know he won't hurt me. Instead I just go silent. Instead I just remember.
Remember.