“Damn, Jamie. When did you get huge?”

He curled his arms and studied the muscles with obvious pride. “Gotta have the guns, baby. You know how it is. But look at you. You haven’t changed at all.” He gestured at my face. “Somebody kicked your ass, I see, but other than that you could have walked out of here yesterday.”

I fingered the stitches.

“Is that local?” he asked.

“Zebulon Faith.”

“That old bastard?”

“And two of his boys.”

He nodded, eyelids drooping. “Wish I’d been there.”

“Next time,” I said.

“Hey, does Dad know you’re back?”

“He’s heard. We haven’t spoken yet.”

“Unreal.”

I held out my hand. “Good to see you, Jamie.”

His hand swallowed mine. “Fuck that,” he said, and pulled me into a bear hug that was ninety percent painful backslapping.

“Hey, you want a beer?” He gestured toward the kitchen.

“You have the time?”

“What’s the point of being the boss if you can’t sit in the shade and drink a beer with your brother? Am I right?”

I thought about keeping my mouth shut, but I could still see the migrants, sweating in the sun-scorched fields. “Someone should be with the crews.”

“I’ve only been gone an hour. The crews are fine.”

“They’re your responsibility-”

Jamie dropped a hand on my shoulder. “Adam, you know that I’m happy to see you, right? But I’ve been out from under your shadow for a long time. You did a good job when you were here. No one would deny that. But I manage the daily operations now. You would be wrong to show up all of a sudden and expect everybody to bow down to you. This is my deal. Don’t tell me how to run it.” He squeezed my shoulder with steel fingers. They found the bruises and burrowed in. “That would be a problem for us, Adam. I don’t want there to be a problem for us.”

“Okay, Jamie. I get your point.”

“Good,” he said. “That’s just fine.” He turned for the kitchen and I followed him. “What kind of beer do you like? I’ve got all different kinds.”

“Whatever,” I said. “You pick.” He opened the refrigerator. “Where is everybody?” I asked.

“Dad’s in Winston for something. Mom and Miriam have been in Colorado. I think that they were supposed to fly in yesterday and spend the night in Charlotte.” He smiled and nudged me. “A couple of squaws off shopping. They’ll probably be home late.”

“Colorado?”

“Yeah, for a couple of weeks. Mom took Miriam to some fat farm out there. Costs a fortune, but hey, not my call, you know.” He turned with two beers in his hands.

“Miriam has never been overweight,” I said.

Jamie shrugged. “A health spa, then. Mud baths and eel grass. I don’t know. This is a Belgian one, some kind of lager, I think. And this is an English stout. Which one?”

“The lager.”

He opened it and handed it to me. Took a pull on his own. “The porch?” he asked.

“Yeah. The porch.”

He went through the door first, and when I emerged into the heat behind him, I found him leaning against our father’s post with a proprietary air. A knowing glint appeared in his eyes, and his smile thinned into a statement.

“Cheers,” he said.

“Sure, Jamie. Cheers.”

The bottles clinked, and we drank our beer in the still and heavy air. “Cops know you’re back?” Jamie asked.

“They know.”

“Jesus.”

“Screw ’em,” I said.

At one point, Jamie raised his arm, made a muscle and pointed at his bicep.

“Twenty-three inches,” he said.

“Nice,” I told him.

“Guns, baby.”

Rivers find the low ground-it is what they are made to do-and looking over the one that defined our border I thought that maybe the talent had rubbed off on my brother. He talked about money he’d spent and about the girls he’d laid. He counted them up for me, a slew of them. Our conversation did not venture beyond that until he asked about the reason for my return. The question came at the end of his second beer, and he slipped it in like it meant nothing. But his eyes couldn’t lie. It was all he cared about.

Was I back for good?

I told him the truth as I knew it: doubtful.

To his credit, he covered his relief well. “Are you sticking around for dinner?” he asked, draining the beer.

“Do you think that I should?”

He scratched at his thinning hair. “It might be easier with just Dad here. I think he’ll forgive you for what happened, but Mom won’t be happy. There’s no lie in that.”

“I’m not here to ask for forgiveness.”

“Damn, Adam, let’s not start this up again. Dad had to choose a side. He could believe you or he could believe Mom, but he couldn’t believe both of you.”

“This is still my family, Jamie, even after all that’s happened. She can’t very well tell me to stay away.”

Jamie’s eyes grew suddenly sympathetic. “She’s scared of you, Adam.”

“This is my home.” The words sounded hollow. “I was acquitted.”

Jamie rolled massive shoulders. “Your call, bro. It’ll be interesting either way. I’m just glad to have a front-row seat.”

His smile was patently false; but he was trying. “You’re such an ass, Jamie.”

“Don’t hate me ’cause I’m beautiful.”

“Tomorrow night, then. May as well do it all at once.” But that was only part of it. I was feeling the pain, a profound ache that still had room to grow. I thought of Robin’s dark bedroom, and then of my father and the note he had been unable to complete. The time would be good for everyone.

“So, how’s Dad?’ I asked.

“Ah, he’s bulletproof. You know how he is.”

“Not anymore,” I said, but Jamie ignored me. “I’m going to walk down to the river, then I’ll be out of here. Tell Dad that I’m sorry I missed him.”

“Say hello to Grace,” he said.

“She’s down there?”

“Every day. Same time.”

I’d thought a lot about Grace, but was less sure of how to approach her than anyone else. She was two years old when she came to live with Dolf, still a child when I’d left, too young for any kind of explanation. For thirteen years I’d been a large part of her world, and leaving her alone is what felt most like a betrayal. All of my letters had come back unopened. Eventually, I’d stopped sending them.

“How is she?” I asked, trying not to show how much the answer mattered.

Jamie shook his head. “She’s a wild Indian, no mistake, but she always has been. She’s not going to college, looks like. She’s working odd jobs, hanging around the farm, living off the fat of the land.”

“Is she happy?”

“She should be. She’s the hottest thing in three counties.”

“Is that right?” I asked.

“Hell, I’d fuck her.” He winked at me, not seeing how close he was to a beating. I told myself that he meant nothing by it. He was just being a smart-ass. He’d forgotten how much I loved Grace. How protective of her I’d always been.

He wasn’t trying to start something.

“Good to see you, Jamie.” I dropped a hand on the hard lump of his shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

He folded his massive frame into the pickup truck. “Tomorrow night,” he said, and jolted off toward the fields. From the porch I saw his arm appear as he draped it through the window. Then he tossed a wave, and I knew that he was watching me in the rearview mirror. I stepped onto the lawn and watched until he was gone. Then I turned down the hill.

Grace and I had been close. Maybe it was that day on the riverbank, when I’d held her, wailing, as my father hammered Dolf into the dirt for letting her wander off. Or the long walk back to the house, as my words finally calmed her. Maybe it was the smile she’d given me, or the desperate grip around my neck when I’d tried to put her down. Whatever the case, we’d bonded; and I’d watched with pride as she took the farm by storm. It was as if that plunge in the river had marked her, for she was fearless. She could swim the river by age five, ride bareback by seven. At ten, she could handle my father’s horse, a big, nasty brute that scared everyone but the old man. I taught her how to shoot and how to fish. She’d ride the tractor with me, beg to drive one of the farm trucks, then squeal with laughter when I let her. She was wild by nature, and often returned from school with blood on her cheek and tales of some boy who’d made her angry.