“Do you mean like childhood?”

“I mean exactly like childhood.”

“We used to be close.”

“And that stopped when?”

“Look, Jean, what’s the point of all this?”

“When did it change?”

“I don’t know, all right? I don’t know.”

“Jesus, Work. You can be really dense sometimes. It changed overnight. It changed on the day we jumped for Jimmy. Before that, you were a chip off the old block, but then you went into that creek. After that, everything changed between you. I never understood why, not then. But I’ve thought about it, and I think I do now.”

I didn’t want to hear any more. The truth was too ugly; it never shut up, and this is what it said. It said that my father sensed something different about me after that day. He felt the change, and knew to be ashamed of me, even if he didn’t know exactly why. It said that he could never respect me after that. He smelled my degradation like old garbage, and so he turned away. Even now I know that he died despising me.

I finally looked at my sister, expecting to see some small shadow of the same emotion.

“You know?” I asked.

“You started that day a boy, Work, Ezra’s little boy-a reflection of him, perhaps, but no more than that. Something he could look down on with vague pride, point to, and say, That’s my son; that’s my boy. But you came out of that hole a man, a hero, a person everyone looked up to, and he couldn’t handle that. You were the center of attention, not him, and he hated that, hated it enough to grind you down and keep you down, so that you would never surpass him like that again. That’s when it changed for you and that’s why it changed.”

“I don’t know, Jean.”

“How many grown men do you think would have gone down that hole all alone? Not many, I can tell you that, and certainly not our father. I saw his face when they pulled you out and the crowd started cheering.”

“They cheered?” I asked.

“Of course they did.”

“I don’t remember that,” I said, and didn’t. I remembered scornful eyes, ridicule, and pointing fingers. I remembered Ezra, drunk and telling my mother that I was just a dumbass kid. “He’s no fucking hero.” That’s what he’d said.

“Vanessa Stolen would probably have died that day, raped and killed at fifteen. How many twelve-year-old boys have saved a life? How many grown men? It’s a rare thing, and it took courage. Only our father could make you blind to that, but that’s what he did, and he did it intentionally.”

Her words were destroying me. I was no hero. He’d been right about that. But what she said next penetrated some of the fog that filled my mind.

“Ezra brought you into the practice to keep you beneath him.”

“What?”

“You’re not cut out to be a lawyer, Work. You’re smart as hell, no question, but you’re a dreamer. You have a big heart. Nobody knew that better than Ezra. He knew that you could never be cutthroat like he could, and you would never care about money like he did; that meant that you could never succeed like he had. Having you in the law kept Ezra safe. As long as you were there, you would never be the man that he was. Never as strong, never as confident.” She paused and leaned toward me. “Never a threat.”

“Do you really believe that?” I asked.

“Trust me.”

“None of that lets me off the hook, though. I still owe you.”

“You just don’t get it, do you? He treated you worse than he ever treated me. For me, it was simple misogyny. I was female and therefore of little value. But for you, it was personal. He waged a campaign against you, Work. He went to war, and no one can do that like our father could. Good or bad, he was a force.” She laughed again, a bitter and dismayed sound. “You talk about protecting me from him. Jesus, Work. You never had a chance.”

“Maybe,” I said. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“You do that,” she said. “He’s dead. Don’t let him drag you down any further.”

Suddenly, I was too tired to talk about Ezra anymore. It would probably take years to sort out the mess he’d made of my head, but the carnage seemed less absolute. And maybe Jean was right. Maybe I needed to give myself a break. I was only twelve when it happened, and that seemed terribly young to me now.

“I’m going to miss you, Jean.”

She stood and put her hand on my shoulder. “You were going to go to prison for me, Work. That makes you a very good man. Better than anyone I’ve ever known. You remember that when things get you down.”

“I love you, Jean.”

“I love you, too,” she replied. “And that’s what family is supposed to be about.” She crossed the room and stopped at the door. She opened it and looked back. “I’ll call you when we get where we’re going.”

Then she stepped out of the room, and as the door swung shut, I saw Alex materialize beside her. She slipped her arm around my sister and turned her down the hall. I watched until the door closed between us, and saw, in that last second, that Jean was crying; but it was a good cry, a healthy cry, and I knew that when they found their place, she would call. I took great comfort in that.

I was packing my few belongings the next day when Max appeared in the door of my room. He looked exactly the same.

“You want your dog back?” he asked without preamble.

“Yes,” I said.

“Damn!” he said, and walked off. I heard his raised voice from down the hall. “You come to me when you want him. Maybe I’ll let him go, maybe not, but we’ll have beer regardless.”

I laughed for the first time.

An hour later, I went home to a house that rattled when I walked inside. I wouldn’t miss it, I knew, but I took a beer onto the front porch and sat where I liked to sit. I watched the sun descend on the park across the street. It touched the treetops and I thought about another beer. But I didn’t get up, and the sun went down as I watched. I sat there long into the night and listened to the sounds around me. They were comfortable sounds, city sounds, and I wondered if I would miss them.

The next day, they’d put Ezra in the ground, and once he was there, I planned to seek out Vanessa. I would say what I had to say, make whatever promises were necessary. I wanted her back, if she would have me, but only after the truth was told. If I had to beg, I would. That was the curse of clarity, and the price I would happily pay. For I saw things now like I never had before. I was ready to make my own path, but I wanted her to walk it with me; I wanted to make the life I should have had all along.

So when the sun came up the next day, I took my time in shaving. I brushed my teeth and I combed my hair. I put on my favorite jeans and a pair of sturdy boots. The funeral was at ten, but I had no plans to go. Jean said it best, really, when I asked her if she would attend.

“He died for me that night, Work. Like I’ve always said. They can’t bury him any deeper.”

I did drive past the church, however, and I saw the long black car that would carry him to the hole they’d dug. And when they came out, I was still there. Maybe I wasn’t like Jean; maybe I needed to see. But whatever the reason, I followed the line of cars to the cemetery outside of town. When they turned in the main gate, I continued past. I found the feeder road that ran along the ridge and drove until I found a place where I could watch. There was a tall tree there, and I leaned against its dimpled trunk and looked down on the gray mourners as they departed their expensive cars. They puddled around the rectangular pit, which looked so small from where I stood, and I saw a man, probably the preacher. He held out his arms as if for silence, but his words were lost in a sudden wind, which was just as well. For what could he say to make it right for me?

I stayed until they shoveled in the dirt, and when all were gone, I walked down to look upon the settling mound. There was no headstone yet, but I knew what it would say. They’d come to me for the words, and I’d done the best I could.