The Favor

  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.”
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  “Something came up. I had every intention of visiting her,” he started. The same old song and dance, the same shifty eyes, the same swipe of his hand over his mouth to show he was telling a truth only he believed.

  “And now she’s dead, and you’ll never get a chance to make it up to her,” Janelle cried, then bit her tongue to finish calmly. “It’s too late, so spare me the excuses, okay?”

  “But it’s not too late for us,” her dad said.

  There had been times in her life when this tender scene would’ve ended differently, with the pair of them falling into each other’s arms and sobbing happily as they reconciled. Other times when he’d have been lucky to get out of the kitchen without a steak knife hurtling after him. But now...now all she felt was...

  “Nothing,” Janelle said. “There is nothing you can give me or that I want or need from you. And there is nothing I want or need to give you. That includes my son.”

  Her father said nothing, maybe shocked into silence, or for once in his life admitting his faults.

  “You should go,” she told him. “You should go now.”

  He did.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  JANELLE HAD PACKED the basket carefully. A few of Nan’s cinnamon rolls, wrapped in foil. A bucket of fried chicken with all the side dishes, including biscuits. For dessert, an apple pie she’d picked up at The Pit Stop. A small cooler bag in her other hand clinked with icy bottles of beer.

  It wasn’t meant as a seduction, but she wasn’t sure she’d turn it down if one came her way.

  The drive to the cabin seemed shorter than it had before, maybe because at every curve she was sure she’d turn the car around. She didn’t, though. She kept driving, and wasn’t that the best metaphor for life she’d ever thought of? No matter how many curves in the road or how many times you wanted to turn around, you just kept driving?

  By the time she pulled up the grassy lane, past the metal gate hanging open, and beyond the marshy spot that threatened to snag her tires, she’d already gone over the scene a thousand times in her mind. What she’d say. What he’d say. How she’d offer him a beer and take one for herself, tipping them together casually, as if nothing much mattered, just two old friends sharing a drink while they talked—or didn’t talk—about the past.

  Of course, that wasn’t what happened. When she parked the car and took the rest of the trip on foot, carefully picking her way along the path, which was much clearer and easier to navigate than it had been before, all Janelle could think about was making sure she didn’t drop anything. It was easier to focus on the weight of her physical burdens than the mental ones.

  Gabe was outside when she came through the trees. A ladder leaned against the cabin, and he was on top of it, hammering up a line of shingled siding. He wore a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that clung to him with sweat, his mouth full of nails, a tool belt hanging low on his hips. He didn’t turn when she came into the clearing, though he’d probably heard the car.

  Janelle, mindful that she didn’t want him falling off the ladder, stepped carefully across soft grass that looked as though it had been planted. A lot had changed. The fire pit was in the same place, but looked neater, the weeds around it pulled away and a set of low benches made from logs and split-rail fencing taking the place of the battered lawn chairs she remembered. The yard itself had also been cleared of debris, leaving what would never quite be a lawn, but a space that could easily accommodate a horseshoe pit and a volleyball net.

  The cabin itself looked more like a house now than a ramshackle hut. Real windows, a real door, even a small front porch with an overhang and two concrete steps replacing the sagging wooden ones. The shingled siding, too, gave the building a more finished look. Through the open door she could glimpse the space she remembered as an open living room and kitchen, now furnished with real furniture.

  “What do you think?” Gabe asked without turning around, his voice muffled. He paused to take the last nail from his mouth, and hammered it into place. “Looks good, huh?”

  “It looks great.” Janelle set down her basket and the cooler, but didn’t move closer.

  Gabe came down the ladder and grabbed up a bottle of water from the ground, twisting the top and taking a long pull on it as he stood beside her to stare at his handiwork. “Thanks.”

  “I brought beer,” she offered. “Food, too.”

  “Bring it inside,” Gabe said. “I have a table.”

  He did. And chairs. And a couch, a love seat, a chair, a rug. A woodstove. In the kitchen, a fridge and oven, a sink.

  “Propane and solar panels,” he explained as Janelle set out the food. “And a water tank. I collect rainwater, but also can have the fire department come out with the pumper truck and get a fill-up that will last me for the summer. I’ll dig a well at some point. But for now, I can take showers and brush my teeth. That’s what counts.”

  Janelle cracked open a beer and handed it to him, then took one for herself. “You’ve done an amazing job. I’m so impressed.”

  “Thanks.” He hesitated, sipping his beer, then sounded almost shy when he said, “I’m being interviewed for Sufficiency magazine. You won’t have heard of it. They feature articles on homes people build off the grid. And...I have a job offer to go out to Oregon and help some rich old guy build what’s essentially a glorified tree house.”

  Janelle didn’t know what to say. “Wow.”

  He grinned. “Yeah. I know, right? Crazy. But he’s got the money. He thinks I have the skills. So, I’m going for it. If it works out, I’ll probably be able to do more work like that.”

  “I’m...just, wow. Wow, Gabe.” She shook her head, sipped more beer. “I’m really happy for you. Proud of you.”

  “Thanks.” He stared at her for a long moment. “You know Andy moved down to Pittsburgh. He’s going to school there. Just community college, but if his grades are good enough, he’s going to keep going. He wants to teach math.”

  “He’ll be good at it.” Janelle pulled out a carton of coleslaw and a package of paper plates, making her hands busy so she could focus on that rather than looking at his face. “He’s close to Michael?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s good,” she said.

  Gabe said nothing.

  Janelle looked up. He stared. She put down the plates, the food. She wanted to open her arms and hug him, but all she could do was stand there.

  “How’s Bennett?”

  “He’s fine.” She shook her head a little. “Enjoying the summer. He’s visiting my mom for a couple weeks.”

  Gabe laughed a little. “Just like you used to do with your grandma.”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “She’s glad to have him.”

  Another heartbeat or two of silence. Gabe finished his beer and set the empty bottle on the counter, then leaned against it with one leg crossed over the other at the ankle. Janelle put her hand on the back of the chair, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

  “I should’ve said something. Back then,” she said. “I think I always knew.”

  Gabe cleared his throat. “It wasn’t your fault, Janelle.”

  “No. It wasn’t. But I might’ve been able to help somehow.”

  “You did,” he told her. “Don’t you get that? You did help.”

  She ran her fingertip along the carved wooden chair, having so much to say and not sure where to begin. “You know my dad came around after Nan died. He wanted to make amends, though I’m sure he just wanted to feel better about himself. And I could’ve just pushed aside everything that had happened and let him pretend he really wanted to become part of my life, of Bennett’s life. I could’ve put the past in the past and let him back in. But I didn’t, because even though he’s my dad, there’s no place in my life for him. I can forgive him for all the times he let me down, but I don’t have to keep letting him do it. Sometimes, things get broken and you don’t fix them, you know?”

  “I know.”

  “But...you...” She shook her head, no
t sure how to say everything she’d been mulling over for the past few weeks as she went to bed every night, hoping for a glimpse beyond the closed curtains of the room next door and never getting one. The lights were on, but she never saw inside. “You’re still living there. With him.”

  “He doesn’t have anyone else, and he can’t take care of himself.”

  “Still,” Janelle said softly. “How can you?”

  “Because he doesn’t have anyone else,” Gabe said. “Because whatever I could do or say to him is not nearly as bad as what he does to himself every single day. That man hates himself.”

  “Maybe he should,” Janelle whispered.

  Gabe laughed, low. “Yeah. He should. And he does.”

  “Do you forgive him?”

  “No,” Gabe said.

  Janelle paused. “Does Andy? Does Michael?”

  “Michael has to, that’s his job. But no, not Andy. When he remembered... Well, it really set him back for a while. But he’s getting better,” Gabe said. “That’s all anyone can really do, right?”

  “And you? Are you getting better?”

  He didn’t answer right away. Outside, a bird chirped. The wind soughed through the trees, rustling the leaves.

  “Yeah,” Gabe said finally. “I am.”

  This time, she held out her hand to him, and Gabe took it. They moved together across the bare wooden floor. She pulled him to her, or he pulled her; it didn’t matter. All that counted was that they met each other someplace in the middle.

  “Me, too,” Janelle said. “Me, too.”

  * * * * *

  Questions for Discussion

  Like Janelle, many young people feel the desire to move away from their hometowns and never come back. Why do you think this is such a common feeling?

  Janelle decides to live with her grandmother for many reasons, not all of them noble. Did it make a difference as to how you felt about her character that she’s a little selfish in her desire to come back “home” after so long?