The Simple Truth

I thought you were sleeping, Josh said.

Cant.

Hows your heart feel?

My heart aint troubling me none. If I die, it aint go

Not unless its a bullet ripping through it.

Where we headed?

A little place in the middle of nowhere. I figure we stay there a bit, let things die down, and then we head out again when its dark. They probably think were shooting south, going for the Mexican border, so were going north to Pe

Sounds good.

Hey, you said Rayfield and that other sonofabitch

Tremaine. Old Vic.

Yeah, you said theyve been watching over you all this time. After all those years went by, how come they were still hanging in there? Didnt they figure if you remembered what happened you wouldve said something before now? Like maybe at your trial?

Been thinking about that. They maybe thought I couldnt remember nothing then, but maybe I might one day. Not that I could prove nothing, but just me saying stuff might get them in trouble or at least get people looking around. Easiest thing was to kill me. Believe me, they tried that, but it didnt work. Maybe they thought I was messing with em, playing dumb and hoping theyd give up the guard, and then I start talking. With them at the prison, they pretty much had me under their thumb. Read my mail, checked out people coming to see me. Anything look fu

I figured that. But I still got that letter from the Army in to you. I didnt know all this shit was going on, but I didnt want them having a look-see at it either.

The two stayed quiet for a while. Josh was naturally reserved and Rufus wasnt used to having anyone to talk to. The silence was both liberating and oppressive to him. He had a lot he wanted to say. During Joshs thirty-minute visits at the prison each month, he would talk and his brother would mostly listen, as though he sensed the accumulation of words, of thoughts in Rufuss head.

I dont think I ever asked you: You been back home?

Josh shifted in his seat. Home? What home?

Rufus started slightly. Where we was born, Josh!

Why the hell would I want to go back to that place?

Mommas grave is there, aint it? Rufus said quietly. Josh considered this for a moment and then nodded. Yeah, its there, all right. She owned the dirt, she had the burial insurance. They couldntnotbury her there, although they sure as hell tried.

Is it a nice grave? Whos keeping it up?

Look, Rufus, Mommas dead, okay? Long time now. Aint no way in hell shes knowing nothing about how her grave looks. And I aint going all the way down to damn Alabama to brush some leaves off the damn ground, not after what happened down there. Not after what that town done to the Harms family. I hope they all burn in hell for it, every last damn one of em. If there is a God, and I got me some big-ass doubts on that, then thats what the Big Man should do. If you want to worry about the dead, you go right ahead. Im go

Rufus continued to watch his brother. There is a God, he wanted to tell him. That same God had kept Rufus going all these years when he had wanted to just curl up and sink into oblivion. And one should respect the dead and their final resting place. If he lived through this, Rufus would go see to his mothers grave. They would meet up again. For all eternity.

I talk to God every day.

Josh grunted. Thats real good. Im glad Hes keeping company with somebody.

They fell silent until Josh said, Hey, what was the name of that fella come visit you?

Samuel Rider?

No, no, the young fella.

Harms thought for a moment. Michael somebody.

From the Supreme Court, you said? Rufus nodded. Well, they killed him. MichaelFiske.Anyway, I guess they killed him. Saw it on the TV right before I came to get you.

Rufus looked down. Damn. I figured that would happen.

Stupid thing he did, coming to the prison like that.

He was just trying to help me. Damn, Rufus said again, and then fell silent as the truck rolled on. ["C29"]CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

With Fiske directing her, Sara drove to his fathers neighborhood on the outskirts of Richmond and pulled into the gravel driveway. The grass was brown in spots after another heat- and humidity-filled Richmond summer, but fronting the house there were carefully tended flower beds that had benefited from consistent watering.

You grew up in this house?

Only house my parents have ever owned. Fiske looked around, shaking his head. I dont see his car.

Maybe its in the garage.

Theres no room. He was a mechanic for forty years, and accumulated a lot of junk. He parks in the driveway. He looked at his watch. Where the hell is he? He got out of the car. Sara did as well. He looked at her over the roof of the car. You can stay here if you want.

Ill come in with you, she said quickly. Fiske unlocked the front door and they went in. He turned on a light, and they moved through the small living room and into the adjacent dining room, where Sara stared at a collection of photos on the dining room table. There was one of Fiske in his football uniform; a little blood on the face, grass stains on the knees, sweaty. Very sexy. She caught herself and looked away, suddenly feeling guilty. She looked at some of the other pictures. You two played a lot of sports.

Mike was the natural athlete of the family. Every record I set, he broke. Easily.

Quite the jock family.

He was also valedictorian of his class, a GPA on the north side of four-point-oh, and a near-perfect score on the SATs and LSATs.

You sound like the proud big brother.

A lot of people were proud of him, Fiske said.

And you?

He looked at her steadily. I was proud of him for some things, and not proud of him for others. Okay?

Sara picked up a photo. Your parents?

Fiske stood beside her. Their thirtieth a

They look happy.

They were happy, he said quickly. He was growing very uncomfortable with her seeing these items from his past. Wait here. Fiske went to the back room, which had once been the brothers shared bedroom and now had been turned into a small den. He checked the answering machine. His father had not listened to his messages. He was about to leave the room when he saw the baseball glove on the shelf. He picked it up. It was his brothers, the pocket ribbing torn, but the leather well oiled by his father, obviously. Mike was a lefty, but the family had no money to buy a special glove for him, so Mike had learned to field the ball, pull off his glove and throw. He had gotten so good that he could do it all faster than a righty could. Fiske recalled that blur of efficiency, no obstacle his brother couldnt overcome. He put the glove down and rejoined Sara.

He hasnt listened to my phone messages.

Any idea where he couldve gone?

Fiske thought a moment and then snapped his fingers. Pop usually tells Ms. German.

While he was gone, Sara looked around the room some more. She eyed a small framed letter, set on a wooden pedestal. Wrapped around it was a medal. She picked up the frame and read the letter. The medal was for valor, awarded to Patrolman John Fiske, and the letter commemorated the event. She looked at the date it had been given. Quickly calculating, she concluded that the award would have been given at about the time Fiske had left the force. She still didnt know why he had, and Michael never would say. When she heard the back door open, she quickly put the letter and medal down. Fiske entered the room. Hes at the trailer.

What trailer?

Down by the river. He goes there to fish. Go boating.