“There’s one thing I just don’t get,” I say. “You hired me because you knew that Piper would have to lie for you on the stand, and you figured I was the only person who could get her to do that. But what made you so sure I’d be confident enough in your innocence to persuade her?”
David’s face lights up, and he laughs a bitter, full-hearted laugh. “Your confidence in my innocence? Oh, Mick, you really are a crack-up. I wasn’t counting on your believing I didn’t kill Jennifer. The truth is that I didn’t know what I’d be able to hook you with once you found out about Piper and me. But you’re right that I figured you’d be the only person who could get Piper to perjure herself. So I hired you with the hope that somewhere down the line, I’d find something to use as leverage against you.”
I hold my breath. If the dying Jennifer Yamura told David I pushed her down the steps, this is where he’ll spring it.
He shrugs. “I never did, but you convinced Piper to perjure herself anyway. And I’m torn as to why. The idealistic part of me says that, even knowing what I did with Piper, you helped me because, deep inside, you know I didn’t kill Jennifer. But my gut says that you offered up your wife because that’s what it took to carry the day. When Marcie told me she ordered you to do whatever it would take to win, I laughed and told her she needn’t have wasted her breath. She might as well have been telling a fish it had to swim.”
I’m about to launch into David when I hear a knock at the door. It opens, and Susan peeks her head in. “Everything okay in here?”
“Peachy,” I answer. “David’s just told me that he’s so happy with the job we did that he’s paying us a five-million-dollar bonus!”
Susan’s jaw drops. She looks from me to David, back to me. “Holy shit” is all she can get out.
Before I can say anything else, David stands. He walks away but pauses and turns in the doorway.
“You know what, Mick? I’m happy to pay you the five million. Teaching your wife how to fuck was worth every penny.” And with that, he brushes past Susan, leaving her to witness the humiliation in my burning face.
An hour later, I still feel raw as I speed up the 476 toward Jim Thorpe—and Tommy. I take deep breaths, steel myself. I’ve resolved to fix things. The chasm between us, opened by Tommy’s euthanizing our father, has to be closed.
I turn onto the dirt road leading to his trailer and see Tommy open the door and come outside to meet me. He knew I was coming; I called before leaving the city. I park the car, walk to Tommy, shake his hand. It’s chilly this November afternoon in Jim Thorpe, and Tommy is wearing a long-sleeved red-flannel shirt, the tail hanging outside his worn jeans. His black-leather biker’s boots crunch the gravel beneath his feet. I feel out of place in my business suit and wingtips.
“I guess I’m supposed to say congratulations,” Tommy says.
I shrug. “Why don’t you just get us some beer?” I say, then I sit at the picnic table while he goes inside to fetch a couple of Buds.
When he returns, Tommy sits across the table, hands me a bottle. “So,” he says, “Devlin rolled over. He quit the fight. Now he’s going around telling everyone he believes David is innocent. How’d you manage that?”
I look at Tommy, throw back my beer. “Devlin was on the tape.”
I tell Tommy how I confronted Devlin, strong-armed him into making our deal. Tommy works to keep his face neutral as I tell the story, but I see judgment in his eyes. He thinks I wronged Devlin Walker. I feel the urge to defend myself, but I didn’t come here to talk about Devlin Walker or David Hanson.
“There’s something I need to say to you.”
My brother puts down his beer, puts his hands on the table, and waits. I take a deep breath and continue.
“You did the right thing,” I say. “For Dad. Ending his pain. It was the right thing to do,” I repeat. “Noble, and loving. And you paid a terrible price for it. A price you never should have had to pay, not by yourself. I should have been there with you. And not just to help Dad at the end, but for all the time leading up to it.” I pause, lock eyes with my brother, make sure he hears me. “Tommy, I’m sorry. For everything. For abandoning you and Dad. For not doing more to help you later.”
“What could—?”
“I should have come after you. Brought you home. Not let you wander the country drinking yourself to death, trying to get thrown into prison. If I had, you would have told me what you’d done, instead of carrying it around inside you all those years. I can’t imagine what it was like for you, living with that kind of secret.” I shake my head, look down.
When again I look at Tommy, he has an odd look on his face. I can’t read it, but I find it unsettling.
Tommy takes a breath, then says, “You can’t blame yourself for my taking off. There was nothing you could’ve done about that. But you’re right about keeping what I’d done inside. That was the worst part of it, after the guilt.” Here, he pauses, looks hard at me. “You keep a secret like that, it eats away at you. Some things, no matter how bad they are—because of how bad they are—just need to be talked about.”
Tommy takes a swig of his beer, his eyes locked on me the whole time. I begin to feel a queasiness in my stomach. Tommy’s clearly fishing for something.
“How’s Lawrence doing?” I ask, nodding toward Tommy’s trailer.
“Not good. In and out. More out these past couple weeks. But he’s not in my trailer. He’s over there.” Tommy nods toward another trailer sitting across the gravel road from his own. “Guy who owns it is a friend of mine. He’s in Florida, so he’s letting me use it for Lawrence. I keep tabs on him with a baby monitor. Can you believe that?” He shakes his head. “You want to see him?”
Tommy is out of his seat and walking toward the trailer before I can answer. I stand and follow.
Lawrence Washington is lying in a bed in the back room of the trailer. The bed is just about the width of the room and is pushed up against the window that takes up most of the far wall. There are windows by the head and foot of the bed as well, so Lawrence lies awash in light. The trailer stinks—of sweat, urine, stale breath, and Lawrence’s dying.
“Up until last week,” Tommy says, “I could get him to the toilet, most times. These past few days haven’t been so good.” He smiles wanly. “I never raised kids, but I bet I’ve seen more diapers than you.”
“Jesus,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Hey, Lawrence,” Tommy announces. “Look who’s here to visit you.”
Lawrence slowly opens his eyes. It takes some time for it to register with him who I am. When it does, he smiles. “Hey,” Lawrence says weakly. He lifts his right hand a few inches off his stomach.
I take it. “Sorry it took so long for me to come up again,” I say. “Better late than never, right?”
Lawrence smiles. “Pretty soon,” he says, “I’ll be both. The late, and never.” Then he coughs, his face contorted in pain.
“You want some morphine?” Tommy asks, but Lawrence waves him off.