That’s what I wish I would’ve said. Why didn’t I? Maybe it would’ve changed things. Maybe if I would’ve said I’m sorry and I love you and I don’t care that you’re gay, then maybe, maybe he’d be living right next door to me now and I could go over there and sit with him and we could watch the game on TV. Or not watch it. Maybe we’d read Walt Whitman or Langston Hughes or something like that.
Maybe there’d be someone in the kitchen making noise and this someone would come out with the food to set the table and Grand would call him his husband and make love to him after sending me back off next door until next time, until the next day I could see him again. Maybe it could’ve happened that way, but it never will, because I just stood there and he did a half chuckle into his chest and seemed to say, stupid brother. And I was. God burn me for it, I was.
“I’m goin’ for a walk, Fielding. Tell Mom and Dad in case they ask, would ya?”
He drifted and I wish I would’ve reached for him. He stopped by my side, giving me the chance. I didn’t take it, though. Stupid boy I was. I let my brother leave without a hug. That has never been an easy thing to let go of.
Just before he left I blurted out, “I took your Eddie Plank card. And I lost it. That was my secret I buried.”
“I know.” He kept his back to me, but I could still see his smile, too small to ever be real. “I know you did, little man. And it’s all right. I forgive ya.”
“How’d you know? You dig my secret up?”
“I didn’t need to. The card was missin’ and you looked guilty.”
“I know your secret too.”
He turned to me. Looked more through me than at me. “You dug it up?”
I nodded. “You’re afraid. That’s your secret. You’re afraid.”
He suddenly looked toward the window, and I thought for a moment the rabid dog was coming back through. I tightened in that fear.
He rubbed the back of his neck. A low sound came trying to be a laugh, but it had too much worry to make a real go of it.
“You know the story of the man who went walkin’ in the city one day and found he couldn’t walk over the manholes, even though they were covered. He was afraid he’d fall down into them and the devil would finish draggin’ him down to hell. That’s what I’m afraid of. Men. Holes. And the devil.”
He strained like he was gathering something up inside him and it was heavy, heavy, and just too much. He buckled in the knees and leaned into the doorframe.
“Hey, listen, when I get back from my walk, I’ll watch the game with ya, okay, little man?”
His leaving had the sound of a turning page. Whoosh, flick, and he was gone. By seven thirty, the television was on and Grand wasn’t home. I tried to concentrate on the game, but it was a bad day for the color red. Cincinnati’s ball caps and uniforms, even the stitching on the ball itself, never let me escape what could be in Grand’s blood. I shut the game off and stared at the black screen until eight thirty. Nine thirty. Midnight. Grand still wasn’t home.
Dad grabbed a flashlight. Looked more annoyed than alarmed. The worry was all in Mom at that time as she called to Dad from the porch, “Find him, Autopsy.”
Dad nodded he would as she stood up against the wall of the porch like a second front door, waiting to be opened. Me, Sal, and Dad went up and down the lanes, shining the flashlight on bushes, passing cars, dark porches, and if Grand had been a leaf, a group of laughing teenagers, a napping cat, we would’ve found him.
Onward we went, shining the light across the baseball diamond behind the school. Up in the stands at the football stadium. It felt like a hundred different places before, after, and in between, but no Grand.
I found myself leading us through the woods. Dad shined the flashlight inside the one-room schoolhouse as we passed it. Nothing but one of Elohim’s pamphlets on the ground.
The whole way walking to the tree house, I had that feeling one has when walking toward a difficult decision. I wanted to find Grand, but when I climbed up and saw the tree house empty, I won’t lie and say I didn’t feel relieved.
By that time, Dad was no longer annoyed. He was worried, painfully worried now. The light in his hand anxiously bouncing from tree to tree.
“I wonder where that boy has gotten to.” He sighed. “I wonder—”
His voice fell with the flashlight that banged against the ground.
“Dad?”
It was too dark to see him, but I heard his feet pounding against the ground, running toward something.
I jumped down out of the tree house and picked up the light. Its shine found Sal. The way he stood there, I’ll never forget the horror on his face. What he and Dad had seen, I didn’t know. But he raised his trembling arm to show me.
I was afraid to shine the light to where he was pointing. I would go slow to the sorrow. Light on tree, another tree. Bark, more bark. Took the light lower and saw dirt. Leaves and more dirt, and … the toes of Grand’s tennis shoes.
Oh, God, no.
Slowly I moved the light up his laces, untied.
His jeans. Something red drenching the denim up his left side. More red drenching his hand, his arm. More than more, it was plenty to scream at, as Dad was screaming.