“Markie froze. He froze like he always did. What the hell did he think he was doing, Marian?”
Marian didn't know whether Tom meant Jack, or Markie, and in any case she had no idea, none.
“After the second shot Jimmy tackled Markie. Knocked him out of the way.” Tom gulped more beer. “Everything Jack was—everything we all were, Marian, everything, it was all there, you could see it all. Like this bright light was shining. Like we were naked. No, no, not naked. Like you could, like you could see right through us.”
Tired to the bone from waiting, waiting so many years, Marian said it for him. “It was Jimmy, wasn't it?”
Tom raised his eyes to her. “It . . .” He looked down again, shook his head. “I can't, Marian. And it doesn't matter.”
“It was—”
“Don't you see? What each of us was. What we always were. It was right there.”
“Tom—”
“Marian?” He was pleading for something. How could that be? Tom always had the answers, the smart ideas. Tom never needed anything. Tom was the one other people asked for things from. It was she who'd asked the question, the only question that had ever mattered, ever, the one question, because of that, she'd never asked.
And now she had to hear Tom's answer.
But Tom said, “Marian, I can't. And it doesn't matter.”
PHIL'S STORY
Chapter 12
Kevin and Phil sat in the lifeless air of the Bird while Phil told Kevin the story of how he'd failed Markie. Kevin listened to all of Phil's reasons, then made his accusation: “And you were in love with my mom.”
To be accused of love, Phil thought. If there ever was a circumstance where guilty was the same as innocent, this has got to be it.
“Your mother and I, Kev—that came much later.”
Phil found his body tensing, his muscles set, like in a game. Like this morning's game. Over and over he'd blocked Brian's shot, blocked it though Brian was bigger than he, stronger, but Phil had studied Brian as he studied them all. He had counters for every move. If one thing didn't work, he tried another. He'd learned to do that. His whole life, he'd worked at that.
“I did everything I could for your dad, Kev. Your mother and I—”
Kevin waved this off, whatever Phil had been going to say. “I've heard this since I was a kid. You guys didn't get together until a long time later. That doesn't mean it wasn't on your mind.”
Phil looked around. God, for a breeze to blow through this bar! Just something to breathe. Or, hell, to blow the top off, sweep us all up, fling us someplace else, some other time. Ancient Egypt, Camelot, Timbuktu. September 10.
It didn't happen, not a gust, not a zephyr. Phil didn't know what else to do, so he went on. “Markie wanted the plea, Kev. I got . . . I got the feeling he knew it was coming. But he said no, he didn't know, he just hoped. He just said, Great, I'll take it. It's fine.
“Fine? Kev, it was better than fine. Sixteen months, he'd be out in five and change. Manslaughter, he'd been looking at years. Years away from you and Sally. I could see how that was killing him. I tried to use it to get him to tell me the truth, but he never changed his story.”
“Couldn't that mean it was true?”
“It could. Sure it could.” This wasn't the point he wanted to argue with Kevin right now. He didn't want to argue anything with Kevin. Right now or any other time. “Anyway, that should've been it for me. Case over, win or lose, I'm gone. But he asked me to look after you guys. So I told Sally she could call me if she needed anything. There's always paperwork, things to do. She wanted to take you up there on visiting day. I showed her how. Things like that.” Nothing from Kevin. Phil said the rest: “Then Markie died. Kev . . . ?”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Phil had been about to say, Could we get out of here? Walk around, move, breathe some air, talk where there aren't any walls? But he'd forgotten about the crutches. “Nothing.”
As though it was important for Kevin to hear the rest, he went on. “After that—after he died—I told your mom I'd hook her up with another lawyer. Everyone in Pleasant Hills was blaming me. I shouldn't have let him take the plea. I should've gotten him sent somewhere safer. I should've done something.
“I understood. I was the outsider, they had to blame someone. I didn't want Sally caught up in that. But she told me it wasn't my fault, and she wanted me to stay helping her, if I didn't mind. Kev, that's all it was. For a long time.”
That, and Sally's eyes, changing from emerald glass to storm-swept, distant sea.
“So when Jimmy wanted to start giving you money—whoever's money it was—I was the logical guy to come to.”
Finally, something from Kevin. A growl: “And you just took it? You thought Uncle Jimmy shot that guy and let my dad go to jail, and you just took his money?”
