slap at his hand when he stole it. 'She's coming by here to pick up this fleabag.'
Tucker grunted over a mouthful of beef, and pulled a beer out of the fridge.
'I'll have one of those,' Lulu said without looking up. 'Cards're thirsty work.'
Tucker popped the lid on a second bottle, then scanned the hand she'd dealt. 'You can't put a black three on a black five. You need a red four between.'
'I'll put it there when I get one.' Lulu tipped back the beer, studying him over it. 'You look like something that's been dragged through the swamp.'
'I guess I have been.'
'That youngest Fuller girl still missing?' Lulu cheated a red ten out of her pile and played it. 'Delia's been half the day over at Happy's. I'm reduced to solitaire.'
'I got a duty-' Delia began, but Lulu waved her off.
'Nobody's criticizing. I'd've gone myself, but nobody thought to ask me.'
'I told you I was going.' Delia thwacked the knife down on the cutting board.
'Not the same as being asked.' Lulu did some more creative cheating. 'People come and go so much around here, it makes my blood tired. Josie in and out all hours of the day and night. Tucker here gone for a day at a stretch. Dwayne wasn't back five minutes before he takes a bottle of Wild Turkey and goes out again.'
Delia started to defend her brood, then frowned. 'When did Dwayne get back?'
'Half hour ago. Looked as muddy and worn-out as Tucker. Went out the same way.'
'He take his car?'
'Don't see how he could.' Lulu reached in her pocket and drew out a set of keys. 'He took the bottle, so I took these.'
Delia nodded in approval. 'Where do you think you're going?' she asked Tucker as he tried to edge out of the room.
'I need a shower.'
'You've lived with that sweat all day, you can live with it awhile longer. Go on down and see if Dwayne's at the pond.'
'Shit, Delia, I've already walked a hundred miles today.'
'Then you can walk one more. I'm not having him fall in and drown. You bring him up here, where he can get cleaned up and eat. They'll want him out there tomorrow just like they'll want you.'
Grumbling, Tucker sat down his half-finished beer and started out the back door. 'I hope to Christ he hasn't had time to get drunk yet.'
He was only half drunk, which was exactly the way Dwayne liked it best. The fatigue of the day had faded into a nice, friendly buzz. Slogging through McNair swamp with Bobby Lee and Carl and the others had been a miserable way to spend a day.
He'd gone willingly enough, and would go again in the morning. He didn't begrudge the time or the effort, and didn't see that anyone would begrudge him a little time with the bottle to wash the day away.
He'd felt for Bobby Lee especially. Whenever he'd looked into the boy's face and seen the strain and fear, he'd wondered what it would be like to be searching for his own sister.
That thought had him burning his throat with more whiskey.
He wanted to think of pleasant things now. Of how nice the crickets sounded in counterpoint with the buzzing in his ears. How soft the grass felt under his bare feet. He thought he might spend the night there, watching the moon rise and the stars come out.
When Tucker sat down beside him, Dwayne obligingly passed him the bottle. Tucker took it, but didn't drink.
'This stuff'll kill you, son.'
Dwayne only smiled. 'It takes it's sweet time doing it, though.'
'You know it worries Delia when you do this.'
'I'm not doing it to worry her.'
'Why are you doing it, Dwayne?' Tucker expected no response and continued without one. He gauged his brother's condition and knew he was sober enough to be coherent, drunk enough to talk. ' 'Drunkenness is a voluntary madness.' Can't think right off who said that, but it rings true.'
'I'm not drunk yet, or mad either,' Dwayne said placidly. 'Just working on both.'
Wanting to choose his words carefully, Tucker took time to light half a cigarette. 'It's getting bad. The past couple of years it's been getting real bad. First I thought it was because so many things went wrong so close together. Daddy dying, then Mama. Sissy taking off. Then I thought it was because Daddy drank so heavy and you just picked up on whatever genes it takes to have you follow him along.'
Annoyed, and not wanting to be, Dwayne took the bottle back. 'You do your share of drinking.'
'Yeah. But I'm not making it my life's work.'
'We do what we do best.' Dwayne lifted the bottle and drank. 'Of all the things I've tried, getting drunk's the one thing I don't worry about screwing up.'
'That's bullshit.' The fury rushed out so quick and sharp, it shocked them both. He hadn't known it had been preying on him, eating at him from the inside-this reality of what his big brother had become, layered over the image of the one Tucker had once admired and envied. 'That's just bullshit.' Tucker snatched the bottle and, springing to his feet, flung it into the water. 'I'm tired of this, goddammit. I'm fucking tired of carrying you home, making up excuses for you in my head, of watching you kill yourself one bottle at a time. That's what he did. Flying that goddamn plane while he was shitfaced. The old man killed himself sure as if he'd put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.'
Dwayne got shakily to his feet. He weaved a little, but his eyes were steady. 'You've got no reason to talk to me like this. You've got no right to talk about him either.'
Tucker grabbed Dwayne by the shirtfront, tearing seams. 'Who the hell has the right if not me, when I grew up loving both of you? Being hurt by both of you?'
A muscle in Dwayne's cheek began to twitch. 'I'm not Daddy.'
'No, you're not. But he was a fucking drunk, and so are you. The only difference is he got mean with it and you just get pathetic.'
'Who the hell are you?' His mouth moved into a snarl as he grabbed Tucker's shirt in turn. 'I'm the oldest. It was always me he jumped on first. I was supposed to take care of things, to fucking carry on the Longstreet legacy. It was me who got shipped off to school, me who got put in charge of the fields. Not you. Never you, Tuck. I never wanted it, but he wouldn't let me go my own way. Now he's dead and I can do what I want.'
'You're not doing anything but sliding into a bottle. You've got two sons of your own. At least he was here. At least he acted like a father.'
Dwayne let out a howl, and then they were wrestling on the grass, grunting and growling like a pair of dogs looking for a soft spot to sink fangs into. Tucker took a short glancing blow to his still-sore ribs. The fresh pain brought a burst of wild fury into his blood. Even as they went tumbling into the pond, he was bloodying his brother's lip.
They went under grappling, came up sputtering and cursing. They kicked and shoved, but the water softened the blows and began to make them both feel foolish.
Tucker scissored his legs, holding Dwayne by his torn shirt, one fist reared back. Dwayne mirrored his position so exactly, the two of them stared, panting.
'Shit,' Tucker said, warily eyed his brother as he lowered his fist. 'You used to hit harder.'
Gingerly, Dwayne touched the back of his hand to his swollen lip. 'You used to be slower.'
They released each other to tread water. 'I wanted a shower, but this isn't half bad.' Tucker swiped the hair out of his eyes. 'Though Christ knows what's in this water.'
'A half pint of Wild Turkey, for sure,' Dwayne said, and smiled. 'Remember when we used to swim here, when we were kids?'
'Yeah. Still think you can beat me to the other bank?'
'Shit.' Dwayne's smile widened to a grin. He rolled over in the water and struck out. Too many years of the bottle had slowed him. Tucker streaked by like an eel. In tacit agreement, they raced back, then floated awhile under the rising moon.
'Yeah,' Dwayne said after they'd stopped panting. 'You used be slower. I guess things've changed.'
