?I didn?t mean to? I just?? The look on Andrew?s face went from startled to angry. ?Jesus, you don?t have to be so hostile. I was just curious.?
Mike exhaled, shook his head. Maybe the kid was right. Mike resented the kid for interrupting his life. It wasn?t Andrew?s fault. He was just doing what his father told him. ?Sorry. Here, take a look.?
He opened the chest, dust puffing, hinges creaking. He took a cloth bundle, unwrapped it, and showed the old Thompson gun to Andrew. It had been wrapped tight in oilcloth and still glistened new, no rust.
?Whoa.? Andrew held out his hands. ?Can I hold it??
The barrel magazine wasn?t in it, but Mike checked the breach. Empty. He handed the gun to his nephew.
?Heavy,? Andrew said.
?There are a few pistols in there too, stuff from the old days,? Mike said. ?Anyway, you can see why I didn?t want anyone messing around in here. Guns ain?t toys.?
?Sure. No problem.? He ran his hand along the barrel, hesitated, then asked, ?Did Dad use one of these??
?Your father?? Mike bit his lip, didn?t meet Andrew?s eyes. He took the Thompson back, wrapped it up again in the cloth. ?He was a good man, Andrew. He believed in family. When you do what we did, you?ve got to have family. You can?t depend on anyone else. We got that from your grandfather. He taught us right. Dan talked about having a son when I used to know him. I?m sure he loved you. Was proud of you. Don?t think about the kind of man he was before you knew him. He was your father. That?s all that?s important.? He put the Thompson in the chest and shut the lid.
?If family?s so important,? Andrew said, ?then why did you stay away??
?That wasn?t about your father,? Mike said quickly. ?That was about me, my problems. We never stopped being brothers. No amount of miles or years can change that. That?s why he sent you to me.?
?What happened??
Mike felt the pang in his chest. How to explain something he didn?t fully understand himself? ?Someday I?ll tell you about it. I promise.?
Andrew looked thoughtful, nodded. ?Okay.?
Mike gave him a bottle of wine. ?Give that to Linda. I?ll be up in a second.?
Andrew took the bottle up the ladder.
Mike paused over the chest, considered the weapons within. Maybe it was time to take out the guns again. If Andrew really was in trouble, maybe he should be ready just in case. But no, not the Thompson. That was overkill. He could take out one of the pistols, keep it in the drawer by his nightstand. But he didn?t want Andrew or Keone to find it. Kids were curious. He was always hearing on the news about some kid that got ahold of his dad?s gun and blew his own head off.
He put the gun back in the chest, closed the lid. He?d think about it, but right now he?d feel better with the guns out of harm?s way. More important, out of sight. He told himself he was concerned about safety, but really he just didn?t want to see or think about the guns.
He pulled the string and the bulb went out. He climbed back up the ladder, to the world of light and kitchen noise, shut the trapdoor on bad wine and history.
* * *
Linda had been right. Another person at the dinner table facilitated the flow of polite conversation. She asked about college. Andrew was glad to talk about it. A degree in music? What were his future plans? To teach? He wanted to form a band, of course. Play some kind of music nobody had heard before. Mike feigned interest by making vague noises and nodding a lot while he stuffed himself with lasagna and garlic bread.
Dinner segued into satisfied moans. Mike sat back in his chair, sipped coffee. Linda had pronounced the Scorpion Hill Special Reserve a success and drank the last of it. Keone ate a chocolate chip cookie.
Andrew took a pack of Parliament cigarettes from his pocket, shook one out, and put it in his mouth.
?You smoke?? Mike asked.
Andrew shrugged. ?On and off.?
