windmill, but it didn't move. I was working up my confidence to say no to Jacob, to tell him that it would never work, when -- perhaps sensing what I was about to do -- he allowed me a way out.
'You don't have to decide now,' he said. 'I just want you to promise me you'll consider it.'
'All right,' I said, grateful for the reprieve. 'I'll think it through.'
IT WASN'T until after he'd dropped me off, as I was opening my front door, that I realized why he'd dressed up and gotten his hair cut before he came to see me. He'd done it to impress me, to make himself look mature and responsible, to show me that -- if he were only given the chance -- he could play the part of an adult just as well as I. The thought of this, of him shining those shoes in his grungy apartment, of him squeezing his legs into those uncomfortable pants, tightening his belt, pulling up his socks, and then standing for a few moments before the bathroom mirror to appraise the result, filled me with a horrible feeling of wretchedness for myself and Jacob and the way we were to each other. It made me want to give him the farm.
I knew that this would never happen, though, even as I yearned for it, and when I talked it over with Sarah later that afternoon, she agreed.
'He's got to leave, Hank,' she said. 'There's no way he can stay.' We were in the living room, sitting in front of the fire. Sarah was knitting again, and her needles clicked away while she talked, as if they were translating what she said into Morse code. 'You have to make him understand that.'
'I know,' I said. 'I just couldn't do it while we were out there. I'll tell him on Monday.'
She shook her head. 'Don't tell him until you have to.'
'What do you mean?'
'The more time we let pass, the less important it'll seem to him.'
I could see what she was saying; she was scared of antagonizing him, of forcing him into Lou's arms. I thought for a moment of arguing with her, telling her that we had no reason to fear Jacob, that he was my brother and we could trust him, but I realized that I had no means to convince her of this, no solid, objective evidence to demonstrate his allegiance. So all I said was, 'I wish we could give it to him.'
The needles stopped clicking, and I felt Sarah glance at me across the hearth. 'He can't stay here, Hank. It'd be like leaving a giant clue behind.'
'I know. I'm just saying I wish I could help him somehow.'
'Make him promise to leave, then. That's how you'll help him.'
'But what will he do, Sarah? Have you thought about that? He's got nowhere to go.'
'He'll have a million dollars. He'll be able to go wherever he wants.'
'Except here.'
'That's right.' She nodded. 'Except here.'
The needles started up again.
'I've always felt bad toward Jacob,' I said, 'even when we were little. I've always felt like I was letting him down.'
'It's not like he's done all that much for you over the years.'
I waved this aside. She didn't understand what I was talking about. 'I used to look up to him,' I said. 'Until I went off to school and saw him teased by the other kids for his weight. Then I was embarrassed, ashamed that he was my brother. I started to look down on him, and he knew it. He could sense the change.'
Sarah's needles went click, click, click. 'That's natural,' she said. 'You were just a child.'
I shook my head. 'He was this shy, anxious kid.'
'And now he's a shy, anxious adult.'
I frowned at her. I was trying to express how I felt toward my brother, trying to give her some hint of the despair that had washed over me earlier that afternoon, after he'd dropped me off.
'Did you know that he was a bed wetter?' I asked.
'Jacob?' Sarah smirked at the idea.
'In seventh grade he began losing control of his bladder every night. It lasted all through the winter and into the spring. My mom used to set her alarm clock so that she could wake him in the middle of the night, get him up, and take him to the bathroom, but it didn't work.'
Sarah continued her knitting. She seemed like she wasn't really paying attention.
'Toward the end, I told one of my friends about it, and pretty soon everyone knew. Everyone in the whole school.'
'Was Jacob mad?'
'No. He was just ashamed, but that made it worse. He didn't even tell our parents about it, so I never got in trouble.' I paused, thinking about this. 'It was the cruelest thing I've ever done.'
'That was ages ago, Hank,' Sarah said. 'I bet he doesn't even remember anymore.'
I shook my head. I shouldn't have tried to speak about it, I realized: it hadn't come out right, I hadn't said what I meant. What I meant was that I wanted to help my brother, to do something good for him, to make his life better than it was. But I couldn't find a way to say this.
'It doesn't matter what he remembers,' I said.
LATE that night I woke to the sound of a car's engine idling in our driveway. Sarah was on her back beside me, breathing deep and slow. The only light in the room came from the digital alarm clock, a pale green glow floating out across the night table and settling softly onto the blanketed bulk of her pregnant body.
It was quarter till one. Outside, the car's engine shut itself off.
I slipped out of bed and padded to the window. The sky was clear. A half moon, pale yellow, almost white, hung at its very center. Stars shone through the branches of the trees, bright and precise. The snow in the front yard sparkled with their light. At the bottom of the driveway, parked with its nose facing the house, was Lou's car.
I glanced quickly at Sarah, who continued her steady, muted breathing; then I tiptoed across the room and out into the hallway.
As I headed down the stairs, I heard a car door squeak open. After a moment, it squeaked shut again, slowly, quietly.
At the front door I peeked through the slit window. Lou was making his way carefully up the driveway. He was wearing his white camouflage jacket and walking like he was drunk. I wasn't sure, but it looked like there was someone waiting in the car. As I watched, Lou veered off toward the garage.
The garage was attached to the left side of the house. I couldn't see the front of it, and when Lou got near it, he disappeared from sight.
I didn't have any weapons in the house. All I could think of were the knives in the kitchen, and I didn't want to leave the window to go get one.
He spent a long time by the garage. The doors were unlocked, but there was nothing in there for him to steal. I stared at his car. There was definitely someone waiting there, maybe even two people.
The miniature grandfather clock in the living room ticked loudly through the silence, punctuating it, seeming to draw it out.
I considered briefly turning on a light, trying to scare them away, but I didn't do it. I just peered out the window, shivering in my pajamas and bare feet, and waited for Lou to reappear.
When he finally did, he headed not for his car but straight toward my front door.
I stiffened, took two steps back into the entranceway.
Lou climbed up onto the porch, his boots making a hollow sound against the wood, a pair of drumbeats. He tried the door, jiggling the knob, but it was locked. Then he knocked, very softly, tapping with his glove.
I didn't move.
He knocked again, louder, with his fist, and -- remembering Sarah asleep above me -- I stepped forward and unlocked the door.
I opened it just a crack and peered outside.
'What're you doing, Lou?' I whispered.
He gave me a big, jagged-toothed smile. His eyes seemed to twinkle. 'Mr. Accountant!' he said, as if he
