Chapter 9
Nine
“What?” She riveted on his eyes, wide and solemn. “My brother ran?”
“Yes. At first I thought he’d gone to get his cell phone or the big fire extinguisher, but he didn’t come back. He told me later he just panicked and took off. Left me there to deal with it.”
Left his best friend to handle an emergency like that?
A memory intruded of Aaron in a high school talent show with Gideon.
They were performing a juggling act they’d rehearsed for hours in Gideon’s parents’ garage.
She’d been impressed with their intricate pattern of flying bowling pins.
But during the performance, Aaron had gotten a whiff of the audience’s laughter when he bobbled one of the throws.
He’d gone off plan then, let all the pins Gideon tossed to him drop, and he fell down as if in a faint.
The audience had erupted with laughter, but she remembered Gideon’s expression—startled, embarrassed, uncertain how to behave after Aaron hijacked their act.
Eventually he’d offered an uncertain smile and bowed alongside Aaron, then got offstage quickly.
He’d never done another show with or without Aaron.
“Whatever made him feel good without considering the consequences.”
She thought of Gideon standing on that stage after her brother commandeered their act. Gideon, left with the fallout of Aaron’s decisions. What else had she overlooked, seen through a foggy lens of loyalty?
“What did you do then, Gid?”
“I dragged Mr. Hinkle outside. That was the priority over controlling the fire.”
“By yourself? How?” Gideon had been a slender, wiry teen, not the muscled adult he’d become, and Mr. Hinkle was a mountain of a man.
“Not very gracefully, turns out. I fell over a chair and sustained a complex shoulder fracture. Smoke was pretty bad by then. Had to haul him by the feet with my one good arm. Not smooth, not at all. Poor guy earned more bruises than he needed to, but he survived.”
Only because Gideon had stayed and helped.
She put the information together with the version she’d heard from Aaron, the one he reported to the police, that Gideon had fallen and injured himself during an accidental fire trying to render aid to the owner.
Her brother claimed to have been busy in the outdoor storage room when it happened and wasn’t aware of the fire at first. She stayed still, willing him to continue.
His face was the barest glimmer. “Fast forward from there. My parents had minimal health insurance, and they used their savings to pay for my reconstructive surgery and a hospital stay that became way more expensive when I got an infection and wound up in the ICU for ten days. They never complained. Not once.” He blinked.
“Surgery, recovery, physical therapy, they were there through it all, and I was covering for Aaron the whole time. I finally told them and Mr. Hinkle the truth almost a year later, and they didn’t complain then either.
Neither did Mr. Hinkle. They all figured there was no gain in setting the record straight at that point. ”
Mackenzie’s heart felt heavy, as if it were turning to stone.
Gideon had been covering for her brother.
The Landrys had sold some land right around then, she remembered.
Several acres with one of their favorite fishing holes had been parceled out and bought by a couple for their summer home.
She’d wondered at the time why they’d part with such a perfect spot.
Because they’d needed the money. Because of Aaron. She felt sick.
His voice changed. “Everything was different after the fire. For my family anyway.”
Was there a hardening in his tone? A shade of resentment? Or simple regret? She couldn’t tell.
“My brother Duncan wanted to go to college and play for Bama for as long as I can remember, had a partial scholarship. He delayed enrolling because of the mess I was in. Taking a gap year, he told everyone. He never wound up going. Stuck around. Eventually started working on the farm for our parents.”
So many changed plans, altered lives, because of that one moment next to a vat of hot oil. “Why did you lie about it? Cover for Aaron?” She already knew but she had to ask.
“I shouldn’t have. That’s clear to me now, but I was a lot younger and dumber, and he was my best friend.
He begged me not to tell what had really happened.
He was on academic probation at school and already paying back your neighbor for sideswiping their car.
He knew your parents were having problems, going through marriage counseling, and he said if he told the truth, it would do in their marriage for sure. ”
He might have been right. She’d heard the fighting too.
Her mother and father snarling at each other, both with different ideas of how to keep their rambunctious son on track.
Their fighting had reached peak levels the evening the police arrived to reveal that Aaron had smashed into the neighbor’s car while driving under the influence and then fled the scene.
If he’d been eighteen, he might have gone to jail. She tuned back in as Gideon continued.
“So I told everyone the oil caught on fire but not why. The Hinkles rebuilt with the insurance money, but they sold soon after. It just wasn’t the same for them.”
Or anybody. The entire community mourned the loss of the iconic diner. “I can’t believe I never knew what really happened.”
“I thought about telling you after he passed, but . . .” He sighed. “It felt as though it would cause more harm than good.”
Gideon reached out a finger and touched a strand of her hair, curly from the earlier dousing.
“Zee, I’ve had a lot of years to think about it, and I didn’t do him any favors by keeping the secret.
He never stood up and matured into a man who took responsibility.
Maybe facing the music back then might have changed the course for him. ”
She opened her mouth to defend Aaron, but the words died away.
Hadn’t she had blinders on where her brother was concerned?
Made excuses for him when he missed family events?
Given him gas money even though they were both working minimum-wage jobs in high school?
He’d always been her hero, her funny big brother who would do anything for her.
But she’d just discovered she’d never seen him clearly.
And she never would, thanks to Bullseye.
And rumbling through her soul was the goodness of this man before her, the one who was loyal and loving to someone who had betrayed him.
She loved Aaron because he was her brother.
Gideon loved him because he chose to, in spite of his failures.
Her shame felt like a cold stone dropped into her stomach.
The pain was almost too much. She turned away, staring out the glass windows into the night.
“We stayed close, but there was always that event hanging in the air between us. That’s why I didn’t cover for him on base when he was driving drunk.
I just couldn’t do it again.” Gideon shifted on his bunk.
“It was almost like he was relieved, finally, to be held accountable, or I thought so at first. He said he understood my decision, laughed and joked about it, said he had it coming, but then it led to his discharge, which was hard to laugh off. After that, whenever we talked, it was strained.” Gideon sighed.
“I should have let him grow up that day the diner burned. Maybe if I had, he wouldn’t—”
“No.” She cut him off despite the lump in her throat.
“Aaron was who he was, even if I didn’t want to see it.
” She took a breath. “But . . . I . . . understand better now. I . . . I’m not sure it would have made a difference in what happened if either of us had confronted him.
I shouldn’t have tried to guilt you about not talking to him, or into helping me with the podcast.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry I dumped that all on you.”
Gideon let out a low breath. “Thank you for saying that. I know it wasn’t easy.” The wind rattled the sturdy roof, and rain continued to assault their pocket of safety. Slowly she reached out her hand.
He took it, squeezing her fingers as they listened to the storm, lost in their own thoughts.
“Zee, I’ve been wondering if maybe there was more to Aaron’s death than a drug deal gone bad.”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t see any signs that he was using, did you?”
“No.”
“Physical indications, stealing from you or your parents, loss of motivation.”
She pulled her hand away. “But I’m beginning to think I didn’t see him clearly at all.”
“Did they recover any drugs at the scene?”
“Not on Aaron. Only a small amount on the body of the dealer after he was hit by the truck.”
“Was Aaron carrying a lot of cash?”
“No.”
“Is it . . . possible he wasn’t just looking to score drugs?” he asked softly. “Maybe he was dealing them and the man who killed him was an intermediary? There was some sort of disagreement between them?”
No, she wanted to say. My brother wouldn’t do that.
But she thought about the condominium Aaron had rented, the nice car he’d bought, the presents for Leah, the girlfriend he’d never brought around.
They’d all been funded with proceeds from his tech start-up, he’d told her—but he’d still been pulling all-nighters peering at his computer as if he were trying to breathe life into a dead animal.
There had been flashes of concern on his face, now and then, that he quickly glossed over—concern that bordered on fear.
It was unlike her brother, who always landed on his feet no matter what the situation.
She’d found him on the back patio one night, smoking the cigarettes he’d promised their mother he’d quit. The phone was pressed to his ear, and he hadn’t heard her coming.