Even then, it did not occur to me that Arch Creigh being assigned as my big brother might have been more than a happy accident.

Near the end of the Boulevard, not far from the country club, he turned onto a pea gravel driveway that led through a moss-covered stone gate and wound up past a lawn dotted with tall trees. At the top of the slope stood an enormous stucco manor home with a steep-columned porch and a slate roof lined with copper flashing turned a luminous green. We parked and walked up to the side door. Arch rapped on it. A light-skinned black woman in a white short-sleeved blouse opened it.

“Hi, Shirley,” Arch said. “This is Charlie.”

“Pleased to meet you, Charlie,” Shirley said. “Jamie’s out back. Y’all walk on through.”

I can still see the great house on the Boulevard as I did on that first day: the drawing room, with the toile settee and the velvet Empire sofa and armchairs, and oil paintings of landscapes, and portraits of prize-winning horses and hunting dogs and distant ancestors, and the crystal chandelier descending from the high vaulted ceiling. The dining room, with its broad teak table, the inlaid sideboard with the silver tea set, the hand-painted wallpaper depicting scenes from medieval China. Outside the windows, the bright blooms of heirloom roses.

I followed Arch out the French doors, onto the stone porch, and down through the rose garden, toward the pool and the small white house next to it. Across from the diving board stood a fountain trimmed with a tile mosaic. On the other end, a slate path led to the open doors of the pool house. Inside, someone hidden by the back of a large couch was playing Punch-Out!! on the TV.

“Typical,” Arch said as we came in. “Beautiful day, sweetest backyard pool in Tennessee, and Jamie Haltom’s inside playing video games.”

Rounding the couch, he snatched up a remote control from the coffee table and pressed the power button. The screen went dark.

“Goddamn it, Arch!” a voice cried.

Arch picked up a can of Coors Light from the tabletop and shook it.

“Give me that,” the boy said.

He stood up and snatched at the beer, which Arch dangled in front of him like a dog’s chew toy. I recognized him from school; we had two classes together—math and history. Jamie Haltom straightened himself and cocked his head.

“Hey,” he said.

We must have been thinking the same thing—that we were being set up, like a playdate.

“Charlie, Jamie,” Arch said. “Jamie, Charlie.”

He emptied the beer into the bar sink and tossed it into a garbage can.

“Damn it, Arch,” Jamie said.

“Shut up, dumbass,” Arch said. “Come on, you need a little vitamin D.”