To Natty’s credit, he wasn’t on the floor long. He sprang to his feet and hurled his whole body into me with a vengeance. I stumbled back and we both crashed onto my mother’s coffee table, breaking it into a thousand pieces. Magazines flew in every direction.

We ignored our mother’s shouts for us to calm down. She even threw in a few curse words, which was rare for her. We tore up her living room, knocking books off the mantel, bending her floor lamp, and flipping her recliner end over end, with my brother’s scrawny body lost in the heap. It might’ve been the loss of blood or the fact that I underestimated my brother’s fighting abilities, but going up against him was harder than I would have thought. I guess he had to be in a few fights before he could afford a bodyguard.

We took a moment and backed away from each other when we were both on our feet. I moved to the mantel and caught my breath. He backed toward the kitchen door.

Then I heard an odd sound, like the chime of an old grandfather clock. My brother fell onto the floor, holding his head, as my mom stepped out from behind him with a heavy cast-iron skillet in her hand.

She looked at me with those cool, brown eyes and said, “You want some of this, Bobby?”

I glanced down at my brother, on all fours and shaking his head. “No, ma’am.” I didn’t want to have anything to do with that skillet.

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

I tried to be a good brother and helped Natty off the floor and onto the couch. My mom took charge quickly and said, “Bobby, go get the ice bag out of the cupboard and fill it.”

That’s right. My name is Robert Mitchum. Just like the actor. Named for my grandfather, who was a long-distance trucker, born a few years after the famous Robert Mitchum.

Bart hopped onto the couch just as I came back with the ice bag. He licked Natty’s face as my brother slowly regained his senses. His eyes were dilated, which made him look like a cartoon character. My mom, who was acting like she had nothing to do with his present condition, sat on the edge of the couch and gently placed the ice bag on his head.

She said, “You two shake hands and make up.”

Way to make your adult sons feel like eight-year-olds, Mom.

Then my mom said, “Are you idiots ready to talk?” She looked at Natty. “I don’t care what you do for a living. I’m your mother and I love you. But we need to find Bailey Mae. I’m her great-aunt. So you’re going to tell Bobby anything he wants to know, and you’re going to do it right now.”

Natty mumbled, “Yes, ma’am.”