Turning on a lamp, I opened a shoebox filled with pictures of Robert, some taken when he was a boy, and others he’d sent from Vietnam. I studied those the most on nights like this. He looked frightened in a few and, in others, mostly lost. Not everyone would see that, of course. They’d see the good looks, the half smile. But I’d known Robert better than most, better even than Jason. He’d taught me how to study hard and play hard, to find my place in the world. Every year, though, it was harder to remember him, so I looked more and more at the pictures. It’s what I saw of him when I closed my eyes: Robert in the jungle and looking left, or standing with other men by the edge of a burned field. Even the day he dove from Devil’s Ledge was blurring in my mind. I saw Jason instead, and felt the pull of him, too. What did he want from me? Why was he home? I knew what Robert would say, if I could ask him about tomorrow.

Live large, Gibby, but be smart.

You hear what I’m saying?

You feel me?

I stared at the darkness for a long time, then pulled on jeans, took a cigarette from my mother’s purse, and slipped outside to the porch. The stars were pale, the air cool. I lit the smoke and felt something like a war inside. Be like Robert or Jason. Be a good son. A bad one. I thought of stealing whiskey, but did not.

I’d be drinking soon enough.

And lying, too, it seemed.

It happened on the same porch—nine in the morning, my father close behind as I tried and failed to slip away unseen.

“Gibby, Gibby. Wait.”

He tried to keep the cop off his face, but it was hard for him, trusting. “Yeah, Dad?”

He was barefoot beneath jeans and a T-shirt. I’d been avoiding him. “Where are you going?”

“Just out.” A half lie.

“Back to the quarry?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Hanging with Chance?”

“Yeah, maybe. I guess.”

My father frowned, and looked at my car in the driveway. It was a Mustang convertible, kind of old. I’d bought it used. It had a few dents, the big engine.

“Listen,” he said. “I spoke to Jason last night.”

Shit …

“You did?”

“He told me about today.” I expected more of the cop eyes, but that’s not how it was. The old man looked open and understanding, and … I don’t know … younger. “Your mother doesn’t need to know about it, okay? Let’s keep it between us.”

I looked for the trap; didn’t see it.

“I’ve been thinking about it, is all. He’s the only brother you have left. Good or bad, that’ll never change.”

“But don’t tell Mom?”

“Just be smart,” he said. “You feel me?”