LIVING THE LEGACY

A NOVEL

By Sandy Tritt

Copyright 1998, Sandy Tritt

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Sandy Tritt
1527 18th Street
Parkersburg, WV 26101
tritt@wvadventures.net

The author invites you to visit her writer's resource website, http://tritt.wirefire.com . She would especially appreciate receiving critiques concerning the first 20-30 pages of the novel.

Author Biography

PART ONE

"Ain't nobody got an easy life. Nobody."
--- Ray Gambel, 1974

OCTOBER 19, 1968. WAYNESBORO, WEST VIRGINIA.
Ray Gambel stretched his long legs toward the aisle and squirmed. He wished they made bus seats bigger so people like him weren't cramped for hours, but he shouldn't complain. He was breathing American air and after twelve months in Vietnam, nothing smelled as fresh as American air.
He settled back in his seat and imagined his homecoming. His mother would fix a special dinner, probably baked steak. And mashed potatoes -- real mashed potatoes, none of that instant mush the military served -- with her thick and meaty gravy, and green beans canned from their garden and simmered in bacon and onions all day, and probably four or five fresh baked pies, cooling on the window sill, filling the house with temptation.
After dinner, after all the greetings and stories and jokes, his father would take him to Mabel's Bar and Grill and they'd drink whiskey and shoot pool and figure out how Ray could get his band back together. A contract for the National Hotel Performing Band Circuit had come in the mail the same day as his draft notice. It was time to return the signed copy. He might even ask his dad to travel with them.
Ray smiled. He was lucky. He'd been lucky in Vietnam to have a warehouse job. The closest he'd come to combat was the stories told by those passing through. And he was lucky to have a father like Sam -- a man quick with a smile or kind word, a man easy to talk to and confide in, a man with vast musical talent and the passion to teach it to his sons. And he was lucky to have a brother like Gary -- competitive, certainly, but always loyal, always dependable.
The Greyhound pulled off the highway and wound through the streets of Waynesboro. Sweater-clad mothers walked tottering babies through swirling orange and brown leaves. Woolworth's Five and Dime, Prattle's Pharmacy, Pettroni's Office Supply and J.C. Penney lined Main Street like props from a nativity scene. High School boys -- still wearing dress pants and short hair -- carried books for girls dressed in knee-length skirts and cashmere sweaters. Ray was glad nothing had changed, that the madness of drugs and demonstrations and social unrest that marred the rest of the nation still hadn't affected his hometown in the West Virginia hills.
The bus bumped to a stop, the air brakes sighing. Ray waited for the other riders to gather their belongings, then heaved his duffel bag over his shoulder. He squeezed through the aisle and down the steep steps. He smiled as he spotted Gary pacing the breezeway.
"Welcome home," Gary said. He had thickened in Ray's absence. His shoulders were broader, his legs stouter and his short neck disappeared into his square head. With his stiff posture and buzz-cut hair, he looked more military than Ray. Probably all that time spent lifting barbells and doing push-ups, as if putting up hay and cutting firewood wasn't exercise enough.
Ray laughed and grabbed Gary by his muscular shoulders, shaking him. "Where's Dad?"
Gary jerked free and poked at the soft roll of flesh hanging over Ray's belt. "How the hell did you --"
Ray slapped his hand away. "Where's Dad?"
"Mom's home. The boys are -- no, they should be home by now, too." Gary took the pack of Marlboro's from his shirt pocket. He shielded his face from the wind and lit one.
"You still doing that shit?"
"Don't start it."
Ray grinned. "Mom ever catch you?"
Gary pushed him, then ran a safe distance ahead.
Ray jogged to catch up. He punched his brother's arm. "You still ain't told me where Dad is. He got a gig?"
Gary turned to face him, his expression sober. "Mom kicked him out."
Ray chuckled. "No, really. Where is he?"
Gary didn't smile. He kicked a Stroh's bottle and watched it roll into the alley. "He hasn't been home since Good Friday. Mom threw him out."
The wind sliced through Ray. He paused while the information sunk in, while his hopes and expectations rearranged. "What?"
Gary shrugged. "I guess Mom finally got fed up. He came home drunk after a gig at the American Legion and she told him to hit the road."
Ray had wondered why his father's weekly letters stopped six months ago and no one answered his direct questions about his dad. "Where is he?"
"Aunt Madge said he was traveling, playing piano."
Ray rubbed his forehead. His father wasn't known for his assertiveness, but when it came to his boys, he'd take on anyone. Even his wife. And Ray would bet money his dad would show up before the week was out.
Gary opened the trunk of the 1959 Plymouth.
Ray tossed his bag on top of the empty feed sack, then sat in the front seat. He had no doubt his father would come home. He waited for Gary to get in, start the car and pull onto the street. "Let's get some beer."
"Mom doesn't --"
"Sure she will. Stop at that carry-out on 110."
"But Mom won't --"
"I'll handle Mom."
Gary flicked cigarette ashes out the window. "She's been sick."
"Who?"
"Mom. She has headaches. She hasn't been out of the house in weeks."
Ray looked at the passing store fronts. His mother wouldn't let a headache get her down. He was only eight years old, but he'd never forget the day Joey was born. His mother told him to call his father in from the barn as she put on a pot of beans, then went to her bedroom and had Joey. A couple of hours later she finished dinner, complete with homemade corn bread. "She been to a doctor?"
"You know better."
Ray watched a young couple walk arm-in-arm, oblivious to the world around them. They were probably the same age as Ray, but Ray suddenly felt much older. "Who's working the farm?"
"There's not much to do. We ate the chickens and sold the cows as we needed money." Gary adjusted the rear-view mirror. "And the tractor broke down. I tried to rebuild the engine, but it's plain worn out, so we only planted a small garden for us."
"Then what's Mom doing for money?"
"I'm working at Bob's Sunoco --"
Ray turned to face his brother. "You ain't going to school?"
"Not this year."
"You worked your ass off for that scholarship."
Gary shrugged. "I'll go back next year." They rode silently until he pulled into the Gas 'N Go Mart.
"Want anything?" Ray asked.
"I'll go in."
Ray took his time, examining magazines and candy bars and toys. He chose a package of marbles and some bubblegum for Danny, his youngest brother, then took the beer to the register, where Gary chatted with the clerk.
Ray paid, then followed Gary to the car.
"Mary Beth Connors," Gary said, opening the car door. "Remember her?"
"Should I?"
"The cashier. I went to school with her." Gary started the car and pulled out of the lot. "She was headline news the morning Dad left."
Ray raised his eyebrow.
"I'm surprised she still works there. She was closing up that night -- Good Friday -- late, when a masked gunman came in. He took the cash, then tried to kidnap her. A car coming down the road distracted him long enough for her to break free. She darted into the street to stop the driver, but it was foggy and he hit her. Knocked her unconscious." Gary lit a cigarette. "The driver must have been drunk. He covered her with a jacket and left her there, then called the cops and reported it, but never returned to the scene. He was never identified."
Gary took a long drag on the cigarette. "Then, once they got her to the hospital, they gave her something she was allergic to and she went into a coma."
"Damn. Talk about luck."
Gary smiled. "It was on the news that morning. We were all bummed because Dad was gone, and David, being the compassionate sort he is, saw the humor in it. He wrote a ditty -- Mary Beth Connors, Should've Been a Goner -- something like that. Came right out with it. But Mom wasn't in the best of moods. She backhanded him -- one of her fly-through-the-air-and-wonder-what-the-hell-hit-you slaps -- and said she never wanted to hear that song again."
Ray frowned. "You don't think Dad could've --"
"I did for awhile. It bothered me for a long time, so finally I came right out and asked Mom."
"What'd she say?"
"She was pissed that I asked. She said what happened was between her and Dad and she wasn't going to discuss it with me."
Ray rubbed his chin. "Even if it was, why would Dad leave? Why wouldn't he just admit it? It ain't like he killed someone."
"I don't know." Gary pulled off County Highway 110 and started up the windy road leading to Gambel Hill.
Ray watched the passing scenery. The rolling hills were more beautiful than he remembered, exploding with color, reds and golds and browns and greens. As the car made its way up the narrow dirt road, the fallen leaves swirled and rustled, bringing to life the crispness of the autumn air. He was comforted by the familiarity of the trees, by the calmness of the hills, by the peacefulness of the woods. He was home. Everything would be fine now.
Ray strained to see the old two-story farmhouse as Gary rounded the final curve. The house had been built in 1926 by Ray's grandfather, Frank Gambel. The farm had been profitable then, and although four-year-old Madge was still the only child, Frank hoped for a large family. He built the house with that in mind -- four bedrooms on the second floor, and a living room, dining room, study and eat-in kitchen on the first. But frail Suzannah almost died while giving birth to Sam, Ray's father, two years later, and Frank decided two children were enough.
Gary parked the Plymouth in the gravel driveway behind the '57 Ford pickup. To the right the old Mercury rested on cinder blocks, the hood propped with a heavy stick. The rusty toolbox lay open next to it.
The woods ran close to the right side of the garage, but on the left the steep hills rested momentarily with a stretch of level ground. Weeds overran the abandoned corn stalks, but a path was mowed from the house to the barn and then beyond to the tree line where the woods and rugged hills overcame the clearing.
"We'll go in the front door so you can see Mom first." Gary shoved the pack of cigarettes under the car seat and sprayed cologne on his hands.
Ray smiled, watching him, then jumped from the car and ran to the porch.
Deloris Gamble met her sons at the door. Although she was as tall and broad as most men, she seemed small, the old cotton robe hanging from her gaunt frame.
Ray hugged her, feeling her protruding bones, then pulled back and studied his mother at arm's length. Her tired brown eyes rested deep in their darkened sockets and her gray hair hung unkempt around her hollow face. "You been sick, Mama?"
"I'm glad you're home, Ray. We've missed you." Although Deloris had been in West Virginia since 1945, her Polish accent still decorated her words when she was tired or upset. And her accent was thick now.
Ray swallowed the sick feeling in his stomach. Despite Gary's warning, he wasn't prepared to see the skeleton of the woman his mother once was. He'd take her to the doctor tomorrow. As soon as possible. He'd get her the medicine she needed to get well and then he'd wait for his dad to call and then he'd get his band together. And then everything would be fine.
"Ray's home!" Danny ran into the living room, his black eyes sparkling.
"Hey, kiddo." Ray smiled. Danny hadn't changed. A little taller maybe, but he still had that mischievous glint in his eye and a toothy grin that covered his thin face. Ray embraced him with a bear hug, lifting him off the floor and twirling him around. He'd missed the brat. He couldn't believe his baby brother was ten years old already. He swung him in one more circle, then put him down.
Ray sighted his lanky brothers hanging in the doorway. Joey -- two months shy of fifteen -- was already taller than everyone but Ray, his long arms and legs dangling from his body as though they didn't belong and his school pants not quite reaching his ankles. And David was a copy of his father, with his blond hair, sapphire eyes and compact build. He'd be sixteen next month, old enough to drive a car. Ray waved them toward him. "Come here."
David swaggered toward Ray, followed reluctantly by Joey.
Ray pulled them against his broad chest for a quick hug before they squirmed away.
David looked at his mother. "We're ready for you to fix the gravy."
"Thank-you, David." Deloris turned toward the kitchen. "Danny, set the table, please. Gary, would you bring in the extra chair? Ray, you may have the bathroom first."
Ray took his time in the bathroom, then stopped in the dining room that was used as the music room. His grandmother's baby grand was still the centerpiece of the room, surrounded by bookcases of sheet music. Ray's fingers itched. He remembered the smoothness of the ivory keys, the mellowness of their tone. Before the evening ended, he'd sit down and see if he'd lost his touch.
The portrait Aunt Madge had painted hung above the piano. Sam -- not yet twenty-one -- sat on the piano bench, his hands on the keys, his smiling face shining on three-year-old Ray. And Ray looked up at his father, his eyes glowing with admiration.
Ray smiled and went to the kitchen, taking his place at the big oak table. He wouldn't be surprised if his father made it home tonight. Any minute, as a matter of fact.
David set a plate of dry hamburger patties on the table and Joey added a bowl of lumpy potatoes. Gravy and a dozen burnt biscuits completed the meal.
"You may lead the blessing, Ray," Deloris said.
Ray waited for his brothers to quiet, then folded his hands and thanked God for the food and for being home. His appetite had waned, but he cleaned his plate and answered his brothers' questions about where he'd been and what he'd done until David and Joey stood and cleared the table.
Gary leaned back in his chair and sucked air, held it and exhaled, as though smoking a cigarette.
Ray watched, grinning, then looked at his mother. "Mom, you care if Gary puts his beer in the refrigerator?"
Mrs. Gambel's shoulders straightened and her head raised, her eyes focused and clear. "I do not allow alcohol in this house."
"I know. I told Gary that. But he thought we should go bar-hopping in town --"
The vein on Gary's forehead pulsated with blood. He slid low and brought his heel down hard on Ray's leg.
"Shit!" Ray grabbed his shin and noisily scooted his chair back, aware his brothers were watching. No one argued with their mother and no one said "shit" in front of her. He smiled. "Sorry, Mom."
Deloris shook her head. "Ray --"
Ray made his eyes wide and innocent. "I ain't been home for a year..."
"Just this once, Ray." She stood unsteadily and leaned against Ray's shoulder. She had something important to say to her son, something she had planned for a long time. "Don't flirt with your father's demon," she said, her accent again thick. "She is a jealous mistress and will consume all else you love." Deloris remained silent for several minutes, allowing her words to penetrate. "I'm going to bed now," she said finally.
"Good-night, Mom." Ray watched her trudge through the dining room, and then listened as she climbed the stairs, resting after each step. He would take her to the doctor tomorrow.
Ray visited with his brothers until Danny's bed time passed and David and Joey excused themselves to do homework. He opened a beer and punched Gary's arm.
Gary scowled and looked out the back door. "Nice night. Too bad I got to iron my shirt for work tomorrow."
"Iron your shirt?"
"Yeah. Old man Stemple's got a thing about ironed uniforms."
Ray pushed past him. "Come out when you get done." He had missed quiet country nights. He stepped onto the porch and filled his lungs with the smells of pine and damp soil. It was good to be home. He balanced his large body on the thin porch rail and listened to the locusts and crickets. Their chirping followed a pattern understood only by insects, intensifying into a crescendo and then dissipating into silence.
The wind rustled through the trees, working its way earthward until it chilled his arms. The full moon hung low, just above the tree line. It was the time of night when wildlife became bolder, trusting the darkness for protection. He watched for skunks, but saw only deer peeking from the woods. A doe, followed by her yearling, stepped a few feet into the pasture, scanned for hidden enemies, then made her way mid-field. Another family -- a buck, doe and fawn -- leaped across the meadow to join them. Slowly, more deer joined, until twelve or thirteen roamed the desolate field. They scoured the area nervously, searching for remains of the last harvest.
The deer stopped, their heads raised and ears pointed.
Ray took a long drink from his beer and wondered what had caused their wariness. Then a rifle cracked beside him, the reverberations assaulting the stillness of the evening and the nervous systems of all living beings. Ray's arms flapped through the air like a giant duck until his weight shifted and he tumbled off the rail. He landed five feet below on the hard earth. Cold beer seeped over his arm.
Gary laughed.
Ray scrambled to his feet. "What the hell are you doing?"
Gary leaned the rifle against the door. "We're low on meat," he said between chuckles. "Help me drag him to the barn. You can skin him in the morning."
"You scared the shit outta me."
"Come on. Venison steak for dinner tomorrow."
Ray rubbed his bruised hip. "I should bust your face."
"What'd you want me to do? Holler out and say, 'Hold your ears, Ray. I'm gonna shoot?' He'd be gone."
"You set me up."
The light from the kitchen illuminated Gary's grin. "You deserved it."
"Shut up." Ray wiped his arm on his shirt. He was home. And some things hadn't changed a bit. Not a bit.

* * *

Ray walked the mile from the hospital to the Sunoco station. He found Gary in the bay, changing the oil on a pale blue Cadillac. He kicked his brother's feet until Gary rolled from beneath the car. "We gotta talk."
"I get off at three."
"Now."
Gary stood and wiped his hands on an oily rag. "What's up?"
"Let's walk." Ray's brain was going to explode. Too much was going on, too many things were changing. The Apollo 7 astronauts had finished eleven days in space. Fourteen North Vietnamese POW's were freed. Jackie Kennedy, the dead President's wife, married a Greek billionaire. Ray had read the front page of the newspaper over and over while waiting in the doctor's office. There were a lot of things he didn't understand, but more than anything, he didn't understand how the President's widow could marry a foreigner.
Gary followed Ray outside and toward town. He didn't like it that Ray was so quiet. "What did the doctor say about Mom?"
"He put her in the hospital."
Colorful leaves swirled around their ankles, the drier ones crunching under their heavy steps. Gary kicked them out of his way. "Why?"
"He got the tests back."
"And?"
A young mother, her sweater flapping in the wind, pushed a baby carriage over the uneven sidewalk with one hand and pulled a stubborn toddler with the other. Ray stepped into the street to let her pass.
"What did the doctor say?" Gary repeated.
"She's got cancer."
Gary stopped walking. "Cancer?"
Ray slowed his pace until Gary caught up. "Something about a mass in her brain."
Gary looked at Ray, waiting for more, waiting for reassurance that it would be all right.
But Ray was silent.
"Does she need surgery? Does she have to take chemo? Or radiation?"
"He says there ain't nothing they can do. He says it's too late." Ray remembered that part very well. He'd argued with Dr. Brown, insisting there had to be something. She had three young boys who needed her.
"Too late? Too late for what?"
"Dr. Brown says..." Ray couldn't think of the words to use. His head hurt. "He says it's too late. He says she ain't coming home."
They walked slower, silently, past the library and into the park. Pre-schoolers played on the swings and slide, laughing and shouting.
Gary leaned against an oak tree, his dirty gray jumpsuit blending into the trunk. He had always thought of his mother as being like a tree, strong and immovable. "What're we gonna do?" he said.
"About what?"
Gary took a new pack of Marlboro from his pocket and tapped them against his palm. "The boys."
"I guess we gotta pick them up from school and fix them something to eat."
"I don't mean now, dumb ass," Gary said, opening the cigarettes. "Until they're grown. Who'll take care of them?"
"Mom will."
Gary stared at his older brother. The dull, distant look in Ray's copper eyes worried him. "You okay?"
Ray scratched the five-day-old stubble on his chin. "They made a mistake. We just gotta find Dad and get this all straightened out. Dad will know what to do."
Gary lit a cigarette and slowly exhaled.
Ray watched the smoke disappear into the October-blue sky. A foreigner. Two hundred million people in the United States and the President's widow married a foreigner. No wonder the world was so damned screwed up.

* * *

"You don't want the morphine?" The short, chubby nurse with the cherubic face shook her head.
"No. Please leave." Deloris closed her eyes. She needed to elevate herself above the pain, the way she had in Warsaw when the German soldiers raped her. Like she had in New York City when the nurses took away her baby and left her empty. There were decisions to be made and she needed to think clearly.
Mrs. Jones, the retired nurse from the neighboring farm, had visited earlier. She and her husband were childless and doted on the Gambel boys. Ray and Gary spent their summer vacations working for Jonesy, and David and Joey stepped in when the older boys found real jobs. "Deloris," she'd said, moving close. "Jonesy and I discussed it, and we'd love to keep the boys. We've got plenty of room and you know how much we enjoy them."
It was tempting. But Ray and Gary were too old to be adopted and she didn't want her boys separated.
Madge, her sister-in-law, visited on Sunday. She, too, was childless, and intended to stay that way. "Sammy hasn't called since the day Ray came back, but he will. He always does. Do you want him to come home?"
"No." Spineless Sam had never been the father she wanted for her sons. The minute he'd awakened her that night of the accident, scared to the point of sobriety, she knew it was her chance to be rid of him. And she wasn't inviting him back.
"Mom?"
Deloris opened her eyes, the light searing through her head. The boys were there. They walked so quietly she often didn't hear them over the roar that lived in her brain. "Pull the curtain."
Ray closed the venetian blind. "How do you feel?"
Deloris knew it was hard for them to visit her now. Her large bones floated in a mass of skin, her thick, raven hair reduced to gray clumps. On some days, she shook violently. On others, she didn't recognize them.
She looked to see who'd come, squinting to regulate her vision. David was missing again, but she figured he was in the hall, too contrary to come in. "I want to talk to each of you privately. Ray first. And I expect to see David, too."
The younger boys filed out. Ray moved a chair next to her bed.
"I want you to keep the boys."
"Sure, Mom. Dad will be home soon --"
"Listen. I want you to keep the boys. I had the lawyer in yesterday and everything is legal. The papers are in this drawer. And your father already signed the house and farm over to you --"
"Why'd he --"
"It's already in your name." She'd been smart to think of that. Sam would have done anything she told him that night, and when she suggested signing everything over to Ray so the farm wouldn't be lost if they were sued, he eagerly obliged.
"But --"
"That's all I need from you."
Ray didn't move. He leaned forward, closer to his mother and touched her hand. "Why did Dad leave?" he asked softly.
Deloris bit her lip. She had snapped at Gary when he asked. "The boys are better off without him," she said.
"But why did he leave?"
"I sent him away."
"But --"
Deloris shook her head. She knew Ray was aware his father had a problem with liquor. But he didn't need to know how much worse it became after Ray left for Vietnam. Deloris was disgusted to find her husband in the morning, when the boys were getting ready for school, passed out in a chair, cradling a whiskey bottle in his arms, dried tears on his face. She looked at her son. "I told him to leave and not come back."
"Where did he go?"
Deloris closed her eyes. If Madge found out that Sam had been the drunk driver in the accident that made front page news the day Sam left, Madge would tell her brother the truth: the girl hadn't died like Sam believed, but he had, in fact, saved her life by frightening off an attacker. And then Sam would come home. And the boys were much better off with Ray than with a drunk. "Send Gary in."
"Mom, I need to know."
"Now, please."
Ray sighed and stood. He kissed his mother on the forehead before he lumbered toward the door.
"Ray?"
"Yeah, Mom?"
"Stay away from the whiskey. You're too good for that."
Ray frowned, allowing the words to penetrate, then stepped through the door.
Deloris rested her eyes until her second son sat next to her. "I told Ray I wanted him to keep the boys."
Gary nodded.
Her two oldest sons were responsible and resourceful. She had no doubt they could handle anything -- as long as they weren't fighting. They were as close as brothers could be, but she wasn't sure they'd outgrown their competitiveness. That was why she'd separated the responsibilities. Big-hearted Ray would do fine with the boys and frugal Gary would keep them solvent. "I want you to take charge of the finances."
"I'll do the best I can, Mom."
"I know you will." Gary had already completed one year toward his Accounting degree. "And I want you to go back to school just as soon as you can. You worked hard for that scholarship."
Gary nodded.
"Send David in," she said and concentrated on breathing.
David shuffled in, his jaw set.
Deloris hoped she had the strength to deal with her sixteen-year-old son. David was the only one of her sons to resemble his father, with his blond hair, sapphire eyes and compact build. She sometimes thought that was why they clashed so violently, but the resemblance was physical only -- Sam was a weak-willed Mama's boy and David had spunk. Lots of spunk.
"You want me?"
"Sit down."
"I want to stand."
"Sit."
David hesitated. He met her eyes, his eyebrow twitching in defiance, but sat.
"I've asked Ray to look after you boys."
"What about Dad?"
"David, I want you to help Ray. Set a good example for the younger boys. Be respectful."
David rolled his eyes.
Deloris had to respect him. Even when faced with her death, he didn't force pretensions. She had been harsh with her sons, but she wanted to make sure they were strong enough to survive in a world that wasn't always gentle. And David would be a survivor. "Someday, David, you will understand."
"Understand what?"
"That I love you boys far more than you realize."
David fingered the scar on his cheek. "Do you want Joey now?"
Deloris sighed. Ray was going to have his hands full with that one. "Send him in," she said.
Joey slouched in with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the floor. Although he was over six feet tall, he looked small.
Deloris tried to think what she needed to say to him. There was nothing. He'd been her disappointment, the one who'd buckled under her domination. There were only thirteen months between her teenage sons, but Joey was the polar opposite of David. "David won't always be around to protect you. You must learn to stand up for yourself."
Joey chewed his lip.
There was nothing more she could say. She didn't hold much hope for him and she, like David, couldn't pretend enthusiasm she didn't feel. "Tell Danny to come in."
She closed her eyes to wait. She had considered not seeing Danny. He was her baby. She loved her other sons and she thought they probably loved her, but they didn't share their secrets with her, they didn't confide their problems to her. They didn't hug her and they didn't kiss her.
But Danny was different. He was affectionate and wanted a bedtime hug and kiss. Danny, unlike the others, was closer to her than to his father.
He walked in hesitantly, stopping at the foot of the bed.
"Come closer."
He went to her side.
She put her hand on his. He was a pretty boy, his silky cheeks rosy from the November cold and his black hair thick and straight. "I won't be coming home, Danny."
Deloris watched large tears roll down his smooth cheek. Danny's eyes were identical to her brother Jerzy's -- big, round and black, full of life and mischievousness. Jerzy was just ten -- the same age as Danny -- when the German soldiers led him outside. She could still hear the gunshot. "Ray will take good care of you."
"But I don't want you to --"
"Life is not about what we want, Danny. It is about survival. If we are to survive, we must be brave and strong. We must only look forward and never look back." Her own father had said those identical words to her in 1942.
"Mommy..."
Deloris took a deep breath. Danny had been the reason she'd prayed to live. But that was all in the past now and she couldn't dwell on it. She had arranged for her sons' future and now it was time to take care of her own. "Hand me that cosmetic case."
Danny rummaged through the drawer and found the pouch. He gave it to his mother.
"And pour me a fresh glass of water, please."
Danny only spilled a little as he splashed the iced water from the pitcher to the cup. He set it on the tray, then positioned the tray in front of his mother, careful not to knock it over.
"Thank you." She patted his small hand. "Be a good boy for Ray." She wanted to take him in her arms and hold him, but she knew if she did, she'd never let him go. Instead, she nudged him toward the door. "Tell the nurse to come."
Deloris waited until he was out of sight, then opened the cosmetic case. She counted twenty-seven tiny white pills. She hoped it'd be enough. For almost a month she had hidden the ritual sleeping pill in her palm and pretended to swallow. She took them now, three at a time until they were gone.
"Yes, Mrs. Gambel?" the nurse asked.
"I'd like the morphine now." Deloris closed her eyes.

* * *

Ray rolled to his left side. It was useless. He couldn't sleep. He hadn't slept more than three or four hours a night since he'd been home. His body was exhausted but his mind wouldn't rest.
Gary lay in the next bed, snoring contentedly.
Ray sighed and sat up. It was futile to fight it. He moved his feet to the cold floor and stood. He made his way down the hall and entered Danny's small room.
Danny lay on his side, hugging his pillow.
Ray pulled the blankets over his bony shoulders. He couldn't help but worry about the kid. More nights than not Danny cried himself to sleep, and he was much too thin, even considering he was small-boned like his father and David. During the time their mother was in the hospital, Ray hadn't noticed he wasn't eating. Ray made mashed potatoes almost every night and served Danny a good portion of meat before the other boys devoured it, but he still needed a little more meat on his ribs.
Ray tiptoed out and opened the next door. David looked ironically angelic in his slumber. Hardly a day went by that he didn't try to fight with Ray about something. Yesterday it was his hair. Ray mentioned that he'd take them for a haircut on Saturday and David threw a fit.
"You're not making me get my hair cut," David said, sticking his chest out and putting his fists on his hips. "It's my hair and I'll wear it how I want."
It wasn't important to Ray, certainly not something worth fighting over, so he just shrugged and set the table.
But David continued to rave until he finally realized Ray wasn't arguing. "Aren't you going to say anything?" David demanded.
Ray smiled. "Yeah. Get cleaned up for dinner."
And that's how it went with David. Ray figured sooner or later he'd butt heads with him, but for now he tried to let most things slide.
Returning down the hall, Ray passed his parents' room. He hesitated. He hadn't entered the master bedroom since he was a small boy.
But he twisted the knob and stepped inside. His mother's smell -- although he'd never been aware she'd had one -- ascended from the room. Ray's throat tightened, but he continued in.
The wallpaper -- tiny red roses floating on a creamy background -- looked old and yellowed. He remembered helping his father hang it, thinking he'd hate to sleep in a room of flowers, but his dad never complained. One of his mother's hand-crocheted spreads decorated the four-poster. Ray walked to the bed and touched the covering, his fingers exploring the intricate weavings of the yarn. As a child he'd been amazed at the speed of his mother's hands as she worked on her creations. He loved to watch her, especially when his father brought the piano to life and the house was full of love and music.
Ray's chest ached. He left the room quickly, pulling the door closed behind him.
He went downstairs, through the seldom-used living room, to the dining room his grandmother converted into a music room. Ray looked again at the portrait of his father and baby Ray. He rubbed his chest. He had seen Aunt Madge at the funeral and asked her about his father. She said he was traveling, playing piano, and she hadn't heard from him since the day Ray returned from Vietnam.
Ray knew there was no hope of returning to sleep. He went into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. Four a.m. Two more hours and he'd make breakfast for the boys and get them off to school. Then he'd do laundry, sweep the floors, review the band's repertoire and decide what to add and what to rehearse, go to the Jones' farm and help Jonesy rebuild the east fence, then come home in time to fix dinner. And sometime he needed to look at the plumbing under the kitchen sink. The slow leak was getting worse.
At least music never let him down. He'd had no trouble getting his band together. Gary was his only hold-out, insisting his job at the Sunoco was more reliable, but once Ray agreed to work around his schedule, he'd accepted his old position. Of course, traveling was impossible, at least until his father returned, but thanks to Gary's local promotional efforts they were already booked months in advance.
Ray sipped coffee and sighed. When he'd promised his mother he'd keep the boys, he'd had no idea it would be so difficult. But his father would be home soon. Surely, his father would be home soon.

* * *

Rain dripped off Sam's short blond hair and ran down his neck. He squeezed the telephone receiver closer and covered his other ear with his hand.
"She's dead, Sammy."
"Who's dead?" He knew he'd heard his sister wrong. The storm drenching El Paso must have affected the telephone lines.
"Deloris. Deloris is dead."
Madge was six years older than Sam and had never forgiven him for being born. He wished he hadn't left the pint of Jack Daniel's in the car. "How?"
"Cancer. She had it all over, but it was the brain tumor that did her in."
Sam ran shaking fingers through his wet hair. Deloris was too strong to be dead.
Madge said something about the boys.
"How are the boys?" Sam shouted over the torrent.
"Fine. Just fine. Ray is strong and resilient. Like his mother." Madge delighted in twisting the dagger.
"I'll call you later, Madge." He replaced the receiver and stood in the drizzle for several minutes before returning to his car.
Sam remembered when Deloris had come to live with them, not long after his father was killed in France. His mother stayed in bed and lived on the nerve pills she got from Doc Gillis, and sixteen-year-old Sam was left to care for himself and the farm. He came home from school one day and Madge was there with a tall, dark, Jewish girl. Something unspeakable happened to her family in war-infested Poland and the Methodist church brought her to West Virginia.
Deloris -- the closest English he could figure for "Dlorisz" -- assumed all the household and farm chores. There was nothing she couldn't do -- gut a hog, birth a calf or bake exquisite pastries. And although she didn't speak English, she loved to listen to Sam play piano.
Sam took a long drink of whiskey and pulled the Rambler onto the highway. The rain followed him across the states, but he drove straight through, stopping only to refuel and take short naps. He usually didn't drink when driving, but whiskey eased the ache in his shoulders and helped pass the time.
He arrived at the farm shortly before dark. He parked far from the house, on the gravel turnaround his father had made for the school bus. He wasn't sure if he should walk in or knock first, or maybe drive back to town and announce his arrival by telephone. Regardless, he needed to get a feel for what was going on.
Sam slugged down a shot of Jack Daniel's, dribbling some down his chin, then put the pint in his shirt pocket. He stumbled getting out of the car, but caught himself and walked up the hill.
Sam headed for the house. Smoke from the wood stove puffed from the chimney, reminding him of the warmth of the big frame house. Peeking through the square window in the kitchen door, Sam saw Ray standing at the range turning pork chops, the spatula swallowed by his large hand. Ray was so much like his mother, thriving in any situation. The boys would starve if left in Sam's care -- he didn't know how to boil an egg or fry a hamburger. He had never written a check, never paid a bill. He didn't know how much insurance they had or from what company. He didn't know any of the things grown-up people were supposed to know. Deloris had handled everything.
He watched for a long time, careful to stay in the shadows where he couldn't be seen. There was no one he loved as much as Ray. His oldest son was born a month before Sam's eighteenth birthday. Stubborn Deloris refused to go to the hospital and he'd been forced to catch Ray as he emerged from the birth canal. He washed the mucus from the red little body and fell deeply in love with his newborn son. Nothing hurt him as much as the day Ray left for Vietnam. And nothing, not even his music or his whiskey, could calm him until Madge told him Ray was safe back home.
He moved to the other side of the window. Danny sat at the table, working on homework and talking to Ray. He was a special kid, too. Happy, gregarious Danny was the only one of the five able to charm his mother. She smiled at his foolishness and laughed at his jokes and overlooked most of his transgressions.
Music filtered through the distance. He took another long drink, then walked across the back yard, past the big oak tree. The tree house he and Ray had built was still there. The same day they finished it, four-year-old David fell out and broke his arm. He should have known better than to make it so high. He sighed and continued toward the music.
David and Joey were in the barn, singing one of the ballads they'd written. He'd forgotten the depth and richness of Joey's voice and the agility of David's fingers on the guitar. Sam always thought they'd be famous some day. He was supposed to take them to Columbus to record a tape the day he was forced to leave home.
He took a swig from the pint and slipped behind the barn door. Little Joey was the one he worried about. The older boys had been tough from the day they were born, but Joey was a nervous and sensitive baby. He recalled the summer between Joey's fourth and fifth birthdays, the summer Danny was an infant. Sam was plowing the fields when Gary galloped across the dirt. "Ray tried to stop her!" he yelled.
Sam ran to the house. The old leather belt snapped through the air and struck Ray's legs. He ripped it from his wife's hands and threw it across the room. He knew Ray was okay -- he was twelve, a big kid and as tough emotionally as he was physically. But Joey wasn't. He stood in the corner, welts covering his skinny little legs and his body shaking. David, not much bigger than Joey, hugged him, trying to comfort him. Sam scooped the boy into his arms and rocked him until he finally calmed, but Joey was never the same.
Sam's anger enabled him to stand up to Deloris. They fought bitterly, but there was no reasoning with her. The best he could do was be there when his boys needed protection, but it wasn't enough. Even now, Joey talked to no one but David and relaxed only when playing music.
David put down the guitar and flashed his charismatic grin. "Want to try the banjo?"
Joey looked at his watch. "After dinner. Ray said he wouldn't come and get us the next time we were late, and I'm hungry." He was soft-spoken, barely audible. That was another reason his robust singing voice was startling -- it was in such contrast to his quiet speaking tone.
David laughed. "He won't let us starve." But he jumped off the stage Sam helped them make from bales of hay and plywood panels, and led the way.
Sam waited until they were out of sight, then followed. He stood outside the back window and studied his family. He wished he was as strong as Deloris, as strong as Ray. Because Deloris was competent enough for both of them, his sons never knew how inept he was. But without her, his weakness would be exposed.
So many times Deloris said the boys would be better off without him. And now he knew it was the truth. As much as he wanted to be with his boys, it was best for him, best for them, if he stayed away.
He brought the pint to his lips and guzzled until nothing but air remained.

* * *

"C'mon, Gary," Ray hollered from the base of the stairs. "We're running late." He was going to have ulcers before this was all over. There weren't enough hours in the day to do everything that needed done.
Initially they held their rehearsals in the Gambel's garage, since David and Joey had claimed the deserted barn as their stage and studio. But Stan, the drummer, complained the travel to Gambel Hill caused his tardiness. Bob, the bass guitarist, offered his garage, so Ray moved the rehearsals to town.
Gary ran down the steps. "It's only a quarter after. What's your hurry?"
"I broke my E-string, remember? We gotta get one before rehearsal."
Gary buckled his belt. "Maybe David has a spare."
"Good idea. I'll race you to the barn." Ray jogged out the back door.
Gary passed him, grinning.
Ray sped up. They reached the barn simultaneously, laughing.
"You check Joey's." Ray squatted on the dirty floor and flipped the snap on David's case. He lifted the guitar and opened the small lidded compartment. There were several strings on top, still in the wrapper. He sorted through them. "I got it, Gar." As he put the strings back, he saw the plastic bag.
"What's that?" Gary asked.
Ray opened the sandwich bag of dried herbs and sniffed. "Damn."
"What is it?"
Ray fell back on his haunches. There had to be a reasonable explanation. A mistake of some sort.
"What is it?" Gary repeated, squatting next to him.
"Marijuana."
"You sure?"
"Yeah." Ray might not have been where the fighting was in Vietnam, but that didn't mean he'd missed all the action.
"Shit."
Ray rubbed his hand over his face. He wished his father would come home.
"What're we gonna do?"
Ray shrugged. "I guess we gotta talk to them and find out what's going on."
"They're smoking dope, dumb ass. That's what's going on."
Ray shook his head. "They wouldn't do that."
"Then what the hell is it doing in their case?"
Ray thought for a minute. "Either someone planted it or someone duped them into keeping it for them."
"Oh, come on, Ray."
"I'll talk to them."
"Talk won't do it. They need their asses beat."
Ray shook his head again. "They'll be fine. They listen to me."
"David doesn't listen to anyone."
Ray put the pot in his pocket and closed David's case. "Sure he will. Once he realizes what this is."
"Ray --"
"Come on. We better get moving."
They arrived at Bob's garage on time. The space heater hummed and coffee percolated on the table.
"Stan here yet?" Ray asked.
Bob shook his head and tuned his guitar.
Ray rearranged the amplifiers and adjusted the microphones, then looked at his watch. When he was in Nam he swore he'd never live by a clock again. Life was too short, too sweet, to spend in a rush. But now he was back in reality and he didn't have time to wait. The boys would be home from school in just over an hour and he liked to be there to fix them a decent meal.
"Let's start without him," Gary said, tuning his guitar one more time.
Ray put down his guitar and moved to the piano. "Let's work on Hello, I Love You." He was still trying to catch up on the year he'd been out of country and he found the Doors' music well-suited for his deep baritone. "Did you get the guitar down for that, Bob?"
Bob was only a mediocre musician, but he was easy-going and tried hard and Ray couldn't help but like the guy. "I think so."
"Let's do it." Ray's fingers danced over the piano keys. Gary came in perfectly, but Bob had the wrong key. Ray stopped.
"Sorry. I got it now."
"Okay. Let's..."
The door banged open and Stan, with dirty hair and ripped jeans, stumbled in.
Ray was pretty sure Stan smoked dope. Maybe it was Stan's marijuana he held in his pocket -- the last time they rehearsed at the farm, Stan spent time with David and Joey, showing them the basics of drumming. Ray's eyes narrowed. If it was Stan's, he'd fire him. Right after he knocked him into the next century. Drugs was one thing Ray couldn't tolerate and he'd made his opinion clear to Stan more than once. "We started at one."
"It's only ten after."
"We start on time."
Stan shrugged. He tested the tension on his drums.
Ray had lost his temper with Stan once. Years before, when they were still in high school, he'd gotten in Stan's face and told him to cut the crap. Stan walked. After six weeks of searching for a replacement, Ray apologized and asked him back. He still wasn't sure it was the right thing to do. But it made him appreciate Gary. Gary, at twenty, was two years younger than the rest of them, but Ray never had to worry about Gary being on time or in key or behaving professionally. "We're working on Hello, I Love You. Take it from the top."
Stan immediately came in on drums, strong and rhythmic. His voice blended with Ray's effortlessly, bringing the group together.
Ray relaxed. He'd save his fight with Stan for another day. He'd save it as long as he possibly could, because when the music was right, when the harmony rang true, things like hair and promptness and arrogance gave way to the tranquillity that music inspired. He looked at Gary and smiled. The rest of his life was chaos, but he loved his job.
But the comfort the music provided never lasted long enough. As soon as the rehearsal ended, they drove back up the windy road to Gambel Hill. Ray made dinner, his mind off music and on the problem that still confronted him. He waited until they had eaten and Danny left for his bath. "I gotta talk to you guys about something," he said and pointed to the chairs. He waited for David and Joey to sit, then tossed the plastic bag on the kitchen table. He was pretty sure he'd be taking a drive back into town and looking up Stan. "Know what that is?"
Joey paled and looked like he might be sick.
David snatched the bag. "What the hell you doing in my guitar case?"
Ray frowned. "Looking for a string and found that. Know what it is?"
David snorted. "Yeah. Do you?"
"Is it Stan's?"
"Stan's?" The blank look on David's face eliminated the possibility.
"My drummer," Ray said.
David scrunched up his face. "Hell, no."
"Well, it ain't yours."
"Why the hell else would it be in my case?"
Ray leaned forward in his chair, his eyebrows drawn in confusion. "You don't smoke --"
"What the hell do you think we do with it?"
Ray stared at David.
David stood. "You done? Can we go now?"
"Sit down." Ray massaged his forehead. He hadn't prepared for the possibility that his brothers regularly and knowingly used drugs.
"I got other shit to do than sit here all night." David eyed his escape routes.
Ray scooted his chair to block the doors to the living area and driveway, and motioned Gary to cover the back door.
David looked at Ray, over six feet and built like a linebacker, then at Gary, two-hundred pounds of concentrated muscle. He stuffed the pot in his pocket and slid into his seat.
Ray sighed. "Okay, guys. Let's just get this over with. I can't let you do drugs --"
"It's none of your goddam business," David said.
"The hell it ain't. I'm looking after you guys until Dad gets home --"
"He's not coming home."
"The point is," Ray said, "there ain't gonna be no illegal drugs on this property and you guys ain't gonna be doing that shit."
"It's no worse than your beer or Gary's cigarettes," David said.
"Bull shit," Ray said. "When you buy pot, you ain't got no idea what you're getting."
"We're not stupid."
"I ain't stupid, neither. And I know that drug dealers ain't the most trustworthy people --"
David rolled his eyes.
"It's illegal," Ray paused a minute to gather his thoughts. "Every time you buy it, every time you smoke it, every time you hide it, you're gambling you won't get your ass thrown in jail and the rest of your life screwed up."
"How do you think you'll stop us?" David's sharp blue eyes penetrated Ray's.
"I ain't gonna stop you. I expect you to cooperate."
David's eyebrow arched.
"Life will be a lot easier around here if we get along and try to make the best of things." Ray leaned back in his chair. "Then when Dad comes home, we can all go back to being normal and get on with our lives." He looked at his teenage brothers, Joey with his eyes on his hands and David on the edge of the chair, ready to spring. "Now why don't you and Joey go get whatever else you got and we'll flush this crap down the toilet and forget this ever happened?"
"You're full of shit, too."
"Let me take him out back," Gary said.
Ray shook his head, but felt his patience fading and his frustration building.
David stood. "Can we go now?"
"Just David," Gary said. "Let me take David outside."
"No." Ray leaned forward. "If they ain't gonna cooperate, I'll board up the goddam barn and separate them. You can move into their room and David can sleep in our room. If they ain't got no privacy, they can't get into nothing."
"Give them the pot," Joey said, his eyes still on his hands and his voice so quiet it was barely audible.
David made a face. "They can't stop us --"
Joey looked at David. "Give it to them."
David made another face, but threw the pot on the table.
"You got anything else?" Ray asked. "Papers? Matches?"
David took rolling papers from his shirt pocket and tossed them next to the pot. "I'm keeping my matches." He paced the area between Ray and Gary. "We done now? Can we go?"
Ray nodded.
"You damn-well better not buy more," Gary said. He returned his chair to the table.
"Assholes," David said as he and Joey went out the back door.
Ray waited until the door shut after them, then looked at Gary. "I hope Dad gets home soon."
Gary lit a cigarette and leaned back. "I wouldn't mind a beer about now."
Ray smiled. "You read my mind, little brother. We got money?"
"I'll find some."

* * *

Ray sunk his hands deep into his pocket and felt the roll of bills. Poor Boys Pub had paid cash for the whole month. He looked at Danny and smiled. "Want a root beer float?"
Danny grinned. He loved it when Ray let him tag along. He skipped to keep up with Ray's long strides as they walked down Main Street. The door chimed as they entered Prattle's Pharmacy.
Danny led the way to the tall stools circling the glistening white counter.
"Hi, Ray." The pony-tailed waitress smoothed her tight uniform and smiled at Ray.
Ray glanced at her name badge. Cathy. She was one of the teeny-boppers who followed him wherever he played.
"What's your schedule this month?" She held her pen poised to write on the back cover of her order book.
Danny's eyes locked on her chest. The fabric between the buttons gapped, showing her silky undergarments. If he was Ray, he'd ask her out.
"Poor Boys. All month. How 'bout two root beer floats?"
"Sure thing." She reluctantly pulled away from Ray and turned to make them.
"Why don't you ask her out?" Danny whispered.
Ray smiled. She was a high-school girl, closer to David's age than his, and with everything else going on, he didn't have time to think about girls. He shook his head.
"You think she'd go out with me, if I asked?"
Ray laughed. "I think she's a little old for you."
"Here you go," Cathy said, setting a foamy float in front of each of them. She lingered until the widowed Blantem sisters waved for her attention.
Danny stirred ice cream into the root beer. "Can I be in your band when I'm old enough?"
"Sure."
"I want to be a drummer. I'm really good on drums. Can I be the drummer?"
Ray was pretty sure he wouldn't put up with Stan that long. "Probably."
"I can sing real good."
"I know you can."
Danny smiled. He'd sung Honey at the talent show at school last year. The girls in his class said he was every bit as good as Bobby Goldsboro, and although he was only in the fourth grade, he beat out the fifth and sixth graders. David helped him get his act ready and his mother -- even though it was after his father left and she was getting mean -- sewed a stage costume for him. Danny sighed. He missed his mother.
"You ready?" Ray put a dollar and some change on the counter. Gary would question him about the missing money, but he'd get over it.
Danny slid off the stool and followed Ray through the door.
"Hey, mister." A small red-haired boy with freckles and a toothless smile held a box. "Want a puppy?"
Danny looked into the box. Five blonde dogs squirmed against one another. "Can I hold one?"
"Sure," the little boy said.
Danny scooped the biggest one into his arms.
The puppy scratched at his chest, then snuggled into the crook of his arm.
Danny looked at Ray, his black eyes shining. "Can I keep her?"
Ray massaged his head.
"Please?"
"What breed?" Ray asked.
"Golden Retriever mix."
Ray smiled. He and Gary hadn't had a good fight since Ray bought beer with the gas money last week.
"Please? If I can have her, I'll be so good. I promise."
Ray nodded.
"That one's 'Boomer'," the small boy said.
"Boomer," Danny repeated, petting her head. He'd always wanted his own dog. Always. As long as he could remember. He hugged Boomer against him and looked at Ray. "Thanks." He would try to be good. He really would.

* * *

Ray waited until dinner ended to open the report cards. He looked at Danny's first. It was bad. Four D's and an F in the academic subjects. "What's the problem?"
"Miss Beatty hates me," Danny answered. That was part of the truth. The other part was he didn't like doing homework. Especially now that he had Boomer to play with every night.
"I had her," David said, turning from the soapy pan of dishes. "She's a bitch."
"If you don't get these grades up, you're gonna have her again next year."
"She's mean to me." Danny bit his thumbnail.
"She's mean to everyone," David said.
"She's meaner to me."
"Danny --"
"She is, Ray. She calls me 'orphan boy' and checks my hair every day to see if I have lice and makes me sit in the back corner."
Ray rubbed his forehead. When his mother died, he'd gone to the school and explained the situation to Miss Beatty. She was curt and said she expected her students to leave their home problems at home. "Who's the other fifth grade teacher?"
"Miss Ellis."
"Okay. I'll go to school tomorrow and get you moved to her class."
Miss Ellis was not only nicer than Miss Beatty, but prettier, too. Danny smiled. A lot prettier. "Can you do that?"
"I will do it." Ray opened David's report card. Straight A's, the same as always. The kid had a mouth on him, but he was smart. He opened Joey's. Joey's A in Biology had dropped to a B and his B in Geometry had dropped to a C, but otherwise, his grades were perfect.
The light reflected unevenly on the row of zeros beneath the absences column. Ray looked closer. A pencil had been used to convert "6" into "0" for each class. He returned to David's card and examined it. It was the same. "What's going on with your absences?"
"What do you mean?" David asked.
Ray pointed to the numbers at the bottom of the card. "These sixes were changed to look like zeros."
"Let me see." David glanced at the card and shrugged. "I'll bet the school secretary did that. You know how sloppy teachers write."
"No, I don't."
"Oh, c'mon, Ray. We wouldn't skip school six times in six weeks. We're not that stupid."
"I ain't neither. I'll stop by the high school and check it out while I'm in town tomorrow."
"I can't believe you don't trust us." David slapped his hands to his hips and slid his left foot forward.
"If you're telling the truth, you ain't got nothing to worry about, do you?"
David rolled his eyes. "Just sign the cards."
"I'm taking them with me."
David spread the dish towel over the dishes. "You'll feel pretty stupid when you find out what angels we've been."
Ray laughed. "Yeah, David. You're right there."
The next day was Thursday, the day David and Joey skipped each week. They ditched their books in the barn and hiked to the cave.
David knelt on his knees, rolling the joint on the large flat boulder.
"Think Ray will go to school?" Joey's big brown eyes shimmered with worry.
David grunted. "No."
"He kept our report cards. He said he would."
David figured Joey would have an ulcer before he got out of high school. He didn't know anyone who worried as much. "He was playing mind games. He wanted to see if we'd rip out our hearts and confess."
"If he does find out, what do you think he'll do?"
"Give us one of his 'we need to cooperate' speeches. Then we'll promise to be good little boys and never do it again." David smiled. "He's a pushover."
Joey chewed his lip. Ray had been good to them. Very good. Not once had he hit them, not even when David mouthed him off. "I don't like lying to him."
"You don't have to. I'll do all the talking."
Joey shook his head. "I don't like it."
"Ray's not the smartest guy in the world, you know." David touched his tongue down the side and sealed the cigarette paper. He admired his handiwork, then lit it. He took a deep drag, holding the smoke in his lungs until Joey also had a hit. "I'm glad Mom's dead."
Joey coughed, gagging on the smoke. "Don't say that."
David fingered the scar on his cheek. That last terrible summer before Ray came home, his mother was unbearably mean. He knew now that her brain was being consumed by cancer, but at the time he only knew she was meaner than she'd ever been. When she started beating Joey with the belt, David tried to wrestle it away. She grabbed the wooden spoon and cracked it across his face, splitting his cheek open.
David sucked again on the joint, then spoke between his teeth while holding his breath. "You're glad, too, and you know it."
"I am not."
"You want her to come back?"
"If she wouldn't be mean, I would."
"If she wasn't mean, she wouldn't be Mom." He released the smoke, filtering it through his teeth. "Remember the brownies?"
Joey laughed. "When she --" He strangled on smoke and fell to the ground, giggling and gagging.
David chuckled. "That was ... That was ..." he said, but laughter shook his body and he couldn't continue.
Joey wiped tears from his eyes and held his stomach. Last summer he and David had baked brownies laced with marijuana. Just as they took them from the oven, Jonesy telephoned and needed emergency help with a cow that had fallen into a ravine. Since their mother was napping and Danny was fishing, they left the brownies on the counter to cool and rode their bikes to the neighboring farm. When they returned, a large portion was missing and their mother was singing as she cleaned the mess they'd left. She smiled at them -- a rare act that summer -- and said that for the first time in weeks, her headache had subsided.
"Maybe it was the brownies," David said, trying to withhold his giggles.
"I think it was," his mother agreed. "I usually don't eat chocolate."
"We'll bake you some every day," David said.
Their mother laughed, a sound they hadn't heard since their father disappeared. "I don't think so."
But they did try it a few more times, although it never had quite the same effect. Danny got into them once, although no one noticed a difference in his normal insouciant behavior. Then their mother noticed an off-taste and wondered what the ingredients were and Joey worried Gary would figure out what was happening. So they stopped their experiments.
"We should make some for Ray," David said, recovering from his gasps.
Joey still struggled to breathe between his giggles and coughs. "Better not."
David nodded, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "We couldn't afford it." He took the harmonica from his pocket and played a few chords until he found a tune he liked. He leaned against the boulder and relaxed.
Joey snuffed out the joint. "Let's finish writing that song."
They lounged around the cave until three-thirty, then hiked down the hill. The most challenging part of the game was making sure Ray wasn't outside. Of course, they could just stay in the woods and go around to the other end of the house, but they liked to keep their stash in the barn. They peeked from the edge of the tree line, then ran to the back of the barn. A crate was below the window so they could crawl through.
David jumped on the crate and reached to push the window open. "What the..." A sheet of plywood had been nailed over the window. He looked at Joey.
"Let's try the door."
They sneaked around the side of the barn, crawling on their hands and knees. Before they reached the door, David knew what they'd find.
The barn door was also boarded up.
"I get the feeling Ray went to school."
"What're we gonna do?" Joey whispered.
David motioned for him to return the way they'd come. "Hide the shit in the woods."
"But what will Ray do?"
David didn't answer. He wasn't so sure anymore.
"David?"
"Let's go find out." He said the words in a braver tone than he felt, but he couldn't let Joey panic. He walked to the house and pushed the side door open. Their books were on the counter. David wished Ray had locked them in the barn.
Ray turned the fried potatoes, then faced them, his eyes hard. "Mr. Johnson sure was glad to see me."
"We --"
"He thought I was in the hospital, suffering from complications after gall-bladder surgery. And he thought you were such considerate boys, taking your little brother to Columbus every Thursday for dialysis." Ray scraped at the potatoes.
David took a deep breath. "As long as our grades --"
"I don't like being lied to."
"But we --"
"And I ain't gonna tolerate it. You can both stay in the goddam house for two weeks."
David made a face and looked at Joey. "Fine. Let me go get our guitars --"
"No."
"But our guitars --"
"Are staying in the goddam barn."
"But we --"
"You ain't doing nothing for two weeks. Nothing."
David's left foot slid forward and his chest puffed out. "You can't take our music away."
"Don't tell me what I can't do."
David's fists went to his hips. "You ass."
"Three weeks." Ray spotted the harmonica in David's pocket and snatched it.
David grabbed for it, but Ray was so much larger he didn't have a chance. "You goddam son-of-a-bitch --"
"Four weeks."
"David ..." Joey shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "C'mon. Don't."
David slammed his fist into the stack of textbooks on the counter. They scattered across the floor.
Ray's face reddened. "Six weeks. You got it? Six goddam weeks." He towered over David, their faces inches apart. "You got anything else to say?"
David's lip curled. "You make me wish Mom wasn't dead." He paused long enough to allow Ray to absorb his words, then pushed Ray away from him. He swaggered from the room. Joey slunk behind him.
Ray stepped into the doorway and watched them go. He shouldn't let David get to him. The next six weeks were going to be hell for all of them, but David had met his match this time and Ray wasn't budging an inch. Not an inch. If he had to sit on David every night, he would.
He returned to the range, scraped burned potatoes from the bottom of the skillet and turned off the flame under the smoldering ham. He needed to calm down. He had a show tonight, the laundry was stacking up and he'd promised Jonesy he'd give him a hand with the chicken coop.
Ray kicked the Algebra text near him. Life wasn't the way he'd planned. And what exactly did David mean, he wished Mom wasn't dead? Ray took a deep breath and held it, then picked up the books. He hoped his father was miserable.

* * *

Danny chewed his thumbnail. The school bus bounced into a rut on the spiraling dirt road. His thumb slipped from his mouth and his teeth dug into his lip. Ray was going to be mad.
The bus pulled into the turn-around and Danny stepped off. Last time they got their report cards, he'd convinced Ray it was the teacher's fault. But he'd spent this six weeks in Miss Ellis' class and he didn't think Ray would accept that excuse.
Boomer pounced from the woods and jumped on Danny, splattering mud on his school pants.
"Hey, girl." Danny fell to the soft earth and wrestled with the half-grown dog. He knew he was getting his clothes dirty, but Ray never complained about washing them. He sat up suddenly. "I know what to do," he said, rubbing Boomer's ears. He took his report card from his pocket and tossed it into the woods.
Boomer bounced after it, returning it to Danny with her ears perked and her tail wagging.
"No, Boom. Let it go." Danny threw it further.
Again, Boomer retrieved it, proud of herself.
Danny sighed. "You don't understand. I want to lose it." He took the muddy report card and propped it on a tree branch. "That's my report card. It stays here."
Boomer barked and jumped toward it.
"Come on. Let's go home." Danny stepped toward the road. His foot sunk deep into a mud puddle. "Daggone it. Now I'm gonna have to wash my socks." They were the last two socks he could find. He was sure there were some in the mound of things he'd shoved under his bed when Ray told him to clean his room, but there was no way he was going to pull that stuff out. The peanut butter and jelly sandwich was already green and fuzzy and there were some other gross-looking things he couldn't identify. And that had been more than a week ago. He sighed and looked at his socks. He'd worn them for five days. They probably needed washed, anyway.
"C'mon, Boom. I'll race you to the house." Danny ran, his left foot heavy with mud.
Boomer swirled around him.
Danny laughed. When he reached the house, he fell on the step and kicked off his shoes before going in.
"Hi, kiddo." Ray turned from the oven and smiled. "How was school?"
"Okay."
"Get your report card?"
"Yeah. I, uh ..." Danny searched his pockets.
Boomer barked at the door.
Ray let her out.
"I must've lost it."
"How'd you do?"
"A lot better. All B's and C's."
"Good. Better go get those muddy clothes off."
Danny nodded and ran up the stairs. He left his dirty clothes in a pile on the bathroom floor and pulled on the jeans Ray must have washed for him. He peeked out the window. David and Joey were just coming up the drive. He ran to their room and took a pair of socks from David's drawer. He pulled them on, then ran back downstairs.
"Look what Boomer found." David waved the dirty manila envelope over Danny's head. "It was stuck in a tree."
"Give it to me." Danny grabbed for it, but David jerked it from his reach.
Ray took it from David. He wiped the envelope on his shirt, then pulled the card out. "Those B's look more like D's to me."
Danny bit his thumbnail.
"What's the problem?"
Danny shrugged.
"Last time it was the teacher, but we got you a new one."
Danny's cheeks burned. He hated anyone to be mad at him, but especially Ray.
"It might help if he did his homework," David said.
"Stay out of it."
David had other things on his mind, anyway. He looked out the back door, straining to see if Ray had removed the boards from the barn.
Ray put the card on the counter and looked at David's, then Joey's. "Good job, guys."
"Did you --"
"Yeah. But that don't --"
David and Joey sprinted from the room, bouncing into one another.
Ray shrugged and took the casserole from the oven.
Danny figured Ray would say something when David and Joey left, but he didn't. Neither did he say anything during dinner. Danny fidgeted and tried to eat, but nothing tasted good. As soon as dinner was over, he sneaked out the back door.
He found Boomer's brush under the step where he'd left it. "Come on, Boom," he said, petting her until she sat between his legs and he could brush her. She licked his face before resting, her tongue dangling from the side of her mouth. Danny gently stroked her blond coat. At least Boomer never got mad at him and liked him no matter what he did.
Ray eased his broad body down next to his little brother. "You ain't gotta lie to me."
Danny concentrated on untangling a glob of Boomer's long hair. His face burned, but there was no place to hide. "I didn't want you mad at me," he said.
"I ain't mad. But I want you to tell me the truth, okay?"
"Okay. Sorry." And he was. He was sorry David had found his report card.
Ray opened his penknife and cut the matted fur. "You gotta get your grades up, kiddo."
"I know."
"I never liked school, neither, but you gotta get through it."
"All I want is to be a drummer. I don't need math and English and history to do that."
"Sure you do. You gotta know fractions to count the beat and you gotta read..."
Danny made a face.
"I know it's been a tough year. But why don't we make a deal? You don't get nothing but A's and B's on your next report card and I'll buy you a drum set."
Danny stopped brushing. He looked at Ray. "A real one?"
"Yeah."
"A new one?"
"Any one you want. I'll take you to Charleston and you can pick it out."
Danny jumped up and danced on the step. "You will? You really will?"
Ray smiled. "Yeah. But no C's or D's. Or F's."
Danny grabbed Boomer's front paws and twirled her around.
Ray stood. "This's between me and you, okay? Ain't everybody gotta know." When Ray bought Danny the magician's kit, Gary had threatened to switch the house money to an account without Ray's name on it. They had fought for days over ten dollars. Ray smiled. He couldn't wait to see stingy Gary's face this time. The drum set would just about deplete their emergency cash.
Danny stopped dancing. "What if I get all A's and one C?"
"No. No C's." Ray lumbered into the house.
Danny watched him go. He needed to call someone in his class and get the spelling words for tomorrow's test. And a book report was due on Friday. He'd have to find his library book that was already two weeks overdue. He bit his thumbnail. It looked like he would need to start studying.

* * *

Sam pulled into Sinatra's, a large night club outside Philadelphia. Few cars were parked in the lot, but it was still early. As his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he noticed the console piano centered on the dance floor.
He walked to the bar. "Whiskey and water," he said, handing one of his last dollars to the cigar-chomping bartender. He took his drink to the pay phone and dialed.
"Hello?" It was Danny's young voice. In the background, he heard someone playing his mother's baby grand. It had to be either Ray or Joey. He'd taught each of his boys piano from the time they were old enough to sit on his lap and pound at the keys, but only Ray and Joey had the passion to master it.
"Hello?"
Sam listened for assurance that his boys were okay. He still called Madge regularly, but sometimes he just had to hear their voices.
"Hello? Is anybody there?"
"Who is it, Danny?" The background voice was a bit harder to identify. Probably David.
"I think it's an obscene phone call," Danny said.
"Then it's for Joey," David said.
"Leave me alone," Joey said.
The phone clicked and the dial tone buzzed in Sam's ear. He replaced the receiver and returned to the bar. "Is the manager in?"
"What'd'ya want?" The bartender spoke without moving his mouth, his teeth clamped around a cigar stub.
"Could I play the piano for tips?"
The bartender raised his eyebrows, looking around the sparse crowd. He grunted. "Yeah. Sure. Go right ahead."
Sam placed his drink on a cardboard coaster. He sat on the bench and ran his fingers over the keys. They had a nice feel, a good sound. They reminded him of his mother's piano that soothed him through his childhood of never being good enough or smart enough or brave enough. Through his father's death and his mother's infirmity. Through years of Madge's meanness. He played a few warm-up scales, then submitted himself to the music.
Consummation of the soul. That's what Sam called the gratification he received from music. When his passion became so intense it begged to be satisfied, pleaded to be released, and he was helpless to resist its urges. When his fingers assumed a life of their own, titillating the ivory keys with the complex music of Bach and Mozart and Beethoven, and he became one with the cadence, breathing with the crescendos, his fingers caressing the keys, stroking them, his every breath in rhythm with the tempo, his every sense focused on the fulfillment of the melody, until everything else faded, everything else disappeared, and only the music existed.
When his submission was complete, his body exhausted and his soul fulfilled, Sam basked in the afterglow, refreshed from the release, complete and whole.
A short, thin man with horn-rimmed glasses stood near him. As Sam returned to reality, the man placed a one hundred dollar bill in his tip jar. Sam stopped playing.
The man smiled. "Could I buy you a drink?"
Sam hesitated, looking around the club. He hoped he hadn't stumbled into some sort of illicit establishment.
The small man handed him a business card. "It's legit. I'm an agent. I represent musicians like yourself, help you get steady jobs."
Sam extended his hand. "Sam Gambel."
"Pete Harrowitz." The man shook his hand firmly. "The last time I heard a piano played like that was at Carnegie Hall. I can keep you as busy as you like. Weekends, weekdays..."
"Everyday. I'd be happy if I never had a day off."
"You got it. I can book you into Star Plaza for cocktail hour tomorrow. It's just down the road. Why don't you follow me over and we'll get you a room and a meal and pick you up some proper attire..."

* * *

Joey's long legs dangled over the foot of the sofa. Summer had gone fast and he'd be glad when school started next week. Not that he minded working at the Jones' farm -- old Jonesy appreciated everything they did and Mrs. Jones fussed over them and made them a hot lunch every day and brought them her delicious lemonade. But it was hard work and after ten hours in the sun, he was beat.
He especially liked Mrs. Jones. Never had she scolded him. Not once. The time the lemonade glass fell through his sweaty hand and shattered into a hundred pieces, she'd hugged him. Hugged him. "Now, honey, don't you worry about that," she said, and he knew she meant it.
Often, very often, she sent them home with their arms loaded with "leftovers" -- uncut pies, meaty casseroles and more than once, a whole ham or a stuffed turkey. Just last night, Jonesy told Ray someone hadn't come for half a cow and begged Ray to take it home so it wouldn't go to waste. Strangely, the same thing happened right after their mother died.
But it was pretty much over now. Jonesy had paid them for their summer work and Ray said he'd take them all to town tomorrow for school clothes. Once school started, Ray would still help Jonesy during the day and Joey and David would give him a hand after school for an hour or two as needed.
Ray and Gary banged in the side door.
"I said you ain't." Ray slammed the door behind him.
"I'm in charge of the money --"
"Shut up. You ain't getting the boys' money."
Gary shoved him.
Ray raised his eyebrow. "Stop it."
Gary pushed him again.
Ray tightened his fist. "You want decked?"
"I want you to stay the hell out of the money."
"I give you every goddam dime I make, but you ain't gonna take from the boys."
"I wouldn't have to if you hadn't emptied the account to buy that goddam drum set for Danny."
"Let it rest. You've bitched about it for three months already."
"What's going to happen if you get sick? Or run out of work? We're dependent on your income now."
"I don't never get sick and we're booked solid through Christmas."
"Would you two shut up?" David yelled from the den. "I'm trying to get a date for tonight and I can't even hear myself talk."
Ray moved toward the living room. "We got a show in two hours." He edged near the stairs, taunting Gary. "I get the tub first."
"The hell you do!" Gary chased him through the living room. They raced up the steps, yelling and pushing.
Joey shook his head. It was hard to believe they were in their twenties. He hoped he and David never regressed that far.

* * *

"That is what I call sexy."
Carol Stampley looked at her youngest sister and shook her head. She'd quit falling in love with the boys in the band when she was sixteen and she'd rather be home now, in her cozy little apartment, snuggled in her comforter and reading a novel.
"Look at him, Carol."
Carol didn't need to ask which one. She knew Linda meant the lead singer, the big dark-haired guy with the scruffy beard. "He's not your type."
"I just want him for one night."
Carol arched her eyebrow. "Uh-uh. I live in this town."
"A man who sings with that much passion has to be a great lover."
Carol adjusted her glasses. She and Linda were about as opposite as sisters could be. Linda was tall and shapely and attractive -- Carol short, trim and plain. Linda was loud and impulsive, Carol studious and prudent. Linda's goal in life was to find a wealthy man, but Carol was content living alone on her school teacher's salary.
"I promised we'd feature Gary tonight," Ray said to the audience. "For those that came in late, this's his last night with the band. He likes money better'n he does music, so he's leaving for Marshall tomorrow to become an accountant --"
"Marshall?" Linda tossed her honey-brown hair behind her shoulder. "Maybe I can get to know him very well."
"I thought it was the lead singer you liked."
Linda laughed. "No. You're the one who likes the fat ones."
"We got a request..." Ray held a napkin to the light and squinted. He turned and looked at Gary. "Guess what for?"
Gary shook his head. "No way! Let Roger do it. He's my replacement."
Ray cocked his eyebrow. "You ain't done nothing but give me a bad time all day." He looked at Stan, the long-haired drummer. "You got the vise grips?"
Stan waved the tool.
Gary stepped back, his face scrunched in mock horror. "Come on, Ray. Don't do this to me."
Ray and Bob, the bass guitarist, approached him. "Sorry, Gar. But a request is a request --"
"Roger. You got to do Roger --"
"Would you hold still?" Ray grabbed one arm, Bob the other. They restrained him, his lower body hidden by the equipment.
Stan opened the vise, holding it high so all could see. "Hold him tight." He pretended to tighten the tool.
"Start singing."
"Eee-eee-eee," Gary sang in his deep baritone.
"Tighter," Ray said.
Stan labored, his hands out of sight.
"No. No..." Gary tried to pull away.
"Sing."
"Eee-eee-eee," he sang an octave higher.
Ray signaled Stan to tighten more.
With a pained expression, Gary's voice raised another octave, singing the opening lines of The Lion Sleeps Tonight a cappella, his clear voice ringing through the crowded room.
The band members rushed to their instruments and joined in the song.
Carol smiled and looked at Linda.
Tears streamed down Linda's face as she struggled for her breath. "I'm going to pee my pants," she gasped, then ran for the rest rooms.
Carol sipped her wine. This was the second club they'd been to. The band at the first was too loud and not very good, but this one wasn't bad. Especially the lead singer, Ray. He had a deep, rich voice, but it was his personality that captivated Carol. She liked the way he laughed and joked with the audience and acted as though there was nowhere he'd rather be or nothing he'd rather do.
Linda fell back into the chair next to Carol. "They're good, aren't they?"
Carol nodded.
The band finished The Lion Sleeps Tonight. Ray moved to the piano. His fingers slid over the keys effortlessly. He sang You're My Soul and Inspiration, his voice floating through the dim bar, charging the air with sensuality.
"Man, is he good," Carol whispered, not wanting to break the spell.
"Yeah, and I'll bet Jerry or Gary or whatever his name, is too."
Carol finished her wine, then relaxed. She could listen to this music all night.
Ray finished the song, then leaned into the microphone. "While we're in a Righteous mood, let's send out You've Lost that Lovin' Feelin' to John, from Sherry." His smooth voice crooned the words of the song. As the final words drifted away, the lights brightened and the band packed their equipment.
"Let's go meet them," Linda said, standing.
"No. We're going home."
"Come on. That guitar guy has a build under that shirt -- and beneath those pants. I'm going to have him."
"Behave yourself."
"Don't you want the fat guy?"
"He's not fat. Now, come on. We're going home."
Linda sighed. "You're no fun, Carol. No fun at all. No wonder you're an old maid."
"I like being an old maid. Now, come on. You've got to drive to Huntington tomorrow."
Linda rolled her eyes. Carol still thought it was her duty to boss her around. But Carol wasn't going to college with her and Carol wasn't going to stop her from finding that musician. And once she found him, she was going to have him. Man, was she going to have him.

* * *

Ray re-read the hand-written note and sighed. "What's this about, David?"
"I don't know. I didn't write it."
"Did you read it?" He wished David would stay out of trouble for at least one week.
"Of course. Do you think I'd bring a note home from my teacher without reading it first?" David looked like a Bantam rooster with his hands low on his hips, his weight on his left leg and his chest thrust out.
"Why does she want to see me?"
"I told you, I don't know."
"You acting up in class?"
"No."
"You going to class?"
"Yes."
"You doing your homework?"
"Yes, Ray. I've been a good little boy." David rolled his eyes. "Maybe that's why she wants to see you. To tell you what a sweet, intelligent, polite young man I am."
"I doubt that." Ray went to the phone. He spoke briefly to Miss Stampley, explaining that he was David's guardian, and scheduled an appointment for the next day.
"Well?" David asked.
"She said she wanted to discuss some poetry you wrote."
David stared at Ray, his expression sobering. "Oh, shit."
"You know what she's talking about, huh?"
David made a face. "It's the one I should've submitted to Playboy instead of my English teacher."
Ray rubbed his forehead. "You mean you wrote a dirty poem?"
"I'd prefer to say risquÈ."
"Why would you give it to your teacher?"
"I thought she was open-minded. She tells us to write what we think."
"Ain't no school teacher that open-minded." Ray shook his head. "You never fail to amaze me."
David smiled. "Try to smooth it over for me, okay? I really like her and I don't want her mad at me."
"I'll see what I can do."
Ray was ten minutes early for his appointment the next day. He stood in the doorway and tugged at his beard, wondering if he should interrupt or come back later.
Carol Stampley looked up from her paperwork. "Come on in."
"I'm Ray Gambel." He extended his hand. "David's brother."
Carol accepted his hand shake. Although he looked nothing like David, there was something familiar about him. She motioned toward an empty chair and waited while he sat. "This is a creative writing class, generally for seniors, but David submitted writing samples last spring to qualify. He's the only junior in the class."
Ray nodded. He knew the kid was smart.
Carol shuffled through the folders on her desk. "I'm concerned about some of his poetry. I wondered if you would take a few minutes to read it."
"Sure."
She handed him a stack of papers. Some teachers would have graded the papers and forgotten the content, but Carol worried about her students.
Ray slowly read through the poems. The first was titled "If I'd Have Loved You More." Ray immediately knew it was about their mother. David and Joey had written songs during the summer with the same type of stark lyrics. He looked at the next one. "I Loved to Hate You" was the title, which was repeated at the end of each stanza except the last, which read, "I Hated to Love You." He glanced over the words again, his eyes stopping on the lines: "You erased the smile from his face; You stole the spirit from his soul. I loved to hate you."
Ray sighed and looked at the next title, "When Wishes Come True." He rubbed his forehead and handed the paper back to Carol. "Our mother died last November. David never got along with her too good."
"David seems to have a lot of anger and guilt he's trying to work through. I'd like to refer him to Mr. Meeks, the school counselor."
"We talked to Rev. Mitchell right after Mom died, but David wouldn't cooperate. Rev. Mitchell said not to bring him back unless David decided he wanted to talk about it."
Carol smiled. David had always been polite in class, but he had that air of arrogance that said he wasn't going to do anything he didn't want to.
"Him and Joey -- that's another brother -- they wrote some songs this summer about Mom."
Carol's eyes widened in sudden recognition. "You're a musician, aren't you?"
"I got a band."
"You played at Dino's Lounge on Labor Day Weekend." He was the one with the wonderful voice, the one who filled the air with ions of sensuality.
Ray's face reddened. Labor Day Weekend was Gary's last time with the band. They'd chugged two pitchers of beer and gotten rowdy -- even did the Lion Sleeps thing. It wasn't the type of show he'd want a school teacher to attend. "You weren't there late, were you?"
Carol's blue eyes danced. "You were wonderful."
Ray took a deep breath. "Uh, thanks." He hesitated, but Miss Stampley only smiled. "When David said you wanted to see me, he said it was because of some, uh -- dirty, poetry he wrote."
Carol's eyes sparkled. "I don't keep those because they tend to upset parents, but it was nothing to worry about. Probably the most normal thing he's written."
Ray wished his face would quit burning.
"Would you mind if I gave David's poetry to Mr. Meeks? And suggest he talk to him?"
"No."
"I'll ask David for his permission before I do." She rose to her feet. "I think David will be fine. Thank you for coming in."
Ray stood.
Carol offered her hand. "Anytime you need to talk to someone, give me a call. I'm in the phone book."
Ray shook her hand. "Thank you."
"It was wonderful meeting you, Mr. Gambel," Carol said, allowing her hand to linger in his. "I hope to see you again. Soon." And she was sure that one way or another, she would.

* * *

"What did you want?" David stood in front of Carol Stampley's desk.
"Thanks for coming in. Why don't you take a seat?"
David lifted the side chair to the front and straddled it.
"I'd like to show your poetry to Mr. Meeks, the guidance counselor."
"What for?"
"I think you should talk to him."
"Why?"
Carol hesitated. She knew David would badger her until she spit out the truth. "I think you need help dealing with your mother's death."
"No, I don't."
"It wasn't your fault, David."
"I know."
"You can't wish someone dead."
David's fist tightened. With one swing he could clear Miss Stampley's overly neat desk of the stapler, paper clips and pencil jar. He swallowed. "Is that all you want? I'm missing my lunch."
"Are you sure you won't talk to Mr. --"
"No. And I'd appreciate it if you'd respect my privacy and not show my poetry to anyone."
"I let your brother see it last night."
"Ray?" David rolled his eyes. "He probably didn't understand it."
"Don't underestimate him."
David stood. "We got a deal?"
"I won't show your work without your permission."
"Thanks."
"If you're not comfortable talking to Mr. Meeks, I could find someone else."
"I told you, I'm okay. Can I go eat my lunch now?"
Carol sighed. "My door's always open, okay?"
"Thanks," David said on his way out.
But Miss Stampley's words gnawed at him. The next day he met her as she was leaving for lunch.
"Did you want to see me?"
David looked down the hall where Joey waited, leaning against a locker.
"Come on," Miss Stampley said, motioning him back into her room.
David followed her and sat as he had the day before. "I'm sorry about yesterday."
"It didn't bother me."
"I just don't want to be psycho-analyzed. Can you understand that?"
Carol nodded.
"My mother was a bitch." David flinched as he said the word, one he should have euphemized for his teacher. "And if I go in and tell that to a psychiatrist, they'll think I'm psycho and commit me."
"I doubt --"
"You're supposed to love your mother, you know? Especially if she's dead. But I can't help it. Joey was scared to death of her. He still isn't right." David brushed his fingers over his scar. "My dad always took up for us so she ran him off."
Miss Stampley's face slackened with compassion.
"And, yeah, I'm mad. And sometimes I think I should have tried harder to get along with her and sometimes I feel bad that I used to wish she was dead, but there's nothing anyone can do about it now. Talking to some head doctor isn't going to bring my dad home or fix Joey or erase this scar."
"They might help you deal with it."
"My life is better now than it's ever been."
Miss Stampley's gaze drilled through him. "What about Joey?" she said softly. "Maybe he could --"
"Joey doesn't need anybody screwing with his mind."
"But --"
"He's getting better. He's starting to realize Ray isn't like Mom. He's gonna be okay."
"But maybe --"
David stood. "If you want to send someone to the psychiatrist, maybe it should be Harry Hanson. He sits back there and sketches war scenes of dead people with scattered body parts. He can't wait to visit Vietnam."
Before Miss Stampley could respond, David strode out the door.

* * *

Ray watched as David cleared the table. Twice he grabbed his side, doubling over, his face contorted in pain. "You okay?"
David nodded, his lips clamped white.
"Go sit down. I'll help Joey finish."
"Thanks." David walked from the room, hunched over.
Joey watched him go. "Something's wrong with him."
"He's just got a tummy ache," Ray said, wiping the table.
"He threw up before dinner."
"Probably the flu."
Joey washed another plate. It wasn't the flu. Something was wrong with David. He knew it. "Would you check on him?"
"He's okay."
Joey placed the plate in the drainer. David wasn't okay. He didn't know how he knew, but he did. Just like the time David fell off the hay loft. Joey was in the corn field and turned cold with dread. He went looking for David and found him unconscious, covered with blood from a large gash on the back of his head.
Joey turned off the water. "Please. Something is wrong with him."
Ray nodded. The worry on Joey's face was enough to convince him. He went upstairs and found David lying in a tight fetal position. Joey was right. It wasn't the flu. "C'mon, David. Let's get you to the hospital."

* * *

Carol Stampley stood in the door of the hospital room. She had come to see how David was doing, but she couldn't keep her eyes off his older brother.
Ray patted David's forehead with a damp cloth. "Wanna drink?"
David didn't reply. His breathing slowed into sleep.
Ray watched him for a few minutes, then pulled the sheet around his shoulders. Without taking his eyes from David, he pulled the chair closer to the bed and fell into it.
Carol stepped forward. "How is he?"
Ray jumped and turned to face her. He lumbered to his feet. "I'm sorry. You been here long?"
"How's David?"
"He made it through surgery without no complications, but he ain't feeling real good right now." Ray rubbed his forehead. "They said his appendix was pretty ugly."
"Were you with him all day?"
"Since last night."
"Would you let me stay while you get something to eat?"
David moaned.
Ray stepped closer to him. "I better not leave him."
"He'll be fine." There was something about this man that sent sparks through her nervous system. She had already pulled his file from the office and learned he had turned twenty-three in August -- three years younger than she. But she'd been around enough to know the good ones were grabbed early.
Ray smiled. "Thanks. I won't be gone long."
Carol watched him walk out the door. She had phoned Linda the night Ray stopped in for the conference, and Linda insisted it was fate. They had giggled like school girls and Carol admitted he took her breath away. Linda warned her not to be too prudish, but she already knew how to get what she wanted. And she wanted to get to know this man better. A lot better.

* * *

Ray smiled as Carol came in and motioned Joey and Danny to move back to make room for her. "I think they're gonna send him home early. He's getting into too much trouble."
"They won't let me eat," David complained. "They bring me Jello and broth and sherbet. I want steak."
"I brought you something to get your mind off it." She put the cardboard binder on his table and handed him a sealed envelope. "Everyone in class wrote you a poem or a story and your fan club wrote a special poem. They wouldn't let me read it."
"His fan club?" Ray asked.
"A group of girls has a crush on David." Carol smiled at Ray. "They got out of hand one day while David was reading one of his more explicit poems, so I called them his fan club. Now they call themselves that."
David ripped the envelope open. He chuckled, then grabbed his stomach. "It hurts to laugh." He handed the note to Joey. "Maybe tomorrow I'll feel up to writing them a poem."
Joey replaced the note in the envelope, his face crimson.
"Can I read it?" Danny asked.
David tossed it to him. "Don't let Ray catch you."
Ray looked at Joey. "Should Danny read it?"
Joey shook his head.
"You wimp," David said, rolling his eyes.
Ray took the paper from Danny and put it back in the envelope.
Danny made a face. "C'mon, Ray."
"I'll sneak it to you later," David said with a wink.
Carol laughed.
Ray looked at her. "David keeps stuff like this going constantly. There ain't no rest with him around."
"At least he's feeling better."
"Will you tell my fan club I said, 'okay' ?"
"Okay to what?" Ray asked.
"They want to see my scar." David grinned. "Among other things."
Ray looked at Carol, waiting for her reaction.
She laughed. "You've got your hands full."
"He ain't even well yet. I expected to get more than two days rest outta this." Ray glanced at his watch. "We better get home and get something to eat."
On Friday, Carol came to David's room during lunch break.
Ray stood. "I think he's all better. He's flirting with the nurses and giving me a bad time."
"When does he go home?" she asked.

"Maybe Monday."
Carol set a stack of paper in front of David, then looked at Ray. "My sister's coming for a visit next weekend. She wants to know if your band is playing anywhere."
"The Holiday Inn."
"Would it embarrass you if we stopped by?"
"No, Miss Stampley. Of course not," Ray answered.
"Great. And I prefer to be called Carol."
"Carol." Ray nodded. "I'm Ray."
"And I'm David. If you guys want some privacy, I think the room next door is vacant."
Ray stared at David.
Carol laughed. "I need to get back to school. But I'll look forward to seeing you next Friday, Ray."
David waited until she left. "She's got the hots for you. Big time."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"It's not me she's coming to see every day."
"I think them drugs are frying your brain."
David's eyebrow fluttered. "She's going to watch you play next weekend?"
"She likes my music."
"Don't encourage her, okay? She's my teacher."
"You ain't got nothing to worry about."
But each day Ray became more nervous. He phoned Gary and convinced him to skip his late class Friday and come home early. He called an extra rehearsal and scheduled all four sets, leaving nothing to chance. And by Friday evening his stomach somersaulted and his appetite vanished.
"What's that horrible smell?" David curled his nose. He'd been home since Monday and Ray hoped he could return to school soon. "You put perfume on, didn't you?" He eyed Ray. "You got enough starch in that shirt?"
"You worry too much."
"She's my teacher, Ray. Leave her alone."
"Hey, Gary!" Ray yelled toward the stairs. "You ready?"
Gary jogged into the room, carrying his shoes.
"Why is Gary going?" David asked.
"Mind your own business, David. And don't leave Danny by hisself tonight. If you go to the barn, take him with you."
David rolled his eyes. "He's got Boomer."
"You heard me."
Carol and Linda arrived at the beginning of the first set.
Gary escorted them to his table in the front. He didn't understand what Ray saw in Carol -- it was too easy to imagine her in fifty years, peering through her bifocals, her gray hair in a bun, her bony shoulders covered with a shawl, saying, "Now, class..."
But the sister -- Linda -- was another story. She had a body that didn't stop and a roving eye that suggested she didn't say no. She danced most numbers, some with Gary and some with anyone she could grab. She was an extraordinary dancer, uninhibited and confident.
"Where'd you learn to dance like that?" Gary asked.
"Fifteen years of dance school," Linda said. "Carol, too. And Diane, my sister between me and Carol. Of course, we each preferred a different style. Carol loved ballet, Diane tap and me jazz."
Gary finished the set on the dance floor, then joined Ray in the men's room. "She likes you."
"Who does?"
"Carol." Gary lit a cigarette. "I mean it. I've been watching her. She doesn't take her eyes off you. Except to exchange looks with Linda. I heard her tell Linda how great you were with the boys --"
"She's a smart woman."
"Why don't you dance with her? I'll play a set for you."
Ray hadn't danced with a woman for a long time. He wasn't sure he remembered how. "I'll play another set and drink a few more beers. Then we'll see."
"I ordered wine for you." Gary leaned against the wall. "Maybe you can get lucky."
Ray raised his eyebrow. "She's David's teacher."
"So? Teachers get horny, too."
"Gary --"
"Let me take this set."
"No."
Gary took a long drag from his cigarette and slowly exhaled. "I wouldn't mind taking Linda for a ride."
Ray shook his head. "Keep your hands off Linda."
"Why?"
"She's Carol's sister." He pushed the rest room door open.
"Let me have this set."
"No."
Gary followed him back to the table. "Want me to take this set for you?" he said so Carol and Linda could hear, then turned to avoid Ray's glare.
"Can you do that?" Carol asked.
"If he'll let me. He likes to keep all the attention to himself."
Ray took a long drink from the wine.
"Go on," Linda said. "I want to hear you sing."
"I do mainly backup. When Ray's out, Stan takes the lead."
"Last time you sang Hooked on a Feeling."
Gary nodded.
"Do it again."
Gary smiled and looked at Ray.
Ray scratched his beard. He'd have words with Gary later. "Go ahead."
Gary emptied his second beer and jumped to the stage. He was eager to show off. He had a pretty good idea that big-mouthed Linda was hot to trot. He led the band, singing every love song he knew, his attention on Linda.
"Gary has a good voice, too," Carol said. "Are all your brothers talented?"
"Joey's the best. That kid puts his heart and soul into it. David can pick up any instrument and play it, and together they write real good music. Lyrics and melody. Danny's got a lot of talent, too, but the only thing he wants is to play the drums."
Stan, the drummer, took the lead, singing the Righteous Brothers' Unchained Melody.
Linda jumped from her seat and grabbed a man returning from the rest room. Despite his protests, she herded him to the dance floor.
Ray looked at Carol. "Wanna dance?" The words tumbled out before he realized what he was asking.
"Sure."
Ray took her arm and led her to an open corner. He held her at a proper distance.
Carol wiggled closer to him and rested her head against his large chest.
He adjusted his arms, wrapping his left around her waist. He hadn't considered that the evening could turn out like this, but Carol felt warm and comfortable next to him. Like she belonged there. The thought of her being a school teacher intimidated him, but she didn't seem to mind. She was kind and understanding and funny and smart. And real. He'd never liked the girls with the false eyelashes and helpless acts. He liked the ones he could talk to, the ones who could be a friend. And he liked Carol. He closed his eyes. As time goes by, so slowly, and time can do so much... Ray usually sang lead on this, but Stan did a good job. And it was nice to hold a woman. Very nice. He'd been so busy with the boys and the band and all the other bullshit that he'd forgotten what it was like.
I need your love, I need your love, God-speed your love, to-o-o me... The words echoed in his mind as he turned in time to the rhythm. He buried his nose in the fragrant smell of her hair. Her cashmere sweater was soft beneath his touch and the heat of her body flushed him. Reality melted and he submitted to the raw sensuality of the music. O-oh, my love, my darling, I hunger for your touch... The smells of their perfumes and the warmth of their bodies and the feel of their skin swirled together. The beat of the drums pulsed through his body, the purity of the melody drifted through his consciousness. I need your love, I need your love, God-speed your love, to-o-o me...
The realization that the music stopped was gradual. He felt dazed, as though awakening from a dream. He looked at Gary to make sure it had ended.
Gary winked.
Stan caught his eye and gave him a thumbs-up sign.
Ray's face burned.
"Thank you," Carol whispered.
He squeezed her hand and led her back to the table.
Linda smiled as they returned. "How many times did he repeat that?"
"Repeat what?" Ray's face grew hotter. The feel of Carol's body against his was etched in his memory.
"The song. He sang it at least twice."
Carol shrugged. "I didn't notice."
"I didn't neither." Ray needed to cool off before he returned to work.
Linda's steel gray eyes slithered over his body. "Are you hot, Ray?" she asked, her eyebrow cocked.
Carol gave Linda an icy look. She held the bottle of wine over Ray's glass. "Refill?"
"No, I better not." He should step outside and let the December chill cool him. "I need a Coke. Gary can't cover for me all night." He didn't wait for the waitress, but excused himself and walked to the bar. As he waited, Gary finished the next number and ended the set.
Gary hurried to meet him before he returned to the table. "Why don't you drive Carol home? I'll ask Linda to give me a ride."
"I told you to leave Linda alone."
Gary scowled. "I'm just trying to find a way for you to be alone with Carol."
"She's David's teacher and we're gonna treat her -- and her sister -- with respect."
Gary rolled his eyes. "Fine." He lit a cigarette. "Open this set with Light My Fire."
"I ain't got that on the schedule tonight."
"Then put it on there."
"Why?"
"Carol said she hoped you'd do it," Gary lied.
Ray sighed. He returned to the stage and tuned his guitar. He glanced through the requests, then opened with Light My Fire, his deep baritone caressing the words.
Gary had Linda on the dance floor within seconds. They danced close, too close, and before the song was over, they disappeared out the back door.
Ray watched for them to return, and when they didn't, he decided he would kick Gary's ass. He hated Carol being alone at the table and kept a close watch that no one bothered her. He refused encores and joined her as soon as he cased his guitar.
"I think Gary and Linda left," she said.
Ray nodded. "Do you need a ride home?"
"I should have known better than to let Linda drive. She's done this to me before."
Ray helped her with her coat. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault."
Ray drove to her small apartment and walked her to the door.
"I can't believe Gary done that." Despite the freezing temperature, Ray's face was hot. He wanted to cram his fist down Gary's throat. He had hoped so much to make a good impression. "I'll make sure it don't happen again."
"You can't help what your brother does any more than I can help what my sister does."
"I know, but he..." Ray swallowed the glob of irritation stuck in his throat. "I told him not to."
Carol unlocked the door. "Why don't you come in?"
Ray hesitated.
"I'll make some coffee."
Ray followed her into the tiny apartment. It was immaculate -- bare, almost, compared to the cluttered farmhouse. There were several paperbacks on the coffee table and a large bookcase filled to capacity against the wall. "You must like to read."
She took his jacket. "I prefer to stay home, but when Linda visits she wants to go constantly." Carol moved into the kitchenette and measured coffee into the percolator. When she finished, she motioned to the sofa. "Sit down." She waited until he chose the far end, then sat next to him and slipped off her heels.
"How did you get interested in music?" Carol asked.
Ray smiled. "At my house, that's like asking how you got interested in breathing. My dad's probably the best musician I ever heard anywhere. He taught us classical piano and classical guitar. But when me and Gary discovered Bill Haley and Chubby Checker and the Everly Brothers, we knew that's what we wanted to do."
"What did your dad think about that?"
"He put away the classical shit and gave us a concert. We knew he played at the American Legion and the Eagles every weekend, but we assumed he played like he did at home. We didn't have no idea he did Elvis and Johnny Cash."
"He didn't practice at home?"
"No. He only played classics at home. That was probably when I first realized how good he was. He could hear something once and play it. I gotta work at it, you know? I gotta peck it out."
"It didn't upset him for you to switch to rock 'n roll?"
"Oh, no. No. Dad's real easy going. I ain't never heard him raise his voice. I ain't never seen him upset, except for the time me and Gary..." Ray stopped.
"You and Gary what?"
"I don't think you want to know about that."
Carol laughed. "Sure I do. Go on."
Ray hesitated. "It was Gary's idea."
"Of course it was. What did you do?"
"I was probably fifteen -- old enough to know better, so Gary would've been thirteen, and David, uh, about eight, almost nine. And he was a brat. Me and Gary was trying to get our band started and David did nothing but bug us. Joey was there, too, of course, 'cause Joey was always wherever David was, but he never said nothing. He'd just sit and watch."
"Kind of like he does now, huh?"
"Yeah. Joey's always been real quiet. But David, I don't know how he's managed to live this long. For days he pestered us. So Gary says, 'Let's take him out back and make a man out of him.' And that sounded good to me. So we took David behind the barn and started punching him. Not hard. Just playing with him more than anything. But Joey ran and got Dad, and I'm telling you, I ain't never seen him like that before. Or since."
Ray unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. "Course, he got there just as I was taking my turn. And he was mad. I thought he was gonna hit me, but he didn't. He never once hit none of us. He just looked at me, those blue eyes -- he's got the same eyes as David -- those blue eyes sparking and staring clean through me. And then he just turned and walked away, not even saying one word." Ray straightened. "Is that coffee ready yet?"
"Should be."
Ray followed her to the kitchen.
"Cream or sugar?" Carol asked.
"Black."
Carol poured his cup, then fixed her own. "So then what happened?"
"Nothing right then. But after dinner, I went out to help Dad bring the cows in, and he jumped all over me." Ray sipped the coffee. "And man, that got to me. I mean, me and Dad were close. He'd never been mad at me before. He'd never yelled at me before. And then he says, 'I'm disappointed in you.' So, here I am, this big fifteen-year-old kid, and I start bawling. And I ain't no little kid. I'm already taller than Dad and bigger than Dad, 'cause Dad ain't real big -- he's about the size of David. And I'm bawling. Bawling like a baby. Snot running down my face, the whole works. Dad just stares at me, then he takes out his hankie and wipes my face and hugs me. We're standing out in the middle of the pasture and he's holding me, rocking me, like a baby. And I ain't never laid a hand on none of the younger boys since."
Carol stirred her coffee. "Where's your dad now?"
The words may as well have come from a shot gun. Ray's breath left him. His jaw slacked.
Carol touched his arm. "I'm sorry."
Ray shrugged. "I don't know where he is. I don't even know if he's..." He set down his cup. "Where's your bathroom?"
By the time Ray returned, Carol had moved their coffee to the living room, turned on soft music and lit a candle.
They talked for a long time. They discussed David's attitude and Joey's introversion and Danny's insecurity. They discussed books and music. They discussed Gary and Linda and the responsibilities of being the oldest.
Just as the early morning light began to lighten the room, Linda popped in. "Hi, guys. Want me to leave?"
Ray stood. "No. I gotta get going."
Carol walked him to the door.
"Thanks for coming to my show."
"I had a good time," she answered.
"I did, too." He still hated to leave her. He wondered if he should try to kiss her -- she was standing close enough to him -- but he didn't want to come on too strong. Instead, he touched her hand. "Maybe we can do it again sometime."
"I'd like that."
He took a deep breath and went to his car.
Ray spent the remainder of the weekend fighting with Gary. Gary refused to cooperate. When Ray insisted Gary's behavior was lewd, embarrassing and damaging to Ray's future with Carol, he laughed. When Ray forbade him to see Linda again, he arranged a date for Saturday night. When Ray threatened to kick his ass, Gary punched him.
Ray was still upset Sunday afternoon as Gary loaded his car for his return to school.
"Lighten up," Gary said as he tossed his tennis shoes in the back seat. "Linda says Carol is giving her hell, too."
"She should."
Gary sighed. He'd tried reasoning with Ray. He'd tried ignoring him. The only thing he hadn't tried was lying. "Now that you've acted like a self-righteous arrogant ass all weekend, I suppose I should confess."
"What?"
"We're just friends."
"Who?"
"Linda and I have a lot in common. We're the same age, we go to the same school, we both have older siblings who think it's their God-given duty to run our lives..."
"What the hell are you saying?"
"It's just your dirty mind working overtime that assumes I'm out having sordid sex when I'm just enjoying the innocent company of a friend."
"Bull shit."
"You spent the night with Carol Friday night. I believed you when you said all you did was talk."
"Why didn't you tell me that yesterday morning?"
"Because I like to aggravate you."
Ray scratched his beard.
Gary smiled. Ray believed him. Now Ray would get off his ass and he could have some real fun. He punched Ray's arm. "Call me if you decide to ask Carol out this weekend. I'll come home early and cover the band for you."
"We got money?"
"I'll find some."
Ray thought about Carol until Tuesday. He wanted to ask her out, to take her on a real date, but what if she didn't want to see him? She seemed to like him, but what if she realized he was uneducated and financially unstable and over his head in responsibility? She grew up with dance lessons and party dresses and Shirley Temple curls -- a long way from farm chores and busted lips and patched jeans.
Ray sat at the piano and allowed his fingers to pick out a melancholy tune.
She had come to hear him play. She had invited him to her apartment. David and Gary had both said she liked him. His melody turned into Something -- the Beatles hit that was just dropping on the charts. Something in the way she moves... The words played through his mind.
He nodded. There was something about her and he had to take the chance that she wouldn't turn him down. He didn't have to look up her number -- he'd already memorized it. He took a deep breath and picked up the phone.
It rang three times. Ray couldn't remember another time when his knees actually shook, but they did now. He leaned against the wall for support.
"Hello?"
"Carol?"
"Yes?"
"This's Ray Gambel."
"Hi, Ray."
"I wondered, if maybe, if you'd go to dinner with me? Friday night?"
"That'd be great."
Ray hoped she could hear him over the noise his heart made as it forced blood through his veins in strong, loud pulses. "Six o'clock? Could I pick you up at six?"
"Yes."
"And maybe we could go dancing afterward?"
"Sure. I'll look forward to seeing you."
"Thanks. Bye."
Ray hung up the phone. He slid down the wall and sat on the floor and laughed. Out loud. He'd done it. He felt like he was sixteen years old, but he'd done it.

* * *

Gary heard the tap at his door and smiled. He swung the door open.
"Hi, Gar." Linda grinned. "Wanna screw?"
"Shhh!" He looked up and down the hallway. "Get in here." He pulled her into his room and locked the door.
She laughed, holding onto his arm for support.
Linda was one crazy girl, there was no doubt about that. And it was convenient, she being Carol's sister and also a student at Marshall. Since that night two months ago when they'd left Ray's show early, they'd been together more nights than not.
"Can I ride home with you this weekend?" She ran her hand along his inner thigh.
"Of course." He grabbed her hand.
"Carol hasn't got Ray in the sack yet." She unbuckled his belt.
"You didn't tell her --"
"She's not stupid. She knows I'm not coming to see her every weekend."
"If Ray finds out, he'll watch