Still Life in Shadows (11 page)

As Moriah lit up, Gideon said, “What took you to Orlando?”

“A girl.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“A girl? Where did you meet her?”

“On the beach. She was wearing a pink bikini.” He grinned, blew out a puff of smoke. “She taught me to surf.”

“You went straight to Florida from Carlisle?”

“No, I went to visit Uncle William in Missouri. Did you ever meet William Bender?”

Gideon thought the name sounded familiar. “One of Mom’s relatives?” With all the family tales she used to tell around the dinner table, it seemed she was related to everyone.

“That’s right.” Moriah inhaled one last time before extinguishing his cigarette. “I went to help him out on his dairy farm and then never went back home after that.”

Gideon thought of his own story of departure. That night of his cousin’s wedding, he’d snuck out of the house to meet an English friend down the road. The friend was headed to Virginia Beach for the summer
but had been willing to first drive Gideon to the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. In Staunton, Gideon had helped out on an uncle’s farm until he made his trek into North Carolina.

Moriah swung an arm around his brother. “The farm life there was okay. I did go out with this pretty girl who lived across the street. But …” He paused as though he was debating whether or not to tell more about his relationship with her. “I wanted to get away from farming. You know, like you did. And here I am now!”

Dismissing his brother’s enthusiasm, Gideon blurted, “How’s Mom?” Although he’d only written to her once since he’d left home—Ormond had insisted that she needed to hear he was safe—he thought of her often.

Moriah lit another cigarette. Between blowing smoke rings, he said, “She’s the same. She’ll always be the same.” Gideon wasn’t sure just what he meant by that, but decided not to ask.

“I don’t miss them at all. Good riddance is what I say, you know?”

Gideon felt the strain in his own jaw. Moriah made leaving a family seem easy, as though there was no room for remorse or regret. Clenching his teeth, he fought the urge to say something sarcastic.

The rest of the afternoon, Gideon tried to keep his questions to a minimum, especially after Moriah complained that he could be a drill sergeant. He introduced Moriah to Luke and Ormond. When Kiki came by after her doctor’s appointment, Gideon said, “This is my long-lost baby brother.”

“Your brother?” said Kiki. “I thought after you, your parents decided you were enough and not to have any more kids.” She grinned. Then with a careful look at Moriah, she smoothed out her hair with her hand and moistened her lips.

Moriah laughed. “Had they been normal, they would have. But they are Amish and believe that the more kids, the better your chances are at getting into Heaven.”

“Really?” Kiki looked at Gideon for his reaction.

“No,” interjected Gideon with force. “That’s not true.”

“I believe it is,” said Moriah, the smile gone from his young face. “Why else do they reproduce like rabbits?”

Gideon wished Moriah would be quiet. It bothered him that his brother could lash out criticisms without considering the effect his words had on others.

“Rabbits?” Kiki repeated. “Rabbits?”

“It’s an expression.” Gideon’s tone was strong, hoping it would make his brother realize that he needed to curb this conversation. Turning to Moriah he said, “Do you have dinner plans?”

Moriah said he had no plans, but he was hungry. “Haven’t eaten since this morning, and that was so long ago.”

Quickly, Gideon did a mental assessment of what was in his fridge and freezer at home. “You like grilled chicken?”

“Sure.”

“I like grilled chicken,” said Kiki. “And macaroni and cheese. And pie and milkshakes.” She smiled. “I like fowl roasted over a spit, too. That’s what pirates eat when they’re looking for treasure.” In a serious tone, she explained, “Fowl means bird.”

Moriah smiled wide, his teeth sparkling like an ad for toothpaste. “A girl after my own heart.” Then in a singsong voice, he belted out, “It’s a pirate’s life for me! Aye, aye! A pirate’s life for me!”

“I like pirates!” Kiki cried. “I was a pirate at Halloween.”

Moriah nodded. “I like them, too. They get to ride on cool ships and look for treasure. They never have to be home at a certain time. They just wander.”

Gideon wished it wasn’t so, but Kiki was looking at Moriah with a contented, dreamy expression, like she thought he was the most handsome man around. The truth was, he was. Gideon sucked in his jealousy, slapped Moriah on the back, and offered a small smile. “Good, good,” he said, although he wasn’t sure why.

I
n his apartment kitchen, Gideon washed russet potatoes to roast, patting them dry and then covering them with dabs of butter and sprigs
of fresh rosemary. He’d seen a chef on the Food Network make potatoes this way and ever since then had made his own. Finding a pack of frozen peas, he decided to add them to the menu. He’d spice them up a bit with some oregano and onions. “You still like peas?” he called out to Moriah, recalling a toddler in a high chair cramming peas into his miniature mouth.

There was no reply, so Gideon entered the living room where earlier Moriah had been stretched out on the sofa, his shoes off, his bare toes wiggling. The room was still—there was no sign of his brother. He checked the bathroom, both off his bedroom and the half bath in the hallway. “Moriah?”

Back in the kitchen, Gideon opened the oven to make sure the chicken was browning. He removed the pan, stirred the pieces and then added pepper to them.

Peering out his kitchen window, he hoped to see his brother, perhaps on the grassy common area beside his apartment building. Maybe he’d gone out for a cigarette. But although he craned his neck to scan as much of the view as he could, Moriah was not on the lawn.

Half an hour later, just as Gideon was about to take the chicken and potatoes from the oven, Moriah sprung open the front door to the apartment. A six-pack of Coors dangled from his hand. “Hey,” he grinned. “I thought we could use something good to drink.”

Moriah placed the cans on the kitchen table and opened one. Handing it to Gideon, he said, “Here you go.”

“No, thanks.”

Moriah took the beer and lifted it to his lips. “You’re missing out.”

Gideon merely stated, “Beer makes you fat.” He was not about to tell Moriah his own obsession with drinking when he was first loose from the reins of his parents. Upon his arrival in Twin Branches at the age of fifteen, he had drunk so much he fell asleep in an alleyway. The next morning he was discovered by a child on her way to school. The child called her mother to come look at the homeless bum. Never, he vowed, would he humiliate himself that way again.

Moriah ate like a famished mutt Gideon had once seen by the Dumpster outside the repair shop. “You’re a great cook,” he said as he chewed his last bite of chicken. “Where’d you learn?” Retrieving his paper napkin off the floor, he used the edge of it to wipe his mouth.

“TV shows. Emeril Lagasse and Gordon Ramsay.” He doubted his brother had a clue as to who these culinary masters were, but Moriah surprised him.

“That Gordon Ramsay sure knows how to help restaurants that are in trouble. I saw a few shows on how he helped failing restaurant owners get back on their feet.”

“I’ve seen some of those episodes, too.”

“TV is awesome, isn’t it?” Moriah leaned back in his chair. He lifted his can of beer above his head. “Here’s to TV and music, movies, fast cars, and fast women. All the things a good Amish town will never have.” Lowering the can, he drank. When the beer was gone, he crushed the can and placed it on the table with a ceremonial flair. Lifting his shirt, he said, “Let me show you this beauty. This is my pride and joy.” And there, on his exposed belly, was a tattoo of an ornate ship with sails, a skull and crossbones on one of them. “This is what I got done in Orlando. What do you think?”

Gideon studied the colorful tattoo on his brother’s torso, just inches above his belt. He had no words to say how he felt about this body art. As a child, Moriah had loved anything to do with pirates. He would draw pictures of their ships, their treasure chests, and even their faces, complete with dreadlocks, eye patches, and beards. Once, Father saw one of the pictures, and as the veins popped in his neck, he ripped it up with two large hands. He demanded that Moriah never draw anything that vulgar again and then, certain that his boy was getting these horrible pirate infatuations from those
wretched English boys
, told Moriah he could never associate with anyone but the Amish. Now, free from his father’s rule, Moriah had chosen to have a drawing of a forbidden ship on his very skin. This was permanent, unable to be torn apart by an outraged man. “He would kill you,” Gideon said.

“He would. Too bad he can’t. He’ll never see me again.”

Gideon felt the air cool; the mention of their father brought a chill over the room.

“I’m so glad to be out of there. Free at last!” Looking around the dining area, Moriah said, “Do you ever think of buying your own house instead of renting?”

In fact, Gideon had. A two-story home with a wraparound porch just half a mile from the auto shop had interested him nine years ago. He’d contacted the Realtor, taken the tour, and liked what he saw. But when he got to thinking about the high mortgage rates, property taxes, and whether or not he wanted to invest in a house, he’d backed out. The Realtor called a couple of times, insisting she could get him a lower interest rate, but he declined, telling her that his apartment was fine—just the right size and location. The niggling voice inside his head knew that those sentiments were only the partial truth. He planned to get married someday. Wouldn’t it be better to wait till the right woman came along and then together they could purchase a home to their liking? But tonight he chose not to reveal any of that and simply said, “Owning a home is a lot of work.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Better to be free from the hassle.”

Thirty minutes later, the last beer consumed, Moriah let out a burp and said, “I’m tired.”

“You can sleep on the sofa. It makes into a bed.”

As Gideon helped his brother put a fitted beige cotton sheet on the mattress, he asked, “What are your plans?”

“What do you mean?”

“When do you have to get back to Orlando?” Gideon fitted a pillowcase on a fluffy pillow he found in his linen closet. He sniffed the pillow as he worked, grateful that the stale smell of being forgotten in a closet over time did not permeate.

Moriah stretched out on the sofa bed, the pillow under his head. “Ahh,” he moaned as he closed his eyes. “This is nice. I’ll probably be asleep in a minute.”

Gideon rephrased the question. “How long will you be here?”

“Here?”

“Yeah, how long?”

Moriah rolled over and tugged at the sheet until it covered his lean torso. “I have no plans to return to Florida.”

“You aren’t going back?”

“Uh-uh.”

“But what about a job? What about your friends in Florida?” What about that girl in the bikini he met on the beach?

Moriah’s lips curved into a smile. He opened his eyes just long enough to say, “I want to be here with you, bro.”

Gideon wanted to feel good about his sentiments, but something made him leery. What was wrong with him? He should be elated that his brother had found him and wanted to spend time with him. This was an opportunity to grow closer, to give each other kudos for risking it all and leaving the Amish life. They could go see movies together, go out for pizza, have discussions about religion.

He was about to ask what kind of pizza Moriah liked when suddenly his brother groaned. “I need to get up. Forgot to brush my teeth.”

As his brother rummaged through his duffel bag for his toothbrush and a tube of Aquafresh, Gideon’s suspicions grew. Moriah had said on the phone that he was coming for a visit and that he liked living in sunny Orlando. Why did he want to stay in Twin Branches now?

As Moriah brushed his teeth in the bathroom off the hall, Gideon said, “You’ll need a job.”

Moriah spit into the sink and laughed. “That’s right, the Miller boys aren’t lazy. We work from sunup to sundown and then some.”

Ten minutes later, lying in his own bed, Gideon thought of where he could get a job for Moriah. What was the kid good at? Would he be like Luke, good with cars, or more like Amos, unable to handle grease and tools?

His thoughts grew hazy as sleep took over. He dreamed of the farm. In his dream it was a clear day with billowy clouds, the kind that looked
like marshmallows bouncing along like hot-air balloons. The sun shone on the orchard and fields, a lone wagon hitched to a horse sat by the road that led to the farmhouse. Suddenly, a flock of people, his parents among them, were running toward him, shouting that something was wrong. A storm was coming. Gideon told them they were crazy to be worried, the sky was bright. Even so, everyone rushed inside, securing the doors and locking all the windows.