What's in a Name? (29 page)

“
Nobody knows about
Brian. Trust me. And we’re not staying with him, anyway.” He
concentrated on the rhythmic clatter of the suitcase wheels as they
approached Brian’s ‘55 Chevy Nomad. Dad’s station wagon. Keeping
cars running had been a survival skill both boys had learned early
on—one of the things that had held them together during their
teens. He helped Brian load the luggage, then pulled the front door
open for her.

“
You can ride
shotgun,” he said to Kelli.

“
No, you take the
front. I’m sure you and Brian have things to talk about, and I’ll
crash in back.”

Talk to Brian. He’d managed to avoid it
for years. Still, his brother had dropped everything to help them,
no questions asked. Blake nodded and got into the front seat.
Without glancing his way, Brian turned on the ignition.

After driving in silence for twenty
minutes, Blake glanced over into the rear seat. Kelli had tucked
her legs under her, pillowed her head on her jacket and appeared to
be asleep.

“
Car’s in great
shape.” Blake kept his voice low, telling himself it was to keep
from waking her and not to disguise the emotion that tightened his
throat and made his voice quaver.

“
She still takes top
prizes in car shows.”

“
Everything else
okay?”

He saw the muscle in Brian’s jaw
working before he answered. “Fine. Look, you’re family. I don’t
know what’s going on, or why you feel you have to stay away, but
we’re here. Always were, always will be.”

“
It wasn’t you,
Bri—never was. You’ve got to know that.”

“
All I know is you
couldn’t get away fast enough. You made the life you wanted and if
you’re happy, I’m glad for you.”

Blake pinched the bridge of his nose
and counted to ten. “I couldn’t take it anymore. It didn’t mean the
same to me as it did to you and … Dad. But I shouldn’t have hurt
you. Or him.”

“
You want forgiveness?
Hell, I never blamed you. Envied you for a while, even. But you’re
going to have to work out the rest of it with yourself.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw
Kelli stir. He cleared his throat. “So, how’s the old place? You
using it much?”

Brian’s eyes darted to the rearview
mirror. He must have seen Kelli sit up, because he accepted the
change of subject without skipping a beat. “Now and then. Stacey
and Torrie were out there not long ago while I was away on a job.
Stacey’d been working on a couple of new canvases, but now that
she’s pregnant, the smell of paint makes her sick. There should be
some basic supplies. Flip the circuit breakers and you’ll have
light and heat. Clean sheets, towels, and we restock the pantry
before we leave. Truck’s in the garage.”

“
If all goes well, we
should be out of here in a couple of days.”

His heartbeat quickened as they drove
through the town where he’d spent his last years at home. The old
brick buildings that comprised the town square looked exactly the
same, although the trees were taller. Library, Police Station, Fire
Department and City Hall.

“
My God, it’s hardly
changed. Same old Stanfield.”

Brian chuckled. “Not exactly—there’s an
Osco Drugs instead of Stadler’s. Grant’s Grocers is an IGA now.
There’s even talk of a Kmart. If you’re serious about lying low,
you might want to avoid the hardware store. Old man Vogelsberg’s
still there. Deaf as a post and can’t see much, but I wouldn’t put
it past him to recognize you—or Sammy will. He took over for his
dad, but the old man’s always hanging around. At least he was last
time I was here.”

“
Shit, he was ancient
when we lived here.”

“
I think he was one of
those guys who looked old at forty and stayed there. Besides,
everyone looked old to us then.”

“
Any other surprises?”
Blake asked.

“
Well, Fred Bozeman’s
police chief.”

Blake snorted. “Bozo Bozeman? Voted
‘Most Likely to Spend his Life in Prison’ Bozeman? You’re shitting
me.”

“
No shit. He lost
about a hundred pounds and the two hundred he still carries is pure
muscle.”

He shook his head in disbelief. Brian
turned his head toward Kelli for a moment. “You all right back
there?”

Kelli watched out the window as they
drove into the night. After passing through a residential
neighborhood, they left the streetlights behind. She rolled down
the window and sniffed the air. A damp, earthy smell overlaid with
manure wafted in. Trees, illuminated by the Nomad’s headlights,
lined sections of the road. An occasional porch light in the
distance was the only indication there were houses out here.

She heard the click when Brian flicked
on the blinker and had to grab the armrest as he made a sharp left
turn.

Brian apologized. “It doesn’t matter
how many times I’ve been here, the driveway always sneaks up on me
at night.”

In the car’s headlights, she saw a wide
front porch, not much different from the house at Camp Getaway,
down to two Adirondack chairs flanking the front door. The house
itself was a simple one-story bungalow, with a large window on
either side of the door. Brian left the headlights on while they
gathered their bags and climbed the four steps up to the porch.
From up close, she saw the door was carved oak with a leaded glass
view pane.

Brian stepped forward and put a key in
the lock. He pushed the door open and handed the key ring to Blake.
“Here. I’ve got to get back.”

In the shadows, she saw the strain on
Blake’s face. She’d caught scraps of conversation between the
brothers and although there wasn’t any obvious animosity between
them, they spoke across an invisible barricade.

Blake took the key and clapped his
brother on the shoulder. “Thanks. For everything.”

“
Call when this is
over, okay?”

“
I’ll do that.” Blake
stood there, one hand on the door while Brian got in the station
wagon and drove away.

She carried her bags inside, stopping
beside an entryway table to let her eyes adjust to the
darkness.

“
Wait here,” Blake
said. He edged behind her and a flashlight beam appeared, shining a
narrow shaft of light around the room. “I’ll be right
back.”

Moments later, lights came on in
another room. Blake reappeared and flipped a switch on the wall
next to the front door and light filled the space.

His eyes roamed the room and she
followed his gaze to the white fabric-draped ghosts of furniture.
From their shapes, she surmised she was standing in an entry hall
with a living room to her right, a dining room to her left. She
strolled over to what must be the couch and reached for its cover.
Gathering it up, she heard Blake’s sharp intake of breath.

She snapped her head around. “What?
Should I leave it covered?” Underneath the cloth was a plaid sofa,
its arms and base made of oak. Simple, elegant lines. She ran her
fingers down the smooth wood of the armrest.

After a moment of silence, Blake said,
“It’s late. Bedrooms are down the hall.” His voice was hushed,
almost reverent. “Take your pick. I’ll be a couple of minutes.”

When she went to retrieve her luggage,
Blake sidestepped out of her way and lowered his head. She granted
him the space he seemed to need and went in search of a bed.

Her carryon wheels echoed down the
hallway. Her sneakers squeaked on the wood floor. Leaving her
luggage, she opened the first door. This had to be Stacey’s studio,
with a lingering smell of oil and turpentine. An easel and a work
table sat in the middle of the room. The windows were bare, to let
in maximum light. A small bathroom adjoined the space and connected
to another room.

That was probably an office, although
it, like the living spaces, was filled with shrouded furniture.
Bookshelves lined one wall. Blake had promised her internet
access—he’d said Stacey used a computer to keep in touch when she
retreated to this house. She peeked under one cloth and discovered
a massive oak desk, with a computer monitor on top. She’d set up
here tomorrow.

It was already tomorrow. Yawning, she
went back into the hall and worked her way through the rooms on the
other side. A large bedroom and bath. A queen-sized bed. She pulled
the quilt down, relieved to find sheets already in place. But this
should be Blake’s room. After opening the window to air out the
mustiness, she checked out the last room.

A playroom. Child-sized table and
chairs. Toys on shelves. No bed? Kelli went to ask Blake what he
wanted to do about sleeping arrangements. Although they’d slept
together, the tension that had arisen between them made her suspect
they’d do better apart. She walked back to the living room and
found it empty.

Muffled sounds came from the dining
room. She crept to the doorway, then stopped. Blake had uncovered
the furniture, unveiling a dining room set unlike anything she’d
ever seen. A pedestal table, squared off at one end, rounded on the
other, was inlaid with oak panels trimmed by a much darker wood.
Teak? Mahogany? The base was the same dark, rich, wood, with
gracefully curved legs. Blake circled the table, his feet shuffling
along the polished wood floor. He moved from one chair to the next,
his fingertips tracing a carving, or running along the edge of a
back.

Each of the eight chairs was different,
from the wood to the style. Some with rounded backs, some square.
Some with turned legs, others straight. Some simple, some ornate.
She was about to enter the room, until she saw his hands clamp down
on one of the chairs—a cherry wood, she thought—and scrape it along
the floor away from the table. Such a disrespectful sound for such
an elegant setting. She gasped when he picked it up, as if to throw
it.

“
Damn you,” he said in
a choked voice, then put the chair down, lowered himself into it
and rested his elbows on the table. “Why?” Blake gazed upward, then
dropped his head into his hands. She realized from the shaking of
his shoulders that he was crying. She retreated half a step, then
paused. No. He’d been there for her. She crept into the room and
put her hand on his shoulder.

He flinched, but didn’t pull away. He
seemed lost in his misery, beyond being embarrassed at his show of
emotion. She kneaded the taut muscles of his neck and shoulders
until the tears had run their course.

Taking his hand, she urged him to his
feet. “You need to sleep.” With an arm around his waist, she walked
with him to the bedroom. “You want to talk? I remember someone
telling me it helped.”

One corner of his mouth turned upward.
“Maybe another time.” He sank to the edge of the bed, head
drooping. She stood in front of him and when he raised his head to
look at her, she straddled his lap. His arms wrapped around her, as
if he might collapse without her support.

She pulled his face down to meet hers.
Their kisses were slow and gentle. Clothing came off one piece at a
time. Hands explored. Comfort turned to warmth and then to quiet
passion.

Later, much later, she lay beside him,
her head in the crook of his shoulder. Her fingers toyed with the
coarse hair on his chest, still damp with sweat. “You okay?”

His chest rose as he inhaled, then sank
with his exhale. “Aside from fucking up my life, yeah.”

* * * * *

Blake stared into the darkness, at
shadows that drifted like smoke as the tree branches outside the
window swayed with the breeze. In the distance, a train whistled.
Kelli’s breath was warm on his chest. He waited for her to ask more
questions, but she remained silent. Somehow, he knew she wouldn’t
press. Only the gentle play of her fingers on his chest told him
she was awake.

Their lovemaking had rocked him to his
core. It had crept up on him as quietly as a kitten. She’d been
there, offering comfort. He’d accepted it, taking from her and she
gave and gave and gave all of herself. It had been so slow, so
tender, he’d been sure it would last forever and then without
warning he was at the point of no return, exploding into her,
knowing she joined him.

He wasn’t exactly sure when things had
shifted from having sex to making love with Kelli, but there was no
question in his mind she filled all his empty places.

As if under their own volition, his
words sprang forth, flowing like lava from a volcano. “I hated him.
Hated the life he dragged us around.”

Her hand stopped moving and found his.
Interlaced their fingers.

“
If I knew anything,
it was I couldn’t live that life. As soon as I graduated from high
school, I left. I didn’t care if I was a third of their livelihood.
All I could think about was making something more of myself than a
lousy carpenter.” His voice seemed to echo between them.

“
I told myself it
would be easier with one less mouth to feed. I never knew—never
cared—how hard it was for just the two of them. I worked three
crappy minimum-wage jobs—never mind I could have made more money in
construction—but I refused to go there. I got my degree and bluffed
myself into a step-above-entry-level position at Hollingsworth
Industries.”

Kelli remained silent, but her hand
squeezed his tight as a vise.

“
Dad’s custom
furniture started to sell. The old man was doing what he loved. But
by then, his health was shot. He never let on. Brian knew, damn
him. He never told me—didn’t want his kid brother giving up his
dream out of guilt.”

He dragged himself to a sitting
position, leaning against the headboard. “I never said goodbye.
Never thanked him for sacrificing his entire goddamn life for us.
Never told him I loved him. That I was proud of him.” His throat
burned and the tears threatened.