Chris Offutt - The Good Brother

Abigail laughed, a familiar sound, and he wondered if everyone’s laughter stayed the same, like a fingerprint. He suddenly realized that he’d not considered the leaving of fingerprints. The only gloves he owned were heavy work gloves, not suited to handling a pistol. He wasn’t sure if it was a necessary concern since there’d be little question as to who he was. He supposed a man could wrap rubber bands around the joints of his fingers and use a razor blade to carve new prints.

He realized that Abigail had been talking and was now waiting for a response. He felt as he had in grade school when a teacher called on him and he hadn’t been paying attention.

“What,” he said.

“Now I know what folks are talking about,” she said. “I heard you were out of it half the time. Somebody said you were smoking pot, but I said no.”

“Not hardly.”

“Virgil the hophead.” Abigail laughed. “No, it just don’t fit.”

“People talk, Ab. I know what they been saying, too. I hope you don’t let it get to you too bad.”

“I don’t listen at it much.”

“There’s something I want to tell.”

Her eyebrows rose and Virgil recognized her listening face. When she became truly interested, a vertical line formed between her eyes. He hadn’t planned on the visit, let alone what he would say.

“Ab,” he said. “Ab.”

She nodded. Late afternoon sun refracted through the window, soaking her face and hair with light.

“Ab. I know I’ve not been close lately. I mean, sort of distant.”

He glanced at her and she nodded.

“So what I want to tell you is that it’s going to get worse. A lot worse.”

He shuffled his feet, wishing he smoked so he could spend a good two minutes lighting a cigarette.

“Now, Ab. You know how I feel about you, and us and all. That’s what you’ve got to remember. Always know that. But I want you to promise me something.”

She was very still, as if poised to leap.

“Ab, if anything ever happens, don’t you wait around. There’s plenty of men in this county to treat you right. You know what I’m saying.”

She shook her head tightly. Her fingers were gripping the chair arm, Virgil became aware of a terrible tension in the room and he didn’t know what to do.

“Now, Ab, I ain’t saying I don’t, that I don’t want us to be, you know, together. I just want you to know that if something ever happens to me, you’ll go on. You know?”

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

“No. I mean yes. What I said.”

“Who is she?”

“What?”

“Don’t get cute, Virgil Caudill. I don’t see you for weeks and your family don’t see you either. Then you come up here and tell me to go find a new man. I ain’t stupid. It’s that little bitch who works in the office at maintenance.”

“Who? No.”

“Don’t say it ain’t. I know where she lives, down on Lower Lick Fork, off the interstate. I heard you been driving out that way couple times a week.”

Virgil shook his head. He couldn’t believe how fast this had gone bad. Abigail’s face was red. Her voice had risen steadily, controlled and hard, fury at its edges.

“Don’t you sit and shake your head, Virgil Caudill. I won’t be treated this way. I ain’t your whore to let go of when you’re done.”

“I know you ain’t, Ab.”

“Listen at him. He knows I ain’t no whore. Thank you. You’re pretty nice for a son of a bitch.”

“Abigail, it ain’t any of this.”

“No? Then what? What is it?”

“It’s me. That’s all.”

“That’s all,” she yelled. “There ain’t no that’s all to it. I’m part of it, if you didn’t know.”

“I know.”

“Then tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing. I mean, I can’t.”

“Which is it? Nothing or you can’t?”

“Both.”

“Bullshit! It can’t be both. Don’t lie, Virgil. You never lied to me, so don’t start now. Just tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“You know how many people have asked me when the wedding date was? Do you know what it’s like to answer those questions when I haven’t seen you in a month?”

“I’m sorry, Ab. People do me the same way. They ain’t got no life of their own so they want to mess with yours.”

“I have a life, Virgil. It’s a pretty good one, and you’re in it, right? Tell me I’m in your life,”

“Ain’t me being part of yours enough?”

“Tell me I’m in yours.”

“Not just now.”

“Get out!”

“But there’s nobody else,”

“Go on and get!”

“Just remember that I came over here, Ab. You’re my best friend.

I wish. I… I.”

Virgil rose and walked awkwardly to the door and stopped. He loved her as much as ever, but he didn’t feel it now. He couldn’t.

“Get out!” she said.

She was beginning to sob and he knew that she wanted privacy, that for him to see her cry would be another wound. He went out.

“Who are you?” she screamed from the door. “I don’t know you anymore. Who are you!”

He descended the steps in a daze. The door muffled her voice, but he knew that she would run through the apartment, slam her bedroom door, and cry on the bed. He sat in the car, feeling terrible.

At his trailer he undressed and lay in bed, unable to sleep. All of his planning ended at Rodale. Afterwards he’d drive to Cincinnati, but he wasn’t sure whether to take the interstates or the old state roads. They all ran the same direction, roughly parallel to each other. He could make better time on the interstates, but he’d be more visible, easier to trap. The state roads were private, and offered many routes of escape if he was chased. He was reminded of a question he and Boyd had often asked as children — during a slight rain, did you run to get out of it sooner and risk hitting more raindrops?

He began to worry about the noise that his pistol would make. He wondered if Rodale had a dog. He wondered if he would be able to do it. Sleep was far away. Boyd had always told him that instead of counting sheep, he should talk to the shepherd. Virgil tried but the man transformed to his brother and then to his father. This was not the night for them. He was in it alone.

Virgil woke about light He glanced at the clock and remembered that he wasn’t going to work. His limbs tingled as if touched by electricity. He dressed and carried his coffee outside, aware of each movement. He savored the sunlight. The softwood leaves had begun to tighten, their edges shifting color. A cold snap would turn the leaves, and a hard rain would knock half down. Only the oaks were still green. They were the last to shed in fall and the last to flower in spring, as if holding back to make sure of each season’s arrival.

After cleaning the small trailer, Virgil shut off the water at the well, flushed the toilet, and ran all the faucets until the lines were empty. He crawled under the trailer with a hacksaw and sliced through the lowest point of the drainpipes. The remaining water spilled to the ground. He watched it soak into the earth, realizing that he would never get town water. He wished he could remain there forever, safe and hidden in the darkness.

He crawled out and poured antifreeze into the drains. The trailer was ready for winter. He unplugged the refrigerator and emptied the food into a sack for his mother. From the floor vent he removed the duffel bag that held his new identification, keys to the car at the Cincinnati airport, and the banded piles of money. He put it and a blanket in the trunk of his car.

As he walked through the tiny confines one last time, he was transfixed by the frozen snarl of the stuffed possum. He’d heard that they didn’t play dead, but actually fainted from fear. He placed it in the front seat.