footsteps.”
Fallon looked down at the floor, his mouth a tight, hard line. “He was everything the old man wanted in a son. That’s what Mike thought anyway. I was none of it.”
He reached inside the open zipper of his coveralls and dug a cigarette and a lighter out of his shirt pocket. On the first long exhale he muttered, “Fuck ’em.” Then he huffed a humorless laugh, picked up the Old Crow, and took another swig.
“Did you see much of each other?” Kovac asked.
Fallon wagged his head, though Kovac wasn’t certain if he was answering in the negative or still trying to shake off the news.
“He came by now and then. He liked to fish a little. He keeps his gear here. Stores his boat in the winter. It’s like a token sibling thing, I guess. Like he thinks it’s his duty to patronize my business. Andy’s big on duty.”
“When did you last speak with him?”
“He stopped by Sunday, but I didn’t talk to him. I was busy. I had a guy here to buy a snowmobile.”
“When was the last time you had a serious conversation?”
“Serious? A month or so ago, I guess.”
“What about?”
Fallon’s lips twisted. “He wanted to tell me he was coming out of the closet. That he was a fag. Like I needed to hear that.”
“You didn’t know he was gay?”
“Sure I did. I knew it years ago. High school. I just knew it. It wasn’t something he had to tell me.” He took another snort of the Crow, then pulled on the cigarette. “I told the old man so once. Way back when. Just because I was pissed off. Sick of it. Sick of ‘Why can’t you be more like your brother?’”
He laughed loudly then, as if at a hilarious joke. “Man. He damn near broke my jaw, he hit me so hard. I’d never seen him so mad. I could’ve said the Virgin Mary was a whore and he wouldn’t have been half that mad. I sinned against the golden child. If he hadn’t been in that chair, he’d have kicked my ass blue.”
“How did Andy seem when he told you?”
Fallon thought about it for a moment. “Intense,” he said at last. “I guess it was a trauma for him. He’d told Mike. That must’ve been a scene and a half. I would’ve gone back to see that. I couldn’t believe the old man didn’t stroke out.”
He sucked on the cigarette, dropped the butt on the floor, and crushed it out with the toe of his work boot. “It was strange, though, you know? I felt sorry for Andy. I know all about disappointing the old man. He didn’t.”
“Had you seen him since?”
“A couple of times. He came out to ice fish. I let him have one of my shacks. We had a drink one other time. I think he wanted us to be like brothers again, but, shit, what did we have in common besides the old man? Nothing.
“How’d Mike take this?” Fallon asked quietly, staring at the floor. “Andy being dead.” He blew out a breath of smoke through flared nostrils. “He sent you out here? He couldn’t call me to tell me himself. Couldn’t bring himself to admit the perfect son didn’t turn out to be so fucking perfect after all. That’s Mike. If he can’t be right, he’ll be an asshole.”
Taking the bottle of Old Crow by the throat, he pushed to his feet and headed out the door. “Fuck ’em.”
Kovac followed, hunching into his coat. It was getting colder, a damp kind of cold that bit to the bone. His head hurt and his nose was throbbing.
Fallon stepped around the corner of the shed and stopped, staring between the shitty little fishing cabins he rented out in the summer. The buildings squatted near the shore of Minnetonka, but there was no shore to speak of this time of year. Snow drifted across land and ice, making one nearly indistinguishable from the other. The landscape was a sea of white stretching out toward an orange horizon.
“How’d he do it?”
“Hung himself.”
“Huh.”
Just that:
Huh.
Then he stood there some more while the wind blew a fine mist of white from one side of the lake to the other. No denial or disbelief.
Fallon looked down at the floor, his mouth a tight, hard line. “He was everything the old man wanted in a son. That’s what Mike thought anyway. I was none of it.”
He reached inside the open zipper of his coveralls and dug a cigarette and a lighter out of his shirt pocket. On the first long exhale he muttered, “Fuck ’em.” Then he huffed a humorless laugh, picked up the Old Crow, and took another swig.
“Did you see much of each other?” Kovac asked.
Fallon wagged his head, though Kovac wasn’t certain if he was answering in the negative or still trying to shake off the news.
“He came by now and then. He liked to fish a little. He keeps his gear here. Stores his boat in the winter. It’s like a token sibling thing, I guess. Like he thinks it’s his duty to patronize my business. Andy’s big on duty.”
“When did you last speak with him?”
“He stopped by Sunday, but I didn’t talk to him. I was busy. I had a guy here to buy a snowmobile.”
“When was the last time you had a serious conversation?”
“Serious? A month or so ago, I guess.”
“What about?”
Fallon’s lips twisted. “He wanted to tell me he was coming out of the closet. That he was a fag. Like I needed to hear that.”
“You didn’t know he was gay?”
“Sure I did. I knew it years ago. High school. I just knew it. It wasn’t something he had to tell me.” He took another snort of the Crow, then pulled on the cigarette. “I told the old man so once. Way back when. Just because I was pissed off. Sick of it. Sick of ‘Why can’t you be more like your brother?’”
He laughed loudly then, as if at a hilarious joke. “Man. He damn near broke my jaw, he hit me so hard. I’d never seen him so mad. I could’ve said the Virgin Mary was a whore and he wouldn’t have been half that mad. I sinned against the golden child. If he hadn’t been in that chair, he’d have kicked my ass blue.”
“How did Andy seem when he told you?”
Fallon thought about it for a moment. “Intense,” he said at last. “I guess it was a trauma for him. He’d told Mike. That must’ve been a scene and a half. I would’ve gone back to see that. I couldn’t believe the old man didn’t stroke out.”
He sucked on the cigarette, dropped the butt on the floor, and crushed it out with the toe of his work boot. “It was strange, though, you know? I felt sorry for Andy. I know all about disappointing the old man. He didn’t.”
“Had you seen him since?”
“A couple of times. He came out to ice fish. I let him have one of my shacks. We had a drink one other time. I think he wanted us to be like brothers again, but, shit, what did we have in common besides the old man? Nothing.
“How’d Mike take this?” Fallon asked quietly, staring at the floor. “Andy being dead.” He blew out a breath of smoke through flared nostrils. “He sent you out here? He couldn’t call me to tell me himself. Couldn’t bring himself to admit the perfect son didn’t turn out to be so fucking perfect after all. That’s Mike. If he can’t be right, he’ll be an asshole.”
Taking the bottle of Old Crow by the throat, he pushed to his feet and headed out the door. “Fuck ’em.”
Kovac followed, hunching into his coat. It was getting colder, a damp kind of cold that bit to the bone. His head hurt and his nose was throbbing.
Fallon stepped around the corner of the shed and stopped, staring between the shitty little fishing cabins he rented out in the summer. The buildings squatted near the shore of Minnetonka, but there was no shore to speak of this time of year. Snow drifted across land and ice, making one nearly indistinguishable from the other. The landscape was a sea of white stretching out toward an orange horizon.
“How’d he do it?”
“Hung himself.”
“Huh.”
Just that:
Huh.
Then he stood there some more while the wind blew a fine mist of white from one side of the lake to the other. No denial or disbelief.
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