Little Rock, Arkansas
December, 2010

James couldn’t look at Annabelle. The minute everyone cleared the dining room he knew things had gotten out of hand. It was like he was standing there, watching some other version of himself take the bait from John Landon (invite the shit in honestly) because he was tired of holding his tongue. He knew what he’d see in her eyes and he’d had his fill of condemnation for one day.

This wasn’t his fault. That much he was certain, that man had picked and poked at him until he’d gotten a reaction. What the hell was he supposed to do? Just sit back and listen to someone blather on about how drinking and philandering were just the cost of doing business, and men like him, who sucked it up and did the right thing, were just a bunch of stuffy, judgmental assholes? His boys were sitting right there, googly-eyed and star struck, soaking up every damn word out of that man’s mouth. Was he supposed to just sit there nod?

"What the hell was that?" Joe stood on the opposite side of the table. He’d leaned forward, his hands pressed flat against the surface. James shook his head and pointed at the door.

"That man’s been fuckin’ with me since he got here. He wanted a fight, well he got one."

"So did you." Ana stepped in front of him, her eyes flashing with anger. "You wanted this just as much as he did."

James faltered at her furious tone. "I didn’t…"

"I told you." She turned to look at Annabelle and mumbled something in Spanish under her breath. James started to speak again but she’d already turned around. Annabelle touched his arm as she walked out of the room.

"I think I need some air," Annabelle said. She wasn’t just furious, that much he was prepared for, but his wife was hurt, he could tell by her voice. James looked at the table, the half eaten food she’d spent all day preparing. A knot of guilt settled inside his stomach. "Annabelle, I’m sorry."

She didn’t respond. James watched her walk stiffly to the door. Neither man spoke again until she was gone.

"I’m done," Joe said. James looked at his brother and scowled at the recrimination he saw there. "No, I am done…" Joe ticked the words off with his fingers. "Handholding and…baby sitting…and…and…"

"Nobody asked you to do any of that shit." James pulled out a chair and sat down heavily. "You set this thing up, twisted my arm ‘till I agreed to meet him. Well I met him, end of story."

"Do you hear yourself?" Joe gripped the chair so hard it rocked back on its hind legs. "Seriously, do you hear the fucking words you’re saying?"

"I hear myself just fine."

"HE’S NOT RAY!" The chair rocked to one side, wobbled and collapsed. James started, stunned silent by Joe’s tone. His brother rarely yelled. James couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever heard it. "Goddammit Jimmy, wake the fuck up. You’re blaming him for shit he didn’t even do."

"That ain’t what it’s about," James snapped. "You didn’t have to see it Joe. I made sure of that." James ran a hand over his mouth. "He would have broke us, every fuckin’ one of us if I hadn’t…if I…"

"I know." Joe’s voice was softer. "Jim, I’m not six anymore, I know exactly what kind of man he was." He paused. "And I know what kind of man you are. So do your sons."

James looked away and pressed his lips into tight thin line. "I don’t have a single goddamn memory that isn’t his, that he didn’t…" James frowned. "Soak with booze or warp all to hell. That’s it Joe, eighteen years of drinkin’ binges and clumsy lies." An image of Ray’s face, bloody and broken from his fists, rose unbidden in his mind. "That…that part’s over. I can’t go back."

"No one’s asking you to." Joe leaned forward, trying to meet James’s eyes. "You always talk about family, how nothing’s more important than taking care of our own. He’s our brother James."

"I don’t know him." James jabbed his finger at the door. "That man is a fuckin’ stranger because that is exactly what he wanted to be. He knew about us for years, years but couldn’t be bothered to send a goddamn postcard. And I’m the one you’re lecturin’ about family?"

James ran a hand over his face. He was silent, staring at the floor and then fixed Joe with a hostile glare. "’Course, you ain’t much better. You knew about this guy for how long?"

Joe’s expression was pained. "We’ve been over this Jim."

"Right." James shifted in his chair. "You figured you’d keep this shit from me until everything was goin’ well. Boys got married, grandbabies on the way, great time to give old Jimmy a nice kick in the teeth right?"

"They were about to publish the story, what was I supposed to do? Let you read about it next time you stopped by Kroger, grab a new sibling to go along with a pack of Slim Jims?"

"I’m not buyin’ that bullshit about the campaign anymore." James rose and leaned forward, matching Joe’s stance. "You coulda’ told me the truth and let that be the end of it, but no. You set up this meet and greet, browbeat us into playin’ nice, why?"

"It needed to be done." Joe’s voice was tight, his skin mottled with red. "It should’ve happened a long time ago."

"Needed to be done for who?" James gestured towards Joe. "You said it yourself, Ray’s gone. John couldn’t give a damn if I keeled over dead right now and I got plenty of folks here who do." Joe looked away. James tapped his fingers against the table, trying to reclaim his attention. "Come on Joe, what changed? What made you decide that now’s the time for some fuckin’ family reunion?"

"Because I watched her die."

Joe looked at James with red eyes, filled with so much pain it was a wonder he still stood upright. The sight of it, his little brother standing there, suffering, kicked wind out his anger. Joe’s shoulders were hunched, like the admission had knocked him around too.

"I have a list." Joe touched his temple. "Up here, of every word I didn’t say." He pointed to James. "And so do you."

James was silent as Joe turned around and walked out of the room.

Fayetteville, Arkansas
May, 1970

"James Theodore Randall. High honors."

The screams started before the announcer managed to finish his name. James walked across the stage with a large smile, hand outstretched to accept this diploma. The moment he touched the leather bound certificate he was blinded by camera flashes on all sides. The school hired an official photographer but his friends wouldn’t be able to resist their own shots as well. Plus Sarah was there, likely with the old Canon James bought her a few years ago. He’d tried to replace it but she’d refused, saying that he should put the money towards a new home with Annabelle.

James looked into the crowd and spotted his family near the front of the spectators. Sarah held a crumpled Kleenex in one hand, the other gripping the camera at her side. Janie watched the ceremony with an apathetic sixteen-year-old shoulder slump, but managed a smile and wave when she saw him looking. Joe stood beside her, pumping both fist into the air with alternating rhythmic jabs. James could make out his voice, faint in the loud crowd. "Jimmy! Woooo Jimmy!"

Annabelle was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. She’d left her hair down at his request and it flowed over the black gown in a scarlet red fall. She bounced with excitement, the golden honors cord around her neck sliding down her shoulder. James swept her into his arms and lifted her from the ground. She squeaked in protest, laughing.

"Put me down!"

"Never gonna happen." He kissed her hard, leaned back to meet her eyes and kissed her again. "I can’t wait to marry you."

Annabelle touched his cheek. "I can’t wait to be your wife."

The rest of the ceremony moved quickly. James and Annabelle threw their hats into the air, clutching their leather bound diplomas. That little piece of paper declared them fit for greater things. It also meant his school deferment was over. He’d be shipping out to Vietnam next month.

"There’s my mom!" Annabelle waved at a short blond woman near the back of the crowd. Corrine Stapleton held her purse against her chest and stared at the thick crowd as though they were uninvited guests to her party. James cleared his throat and pointed to Sarah.

"I’ll be with you in a minute," he said, already moving away. Annabelle pursed her lips into a thin line. James sighed. "I promise, okay?"

"Tell you what." She grabbed his arm. "Let’s say hi to Sarah first."

She’d been like this ever since he got that letter. They both knew it was inevitable, but like everyone else on campus, held on to the futile hope that the war would have ended by now. He’d never considered enlisting before and probably wasn’t cut out to be anyone’s soldier. But things like "want," and "choose," were pretty much moot these days. The war was there and they needed bodies. His trigger finger was just as good as anyone else’s.

"You look so handsome up there." Sarah embraced him, still clutching the tissue. She leaned back to look at Annabelle. "Oh sweetheart, you’re just gorgeous."

"Thank you Sarah." Annabelle embraced her while James turned to high-five Joe. His little brother’s face was beaming, his cheeks flushed with excitement.

"That was so cool when they said your name. Did you hear everybody screamin’? It was awesome, you got the loudest yell. Did you hear me? I whistled real loud…"

"Yeah, I heard you Joe." James ruffled his hair and looked at Janie. "Well hello princess."

"Shut up." Janie’s lips trembled and finally cracked into a grin. "Your hat was crooked."

"It was cocked," James corrected. "There’s a difference."

"Are we goin’ out to eat?" Joe tugged on James’s sleeve. "You said we’d get milkshakes."

"Sure thing but later on. Annabelle’s gotta spend some time with her family…" James’s voice trailed off when he looked over Joe’s head, to the open door at the back of the auditorium. Bodies swarmed in front of him, but he easily made out Ray’s old short brimmed fedora. He leaned against the wall, flipping his lighter open and closed. Once he realized he’d been spotted he straightened quickly and stuffed it into his pocket.

"I’ll be right back," James said. Sarah followed his gaze and touched his arm.

"He wanted to come," she said. "I told him what you said, but..."

"It’s fine." James looked at Annabelle who took a step forward, determined to latch on to him again. He shook his head. "No, it’s okay." He held her gaze, willing her trust him to handle this on his own. "Annabelle, I promise."

She turned wary eyes to Ray and then back to James. "I’ll be right here," she said, the implication clear. No fighting, not today.

James walked through the crowd, unzipping his gown on the way. He shrugged out of it and draped it over his shoulder. Ray stared at the long black robe with a small smile.

"Always thought they looked like dresses."

"What are you doing here?"

Ray’s smile faded. "Is there somewhere we could talk? Alone, I mean?"

James hesitated. Everything in him was screaming no, that Ray wasn’t even supposed to be here and why the hell should listen to a fucking thing he had to say. But then he thought of Annabelle and the gun that was about to be shoved into his hand. James nodded and pointed to a small conference room to their right. Ray walked ahead, his gait slow and stiff, the fedora now gripped in both hands.

He looked smaller, older than when James last saw him. When the hell had that happened?

"I know you’re mad." James closed the door. Ray sat down in a plastic chair and wiped sweat from his brow. "Sarah told me what you said about me comin’."

"It’s fine." James grabbed a chair and sat down. "What do you want?"

Ray studied him a moment. "What do you think?"

"It’s too late for that."

"Why?"

Ray looked down at the hat in his hands. He slid his fingers across the brim and rubbed his lips, hard. They were dry and cracked, like he’d been doing it repeatedly. It was his tell; the sign that it’d been a while since his last drink.

"We can’t leave it like this." Ray shook his head. "Not when…not with you…"

"Don’t do that," James said. "Don’t sit there and try to be a man when you think I’m dyin’. Don’t you fucking dare."

"You think that’s what this is about?" Ray reached into his pocket and pulled out the lighter. James watched him light up and exhale a lungful of smoke. "You think I’m here to make peace with a ghost?"

"Aren’t you?"

"My son’s not dyin’ in some goddamn jungle." The cigarette crumbled in his fingers and Ray shoved a shaky hand through his hair. "I don’t believe that. I just…" They locked eyes. "I just…I don’t know when I’ll see you again."

James looked away. His hands were balled into tight fists and he took a deep breath before speaking. "What do you want?"

Ray was silent. When James looked at him again, he was slumped forward, his elbows resting on his knees. The cigarette drooped between his lips while he fingered his lighter. "Did I ever tell you how I met your mother?"

James felt like he’d been punched. Ray never talked about her, could barely say her name without looking like she’d died all over again. "No," James said. "You didn’t."

"County fair." Ray ran his thumb over the lighter. "I was eleven and she was ten. Had big brown eyes and deepest dimples you ever seen." He smiled. "She called me Buster. You believe that? Ten-years-old and she’s got the stones to call me Buster."

James didn’t speak. He watched Ray rock forward in his chair. "She lived down the street from me, out on that lake by Pritchard’s farm? Her dad was a lawyer, come from money. They hated my guts." He ground the cigarette into the floor and reached into his pocket for another. "Called me trash." He lit up, eyes squinted at the far wall. "They’d send her away for school all the time." He paused. "Things were always harder when she was gone." He finally met James’s eyes again. "That’s why I married her."

"To make things easier?"

Ray swallowed hard and nodded. "Yeah."

They sat in silence, the soft click of Ray’s lighter the only sound in the room. "You remind me of her sometimes," Ray said, finally. "When you’re readin’ or when you’re workin’ on something that’s important." He smiled. "She was like that, always wanted everything to be perfect." Ray nodded. "She’d be real proud of you James. Real proud."

James couldn’t speak. His throat was tight and his eyes stung with the threat of tears. He wanted to ask Ray what she was like, whether she’d smelled like Ivory soap the way he remembered or if that was just something he’d dreamt up over the years. He wanted to know if she sang to him and if so what song? He wanted to know how much she’d loved him; whether it was half as much as he loved her.

"I should get back to Annabelle." James rose to his feet. Ray blinked rapidly and nodded.

"Right," he said, standing. "You two gettin’ hitched after this thing is over?"

James nodded. "That’s the plan."

"Congratulations." Ray smiled. "She’s a good woman, James. You’re a lucky man."

"I know." James moved past him, towards the door. He stopped when Ray touched his shoulder.

"So am I," Ray said. "Proud of you, I mean." He dropped his hand and took a step back. "If that matters anymore."

James reached for the doorknob, his eyes lowered to the ground. He took a deep breath before he pulled it open.

"I wish it didn’t."

Little Rock, Arkansas
December, 2010

It wasn’t that Ana didn’t know this would happen. She was actually surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. Looking at John felt like staring at a flint hovering above a powder keg, explosion was inevitable. She’d just hoped it would happen in private, when Josie wasn’t around to see it. He’d regret that just as much as she knew he regretted breaking his promise to her. Part of her was still furious at his inability to control his temper, but another part—the part of her that loved him was worried. She hadn’t seen him that shaken up since they found out she was pregnant.

Ana walked into the living room first, where Josie and Sara were huddled together at the end of the couch, playing some children’s game she’d never seen before. The rest of the family greeted her with too casual waves and smiles. The couples had paired off and sat with half eaten plates resting on their laps. They all obviously wanted to say something, but had no idea what it should be. Neither did she, which embarrassed her even more.

"I just wanted to speak to Josie." Ana winced at the formal tone of her voice, you’d think she’d just met these people instead of spending the entire day with them.

"Is Dad okay?" Josie was kneeling beside the coffee table, holding what looked like a small plastic hourglass. Ana nodded and ran a light hand across her cheek.

"He’s just a little upset right now, that’s all."

"He was really mad."

She fought the impulse to grab Josie and pull her from the room. They usually had this kind of conversation in private. But she didn’t want to alienate them from the Randalls even more than Landon already had. Ana bent her knees and gave Sarah a quick smile as she kneeled beside the table. The girl gave her a sympathetic smile back, as if all of this was just familiar territory for her. Josie on the other hand, was a quiet ball of emotion. Ana could always tell her how upset her daughter was by the intensity of her silences. Right now she was closed off, only speaking if asked a direct question.

"He was angry Josie," Ana said. "But—I think he’s a little sad right now too. He and your Uncle James have some things to work out. It has nothing to do with you or me."

Josie looked at the other faces in the room, then her again. "Okay."

But it was far from okay, that much was obvious. And she wasn’t the one who had to fix things this time. Ana pressed a kiss against Josie’s forehead. She stood up again and caught Judah watching them, his fork hovering next to his mouth while he chewed. He swallowed quickly and started to say something, but Jessica cut off his words with a hard pinch to his arm.

"Just eat," she ordered. Judah filled his fork and leaned off to the side, keeping an eye on his wife this time. J.J. cleared his throat and shifted Jamie’s position in his arms. The little boy’s eyes were drooping, almost closed. He’d be out cold soon.

"Is there something we can do?"

Ana smiled and shook her head. "No, but thank you." Still stiff. Still formal. "I’ll talk to him. He’s just—I’ll talk to him."

She cast one more reassuring look at Josie and walked from the room. She crossed the length of the hallway with long determined steps and could hear Joe and James arguing as she passed the dining room. Her words to James were unfortunate, but she’d been just as frustrated with him as she was with her husband. They were grown men, but they’d bickered at that table like petulant five year olds.

The orange glint from a lit cigarette was like a small beacon telling her exactly where to go. Ana stopped at the screen door and took a deep breath before pushing it open. Landon stood beside a large tree, with what looked like a tree house settled in the branches. It was the kind of thing she’d seen in picture books and movies growing up and felt a little surreal existing in reality.

Landon followed her eyes as she approached. He slid the cigarette from his lips and exhaled, shooting smoke up to the branches. A faint, rueful smile quirked one side of his mouth.

"Josie would love this," he said and Ana looked up again. He was right, it was the kind of thing their daughter would love, but would never occur to either one of them to get her. "She loves this entire fucking place. Them."

He gestured to the house, then let his arm fall again, "She just slipped right in there, didn’t she? How the fuck did she do that?"

Ana folded her arms and shivered, "John."

"I’m sorry. Fuck Lucy, I didn’t mean—"

"We can leave if you want."

He was still looking at the house; squinting like it was some kind of code he’d yet to decipher.

"I know I asked you to do this." Ana took a step closer. "For Josie’s sake, but I—I suppose I thought it would be good for you too."

"That in there—that wasn’t your fault."

"Of course it wasn’t." She said. His eyes drifted her way as he replaced the cigarette in his mouth. "But this isn’t about that. You’re upset. Being here upsets you. I didn’t realize how much it would."

He slid it from his lips again, considered her words in a haze of thin smoke.

"I didn’t either," He grimaced. "I thought—fuck, I don’t know, I thought maybe this place would clear up some shit for me."

"Like what?" Ana frowned, momentarily confused. He shrugged with downcast eyes, a gesture reminiscent of a sullen teenaged boy. Ana suddenly had a clear vision of what he must have been like when he was younger, before the rest of the world got to him. This wasn’t just about him being stubborn or hotheaded. It was about approval, acceptance, something they’d rarely found outside of each other.

She stepped forward and slid the remainder of the cigarette from his lips. Landon hesitated, and then dipped his head lower, just far enough for her to kiss him. She parted her lips and felt damp smoke invade her mouth. The taste lingered on her tongue when she pulled away again, "We can go John."

"Let Josie stay, finish—whatever she’s doing." He looked up. "I’ll hang out in the tree house."

"You need to talk to her. She’s worried about you."

"Yeah. I know I just—need a second."

She nodded, then turned back toward the house

"Lucy."

Ana spun on her heels and watched him toss the cigarette butt to the ground.

"I love you." There was no smile this time, no quick wink or smart ass come-on afterwards. Ana nodded, her tone just as serious when she responded.

Joe’s intent after leaving the dining room had been to get some air, get his head on straight before he threw what was left of the Christmas lamb into his brother’s face. He needed to calm down. His pulse was racing and he felt like he was breathing through a thick cloud of smoke, wheezing panicky gasps that made him light headed and dizzy. This shit wasn’t supposed to happen anymore. It’d been three years, weren’t things supposed to get better?

The backyard was dark for the most part, dotted with spots of illumination from the street lights. Joe headed for the big oak tree in the center with an eye towards his nephews’ tree house. No one would look for him up there. Judah usually hid a six pack inside a sleeping bag, so god willing, he’d be drunk and unconscious before the night was over.

"He run you off too?"

Joe started and looked to his right. John stood, one shoulder propped against the tree, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers. The smoke curled into the air from the glowing tip, once again evoking the memory of their dead father. No wonder James was hanging on by a thread.

"Nobody had to run you off," Joe said. "You did just fine on your own."

"Oh, so we done playing politician then?"

"Yeah." Joe glanced at him and then turned back around, his eyes scanning the lawn. There were Christmas lights everywhere, bright enough to put the streetlights out of a job. That’s the way it was supposed to be, lights, holly and fucking Christmas Cheer. "I’m done playing peacemaker, Switzerland and fucking Ghandi between two of the most stubborn men I ever met. You two make Senate committees feel like preschool play dates."

"You called me, not the other way around." John flicked ash onto the ground. He looked at Joe with hard, narrowed eyes that occasionally slid to the house behind them. "The only reason I came is…"

"Doesn’t matter." Joe waved him away. "None of it matters if you don’t want to be here, which it’s obvious you don’t." Joe turned and looked at the house, his anger slowly dissipating. "I just…" He shook his head. "I did it for him. Because I owe him, we all do."

"You thought bringin’ me here was doing that guy a favor?" John made a sound, somewhere between a laugh and snort. "Fucking toaster oven would have got a better reaction."

"You think this is about you?" John’s eyes shifted again. Joe stuffed his hands into his pockets and moved closer. "Look, you might find this hard to believe but that guy in there is not my brother."

John raised his eyebrows. "So Pops really did get around then?"

"No, no." Joe paused. "Well…yeah, but no that’s not what I mean. James is…well, he’s a good man, with a good heart. And Ray was…" Joe ran a hand through his hair. "Well, he was a lot like you."

John blinked, thrown by Joe’s confession. Joe seized what felt like an opening and spoke in a rush. "They didn’t get along," he said, and then laughed. "That’s the understatement of the year, they fought. All the time and not just shouting matches either." Joe paused. "James broke his jaw in two places a month before he moved out."

John’s jaw clenched but he didn’t respond. Joe held his eyes for a long moment before continuing. "But here’s the thing, James won’t admit it, but all he wanted was Ray’s approval. And Ray couldn’t give it because…" Joe shrugged. "Well honestly, he wasn’t around."

Joe stepped forward and placed one hand against the oak tree. He looked up at the tree house and smiled. "He built this." Joe pointed skyward. "Did the same thing for me and Janie when I was six and then forbid me to use it until I made all A’s in school." John shifted and folded his arms over his chest. Joe cleared his throat and stepped away from the tree.

"James took me to school and bought me new clothes for the school year," Joe said. "He taught me how to tie my shoes and drove for three hours every weekend his first year in college so he could see me play in Little League." Joe paused and looked over John’s shoulder, towards the house. "He’d drag Ray out of the bar when he was barely conscious, clean him up in the bathroom and tell my mother he’d been working the farm. He stopped the bank from repossessing our house when the mortgage fell behind, worked two jobs in high school, you see where I’m going with this?"

"Not really," John said. "I mean I get that you feel like you owe him, but I don’t know what that’s got to do with me."

"You look like him," Joe said. "Your voice, it’s…" he shook his head. "It’s damn near identical."

John blinked rapidly, his eyes falling to the ground. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his lighter. The top opened with a metallic click and he slapped it closed in one smooth motion.

"Okay," Joe said, staring at his hand. "Okay, well that’s just creepy."

John frowned. "What?" He looked down at the lighter. "Shit, what the hell is it with you people and lighters?"

"Your dad did the same thing."

John and Joe turned at the sound of James’s voice. He stepped into the light, eyes fixed on John’s face. He looked tired, his eyes rimmed with dark circles, his shoulders slightly slumped. "That’s why it’s creepy, like seein’ a damn ghost."

John watched him for a long moment and raised an eyebrow. "He smoke too?"

James grimaced. "Like a chimney."

--

The kitchen lights were on again and she could see Annabelle moving around inside what she’d come to think of as the woman’s domain. Ana resisted the urge to change directions, maybe cut across the front yard instead. But it wasn’t fair to ask John to face his demons while she stuttered and fumbled around her own.

"There’s something I should say to you." Ana let the screen door close behind her and walked inside the kitchen. "A lot of things actually, but we don’t have time to cover everything."

Annabelle left her dishrag on the counter. She’d been cleaning with furious hard circles before Ana walked in. The blue eyes were still welcoming, but there was tightness around them that wasn’t there before.

"If you’re here to apologize, don’t bother," Annabelle waved a dismissive hand. "I learned to stop apologizin’ for James a long time ago. And as for John," She sighed and shook her head, "Stubborn as mules those men, the both of them."

Ana nodded and smiled. "This is true. But that’s not what I meant—I need to explain something about myself. To you"

Annabelle’s brow furrowed, "Alright. But I don’t see what this could be about; both you and Josie have been such a joy today."

Ana grinned, "A joy. I don’t think…No, I know no one has ever described me as a joy."

"Well, I guess you were just hanging around the wrong folks. It happens to the best of us."

"Criminals," Ana corrected and her smile faded. "I grew up around criminals, men who carried guns. Some were polite, very well dressed, but still—they made a living breaking the law. I did too."

Annabelle gestured to the island and Ana sat in the seat closest to the corner, the same one Josie occupied hours earlier. Annabelle sat down as well, her pale hands folded primly on the now shining surface. "Go on sweetheart, I’m listening."

So Ana told her everything. She told her about growing up in Cuba, picking pockets when she got old enough to reach them. She told her about her prostitute mother and absent father, who may or may not have been a former john, she wasn’t sure. She explained how Reynaldo De Costa swooped in to save her and for better or worse, made her into the woman she was. By the time they’d finished, Annabelle Randall knew enough to put her in jail for decades, if not the rest of her life.

"That was me," Ana said. Her throat was aching and she had to clear it a few times before continuing. "Before Josie, that was my life. And I wasn’t ashamed, I’m still not. I just—wanted to be honest with you because—you’ve invited me into your home. And your family."

Annabelle reached out and touched her hand, "How old were you when your mother passed?"

Ana stared at their fingers and then shook her head, smiled. "I don’t remember. I wasn’t with her so—maybe twelve? I’m not sure."

"It must’ve been difficult for you, havin’ Josie. Not just your lifestyle, we all have trouble giving that up." Annabelle grinned. "I missed my spa days something awful after J.J. was born."

Ana laughed, she couldn’t help it. "That would be difficult."

"It was." Annabelle patted her hand. "But you were starting from scratch weren’t you dear? It must’ve felt that way at the time."

Ana swallowed, "It did. It still does sometimes." She looked around. "What you have here is something—I could never give her. I wouldn’t know where to begin."

"Oh, I don’t think she needs that. That child is beautiful inside and out. She didn’t get that way on her own. She loves both of you so much."

Annabelle leaned closer, her fingers held tight to Ana’s. "One of the most tragic things in the world is when a child goes one day feelin’ unloved. The rest doesn’t matter, just as long as she has that."

Ana once again felt on her verge of tears, but it was much harder to hold them back this time. This woman—this mother—was giving her validation she hadn’t realized she needed until now.

"It’s easy to be fearless," Ana said. "When you have nothing to lose…I was fearless. I’d do anything, have a go at anyone. But now the world terrifies me because it could take Josie away. I’ve watched so many people die and I know—how easy it is for something like that to happen."

"Well, I doubt getting past you would be easy for anyone. That doesn’t make you different Ana," Annabelle said. "It means you’re a mother. Just like me."

The kitchen door swung open and Sarah walked in, her blue eyes jumping back and forth between them. She was obviously aware she was interrupting something, but seemed unable to contain herself regardless.

"I’m sorry." She blurted. "I didn’t mean—"

"It’s alright Sarah," Annabelle said. "What is it dear, did something happen?"

"It’s just—Josie’s playing cards with Uncle Judah." Sarah glanced at Ana. "Not for money, it’s just pretend."

"Cards?" Annabelle clucked her tongue. "I told those boys about playin’ in the house, why on earth did they let get Josie involved?"

Ana knew he wouldn’t have had to try too hard. Josie loved playing cards. She’d actually become a bit of a ringer lately.

"It’s fine," Ana assured her. "Josie and I play poker on the weekend all the time. Not for money, just pretend." The last was directed at Sarah, who gave her a relieved smile.

"She’s already beat him twice!" Sarah flailed her arms toward the door. "It’s awesome, Come see!"

Annabelle clapped her hands and laughed, while Ana gave her a relaxed, satisfied grin.

"That’s my girl."

--

James walked around the oak tree, eyeing the low hanging branches. The wooden steps leading up to the house were worn with age, the tops slick from thousands of footsteps. "This tree makes me feel old," he said. He looked up at the tree house. "It was just a little bitty thing when we moved here. Now it’s got grey hair."

Joe sat on an overgrown root jutting out from the bottom of the tree. John leaned against trunk and studied the tree house for a moment. "I never saw the point of building this stuff. Kids just fall and bust their heads open, scare the shit out everybody."

"My boys bounced," James said. He smiled. "J.J.’s afraid of heights, so I think he bounced the farthest."

John was silent for a moment. "So I look like him, huh?"

James looked at Joe. There was something in John’s voice, an almost childish sense of impatience. It hit him then, that they were his one connection to his father, the only way he’d have any idea what kind of man he was.

"Yeah," James said. "You talk like him too."

"That’s what he said." John gestured towards Joe. "So what, you hate him so I’m a piece of shit?"

"I don’t know you," James said. "And that’s where I owe you an apology."

"You don’t owe me anything."

"Yeah, well I’m gonna give it anyway." James shoved his hands into his pockets. "I don’t think about him much and you bein’ here…" He paused. "Well, I ain’t been able to do much else. Didn’t handle it right." James cleared his throat. "I acted like a horse’s ass and that ain’t somethin’ I’m used saying. Not since Annabelle anyway." He glanced down at the John’s pocket. "You really didn’t know?"

"About the lighter thing?" John shook his head and pulled the lighter out of his pocket. He flipped it over and stared at a small inscription on the back. "No. I never saw any lighter." James looked at Joe who widened his eyes with a hell if I know shrug.

"Wait." Joe said, rising to his feet. "You met Ray?"

John paused, jaw tightening like he’d said more than he’d intended. He finally nodded. "Yeah, I met him. Long time ago, after I left home." John paused, his wary expression softening into resignation. "I was seventeen, full of piss and bullshit. I’d just enlisted and they were shipping me out so I…" He shrugged. "I figured what the hell, might as well."

"He never mentioned it," James said. "He know who you were?"

John shook his head. "No." He paused for a moment and grinned. "Bought me a watered down whisky."

James laughed. "He loved that nasty shit."

"Yeah, well it cured everything." Joe moved closer until they’d formed a crude semi-circle around the oak tree. "Got frost bite? Here have a whisky."

"Throat sore? Toss a lil’ whisky in your tea," James added.

"Think you’re pregnant?" Joe shook his head with an exaggerated sigh. "Well here, drink this and maybe you’ll shit the kid out or somethin’."

They all laughed. The sound was comforting, eased the dull knot of tension in James’s chest that had tightened over the course of the day. He gestured over his shoulder with a rueful grin. "Should probably head back to the house."

John moved forward and they fell in step beside him. James looked to his right, staring at his profile with narrow eyes. "You know, you kinda look like my boy Judah too. Or he looks like you rather."

"Yeah, now you’re pushin’ it," John said.

"No he’s right," Joe said, pointing to John’s face." Around the eyes…"

"In the jaw there…" James stroked his own chin. John stopped and looked at them both, irritated.

"You done pickin’ my fuckin’ face apart?"

Joe shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at James. "What cookie did Josie say he picked?"

"San-tee Claus."

"Oooh." Joe whistled low and shook his head.

"What are they tarot cards now?" John sliced the air with his hand. "Santa equals death, is that how you folks do Christmas?"

"Nope." James paused at the door and pointed to the parking lot. "You see that bucket sittin’ over by your car there?"

John looked at the red plastic bucket filled with soapy water and large sponges. "Yeah."

"I lost five-hundred dollars ‘cause of that brawl today." James gestured towards the house. "Boys gonna work it off with a spit shine." He reached for the doorknob with a large grin. "That’s how we do Christmas."

Benton, Arkansas
January, 1977

"What’s that, four?"

Ray paused with the glass of whisky halfway to his lips. Faye’s disapproval was thick; her mouth was pursed into that cute pouty-pucker she always made when she was anxious. After all these years it still amazed him she’d never married. A cover girl she wasn’t, but there was a hell of lot there that’d be nice to come home to.

"You keepin’ count now?" Ray tossed back the shot and set the glass on the counter. Faye leaned back, the pouty-pucker fading into an exasperated eye roll.

"Somebody should ‘cause you sure as hell ain’t." She swiped the glass and wiped down the condensation that had formed on the counter. "I’m sure Sarah’s wonderin’ where you are. Why don’t you head home?"

Ray looked up, over her shoulder at the muted television mounted on the wall. Pretending he hadn’t heard the suggestion was easier than explaining that his wife preferred her solitude. When they first got married, everyday Sarah would be waiting for him, with a cup of a coffee or a home cooked meal already plated up and steaming on the dining room table. Now his presence was something she had to deal with, one more chore or child to look after along with everything else.

"Could you turn that up a little?" Ray pointed to the television, which had been silently broadcasting the evening news. The top story was about Jimmy Carter and his decision to pardon the draft dodgers. Faye turned around and slapped the volume dial, turning it up just enough so they could hear. He leaned forward, squinting, as the blond woman on the screen spoke about the "momentous occasion."

"Somebody sittin’ here?"

Ray glanced to his right. A stringy kid with a military crew-cut stood beside him, eyes narrowed in what, judging from the faint lines around his eyes, was probably a perpetual scowl of distrust. Ray shook his head and gestured to the stool.

"Knock yourself out."

The kid slid into the seat, slightly clumsy, as though he wasn’t used to being in chairs with no backs. Faye ignored him, her eyes fixed on a line of glasses she’d started drying with a dish towel. She’d pegged him for underage the minute he’d walked in. The kid seemed oblivious to this and actually tapped his finger against the counter.

"Can I get a beer?"

Faye snorted softly and stepped away, to the lifer on his left. Stan Hodges nodded meekly when she asked if he wanted his drink topped off.

"Shit," the boy swore under his breath. Ray grinned, eyes still fixed on the television.

"What’s your name?" The boy was silent. James turned to meet his eyes and smiled. "Big man," he said. "You want a drink or not?"

"Yeah."

No yes sir. No thank you either, just gimme what I asked for. Ray was still amazed at how fast the world kept changing. When he was that age, the cost of disrespect hurt a hell of a lot more than some finger wagging reprimand.

"Faye." Ray tapped the bar, similar to the boy’s failed attempt to get her attention. "Whiskey and water."

"Ray…"

"Hush," Ray said. "Pour two."

Ray turned back to the television. The president was speaking, his voice weighted with sadness as he explained his decision to turn a blind eye to thousands of men who’d stayed behind. Faye slid the drink in front of the boy and Ray glanced to his right to watch him drink it down.

"You army?"

The boy looked at him quickly. "Yeah," he said. "Just enlisted." His voice rose a little, inflated with purpose. "Think I’m shippin’ out to South Asia after basic."

"That right?" Ray picked up his own drink and took a sip. "You from around here?"

"No." He shifted in the chair. "My…my folks are though…’ He paused. "Marilyn is my mother’s name."

Ray nodded, his eyes sliding back to the television. "Don’t know any Marilyns," he said. "She got kin still around?"

The boy looked at his empty glass. "Don’t think so."

Ray studied him for a moment. His shoulders were wound tight, like he was ready to start swinging at any moment. He’d been like that at his age, determined to fight the world even when it didn’t give a shit. His boys were different though, calmer and a hell of a lot smarter about the choices they made in life. James in particular; sometimes he wondered where that kid had come from.

"What do you think about this?" Ray pointed to the television. The boy looked up and shrugged, noncommittal.

"His decision," he said. "Wasn’t drafted so it ain’t got shit to do with me."

"You were too young right?" Ray drained the last of his drink. "Makes it easy not to give a damn."

"What do you think then?" The boy pointed to the television. "I don’t see you out there with signs calling people traitors. You’re just sittin’ here getting drunk off your ass."

Ray grinned. "Well, I never said they were traitors." He leaned forward, the smile fading. "Just scared little boys runnin’ from a bullet in the brain."

The boy blinked and slumped a little in his chair. The hard scowl was back and he shoved the glass in Ray’s direction. "Can you tell her to fill that up again?"

Ray tapped the bar and motioned to Faye. She picked up the whisky bottle with an irritated grunt.

"My son was over there," Ray said. "In Vietnam, he got drafted."

The boy’s scowl eased a bit. "He come back?"

Ray nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Got a million dollar wound about eight months in. Came back to his wife with an honorable discharge."

The boy nodded and watched Faye water down his drink. "He live here?"

Ray shook his head. "No, he’s in Little Rock." He paused. "It changed him some. Not a whole lot ‘cause he’s too stubborn for that, but enough to where I could see it." He paused. "All that killin’ and death, man can’t come out on the other side of that without a little damage."

"Damage?"

"In here." Ray touched his chest. "And in here." He touched his temple. The boy reached for his glass and sipped it this time. Ray reached out to touch his shoulder.

"You keep something with you. Don’t matter what it is, but this here? Home? You need something to remind you what it feels like."

The boy stared at him a long moment and then nodded. Ray slapped his back and turned around to face the bar.

"It’s John."

Ray met his eyes again. "I’m sorry?"

"My name." The boy straightened on the stool. "It’s John."

Little Rock, Arkansas
December, 2010

It was past mid-night when Annabelle insisted they stay in the guest room instead of going back to the hotel. He would’ve said no a few hours earlier, but Landon took one look at Josie’s drooping eyes and agreed with her.

He’d talked to his daughter when they came inside and apologized for scaring the shit out of her earlier. Josie accepted almost immediately, with the satisfied grin that comes whenever a parent admits they were wrong. She’d sunk against his side on the couch and stayed there. She was curved in the crook of his arm when her head started that up and down dance of fighting off sleep.

It didn’t really make sense to drag her to the car when there was a perfectly good bed waiting for her upstairs. And after his sixth beer, it wasn’t like he was in any shape to drive anyway, something Joe pointed out while finishing up his fifth.

Ana took Josie upstairs after the rest of the Randalls drifted out the door and headed home. Eventually it was just him and his brothers, sitting on the front porch, watching the sun come up while they told their old man stories.

Joe talked about his dead wife a little, but not for long. Most of his stories were quickly cut off with a long swig of beer. James’s favorite topic was his sons, which was surprising. He’d pegged James as a bully at first, parenting by intimidation. But now he realized it was more about discipline, hammering home the values that Landon enthusiastically tossed aside growing up. Hell, if his father had been anything like James, his life might’ve turned out a lot different. Of course, he wouldn’t have met Ana and they wouldn’t have Josie. That was worth wading through bullshit for a decade or three.

"So Ana’s your second wife?" James asked. John scowled at Joe. He’d had a feeling the senator was digging around in his past.

"Third," he said, and they both reared back in their seats. James slapped his thigh and shook his head.

"How the hell you get three women to marry you?" He said. "Figured all that smoke would’ve run most of ‘em off."

Landon grinned and pulled out his lighter, ran his fingers along the smooth surface, "I’m a romantic at heart."

He lit the cigarette and inhaled while they laughed, then turned to watch the sun rise above the trees. Their cars were lined up along the street, his rental still parked behind the large truck he now identified as James’s. They were gleaming, each surface buffed to a shine with a fresh coat of wax courtesy of his nephews.

"Got off cheap," James said earlier. "Best wax in the world ain’t worth five hundred." Judah mentioned that it was technically Landon’s fault they lost the game. Landon agreed, and then pointed out a small spot on the bumper he’d missed.

The chair creaked when James shifted his weight against the seat, "Ya’ll leavin’ today?"

Landon nodded. James jiggled the remainder of his beer around the can.

"Well, you don’t have to," he said. "I mean—Annabelle’s got attached to your little one. I know she’d like to have her around a little longer."

Landon just stared at him while Joe smoothed out a grin with his fingertips.

"And Sarah needs somebody to play with. Girl spends more time with her head in a book than talkin’ to folks these days. Not that it’s a bad thing, just needs balancin’ that all."

"James." Joe said.

"And Judah’s been buggin’ your wife ‘bout teachin’ him those fancy Kung Fu stick moves—"

"You want me to stay old man?" Landon said. James frowned.

"Not if you’re gonna call me that I don’t. You ain’t exactly spring fresh yourself John."

Landon flicked ash on the porch and watched the end of the cigarette glow and die. "You’re right, I’m not."

And that was it, wasn’t it? He wasn’t young anymore and couldn’t run from shit as fast as he used to.

"Alright, we’ll stay."

James gave him a satisfied nod that told him the subject was settled. John and Joe shared knowing looks before turning back to the yard. Landon thought about Ray Randall, the brief moment he’d shared with his biological father and tried to reconcile that slightly hazy version with the one his brothers remembered.

There were gaps, a slight disconnect between the two. It made him think the real man, the one they weren’t allowed to know, fell somewhere in between.

Winter Song