He needed to focus. “Something happened between you two,” he said.
“Nothing happened, Frank, beyond a friendly disagreement over religion.”
Randall shook his head, the smell of chicken broth souring in his bowl. “She never wanted to see you again after that. She insisted on it.”
“Don’t I know it. I lost my only brother.”
“Come off it, Maurice. You never cared for me.”
“That’s not true,” said Maurice, raising his voice. Man, he looked so old when he lost his temper. His face wizened as the wrinkles spread from his face to his mottled neck.
“You used to beat me. I remember that.”
“For that, I’m sorry. Neither of us had a good role model when it came to acts of physical violence.”
“I never beat anyone in my life,” said Frank.
Maurice raised his eyebrows, and pushed his spoon into the thick liquid in his bowl. This time, a different image of Annie appeared in Randall’s mind and he came close to letting out a scream.
Maurice wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood, his chair scraping on the wooden floor as he placed it under the table. “We had an argument over religion, nothing more, nothing less.”
“What, specifically?” said Randall, remaining seated.
“I don’t know, Frank, it was so long ago. I loved Annie like a sister, but she sure could be stubborn.”
Heat rose in Randall, and he got to his feet. “You take that back, Maurice,” he said, dismayed to see his hands shaking in front of him.
Maurice’s expression had gone perfectly blank, as if he’d retreated into himself. It was the same blank canvas presented there whenever he’d been dishing out his beatings. “Very well,” he said, after a long pause. “I’m sorry. Please, let’s start again. Go and change. I have a quick meeting here, and then we can go for a walk.”
By the time Randall had changed into his warm weather gear, he could hear voices in the kitchen. He didn’t want to interrupt but curiosity got the better of him.
“Ah, Frank, come on over. I’d like you to meet Gerald Spencer and Neil Mosley. Gerald is the church’s accountant, Neil the church’s lawyer. Gentlemen, my brother.”
Both men stood and Randall shook hands with them, the accountant surprising him with a vice-like grip that almost brought tears to his eyes. The lawyer’s grip was easy, as was his manner.
“Sounds like a very corporate meeting for a church,” said Randall.
The lawyer smiled, his deep-blue eyes looking intently at Frank. “So much red tape, you wouldn’t believe,” he said. “But we’re all finished here now, I think? Gerald, shall we leave these two to it?”
The accountant nodded, and Randall was pleased that he didn’t offer to shake hands again.
Maurice saw the pair to the door before pulling on his coat. “Shall we?” he said.
The weather was a little less blustery than in Galveston, but still had a kick to it that sent shivers through Randall’s body. He disliked the little town as much as he disliked Maurice’s church. Although Randall lived in all but perfect isolation in his house, this was a different type of remoteness. If felt like the town had been lifted from somewhere else and planted down in the middle of nowhere. The houses, each with its Stars and Stripes proudly on display, had their blinds shut tight as if hiding secrets from the world. When they did come across people, they all stopped to say hello to Maurice. It became apparent that his brother commanded respect in the area, and everyone was keen to meet Randall and to find out more about him.
“We have a very forgiving community here,” said Maurice, as they continued walking to a wooded area on the outskirts of the town.
Randall tripped over a loose stone just then, the thigh muscle of his bad leg pulling as he struggled to regain his balance. “Forgiving? What does that mean? You’ve told them . . . about me?”
“Careful, now. They know what happened, Frank. It’s not like it’s recent news. You were in all the papers, on the television. It didn’t take much to put two and two together, to match the Randall brothers. I answered their questions and took comfort from their kindness and support. We prayed for you, Frank. We prayed for you and Annie.”
I know what you can do with your prayers, thought Randall, though he opted to keep his opinion to himself for the time being.
Maurice continued along the muddy path to a small ravine. “Remember when we played Pooh sticks as children?” he said.
Randall remembered the game they’d learned from Winnie-the-Pooh, one of the few books in the house; remembered, too, that Maurice had always seen to it that he won. He would claim that whatever twig emerged from the other side of the bridge was his, and if Randall didn’t like it, he would take a beating.
Maurice bent down with a grunt and picked a loose stick from the ground. Snapping it in two, he offered Randall a choice. Randall held his brother’s gaze, wondering what in hell he truly wanted, and took the larger of the two sticks. Leaning over the edge of the bridge, they counted to three and dropped the sticks into the stream.
“Quick,” said Maurice, moving with some speed to the other side of the bridge.
Randall grimaced, the cold reaching his knee, as he swiveled around and made it in time to see his twig arrive first in the stream below. “Who won this time?” he said.
“I think you did, brother,” said Maurice, with a smile.
“First time in sixty years, huh?”
Maurice placed his hand on Randall’s back, the touch so light it was as if there was no contact at all. “Things change, brother. We only have each other now.”
Randall eased away from his touch and began walking back to the church. Once, he’d made the mistake of telling his father how Maurice had cheated at the game. He didn’t think he was any older than six or seven, but his father hadn’t been the type of man to listen to such grievances. Randall twitched at the memory of his father’s belt snapping against his flesh. Three times, always three times. When Maurice had returned, he’d received the same treatment. They never played the game again.
“So what do you think?” said Maurice, as they retreated into the warmth of the house.
“What do I think about what?”
“My proposition?”
“Stop talking in riddles, Maurice.”
Maurice shivered as he took off his coat. “A storm is brewing. About staying here, with me. Neither of us is getting any younger.”
“I don’t think that would work,” said Randall, helping his brother load the fireplace with wood.
Maurice smiled. Randall imagined his brother thought it was enigmatic, but it wasn’t. It was creepy and reminded him again of Annie’s aversion to his brother.
“You won at Pooh sticks,” said Maurice.
“I won lots of times in the past, only you refused to acknowledge it.” How ludicrous it was to dwell on childhood games.
“My point exactly. We’ve both made mistakes, brother. You’re not the only one who seeks forgiveness. I seek it on a daily basis. Stay awhile and we can seek it together.”
Randall poked at the fire until the flames engulfed the chopped wood. He didn’t believe in the type of forgiveness Maurice was talking about.