is my father, Marj. There were extenuating circumstances.”
He knew both Tom and Francine better than I did, so I didn’t argue the point further. I stood and kissed his cheek. “I have to get home and see to the boys. Call me later.”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
As soon as I got into my car, I pulled out my phone to make a call.
“Colin,” I said to his voicemail. “We need to talk.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Bryce
“I’ve never shot a gun before,” Justin said to me.
“You don’t have to. You can just watch Joe and me. We’re both really good at it, but my dad’s the best. He never misses the bull’s-eye.”
Justin’s skin was an olive tan, but I swore he went pale when I showed him the guns at the cabin. Dad had gone outside to do some stuff. Joe and I liked to look at the guns when he was gone. He never let us touch them without him being around.
“Thanks for bringing me here,” Justin said.
“No problem,” Joe said. “Why do you let those jerks bother you, anyway?”
“It’s hard. I’m always the new kid.”
“How come?”
“We move a lot. I don’t really know why.”
“Taylor Johns is an asshole,” I said. “I’d love to crush his skull.”
If possible, Justin went a little bit whiter.
“He’ll get what’s coming to him one way or another,” Joe said.
I’d heard Joe’s father utter those same words many times. Given enough rope, he’ll eventually hang himself. Joe’s dad said that a lot too. I didn’t really understand what it meant. More rope meant more slack, which made hanging yourself impossible.
But I didn’t worry about what it meant. I was just raring to get outside and start shooting. I loved the feeling of holding a gun, of pulling the trigger and shooting it. It gave me power over those empty soda cans. Power over the bull’s-eye in the middle of the paper target.
Power.
I liked power.
My father tramped through the front door of the cabin. “All right, boys. Ready for some target practice?”
“Yes!” Joe and I both shouted.
Justin said nothing.
“Come on, Justin,” Dad said. “There’s nothing to it.”
“I’m not sure I want to, Mr. Simpson.”
“You don’t have to, son. You can just watch.” My father clamped his arm around Justin’s shoulder. “But learning how to shoot is part of becoming a man. Just watch Bryce and Joe. You’ll see.”
We went outside where my dad had set up the targets. I always liked to start with the cans. I loved the sound of the aluminum clanging as the entire pyramid came tumbling down with one shot.
“You watch Bryce, son. He’ll go first.”
The pistols lay out on a small picnic table. I chose Clark, my favorite. Joe and I had named all the guns. This one was named after Clark Kent.
“Shooting is an art,” my father was saying to Justin as I loaded the weapon. “Every man should know how to do it and to do it well.”
“Why, sir?” Justin asked.
“You might need to defend yourself someday. Or you might have to protect someone you love. Or you might need to buy someone’s silence.”
Buy someone’s silence? The words went in my ears and then out again. How could you buy silence? Silence wasn’t something you found at the store. You didn’t pick up a box of quiet at the market. If you could do that, my teacher would be buying it all the time. That made me laugh. I must have misheard because I was focused on getting ready to shoot.
In the background, more words from my father’s mouth.
“Money buys silence for a time, son, but a bullet buys it forever.”
I jerked out of my daydream. I sat at the table, my cup of coffee full in front of me.
Money buys silence for a time, son, but a bullet buys it forever.
Had my father actually said that to a scared little boy? To Justin? Had he ever said those words to Joe and me?
The whole weekend with Justin was still a blur, thanks to the drugs my father had undoubtedly given Joe and me. Maybe I’d made this up.
But the words were crisp and clear in my head.
I heard them in my father’s voice. That “I’m your father” tone he used when he wanted to make a point and didn’t want any argument.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying desperately to find the image in my mind. Outside the cabin. Target practice. Where was Joe? Had he heard my father? I scanned the picture in my mind’s eye. I couldn’t find Joe.