Miller's Valley - Anna Quindlen Page 0,80

little kids?” I said.

“Her mom spends a lot of time taking care of the kids. That and eating. Don’t tell her I said that. Your brother’s here.”

“What?”

Fred jerked a thumb toward a back corner of the room.

All this time, all the bad stuff, and you could still tell which booth was Tommy’s because there were so many people gathered around it. If he’d had a ring you would have thought someone would be kissing it. The courtiers were the kinds of guys who were the backbone of Miller’s Valley, the guys who had flamed out first year at college, the guys who thought going in the first place was a waste, the guys who didn’t want the job or the life their old man had but hadn’t come up with anything different yet and never would, who spent their time smoking pot and getting drunk and bitching about how they’d never gotten a fair shake, whatever that was. And the women they got pregnant and then married. Tom was still their leader, but he was a different Tom now, with half-closed eyes and hair to his shoulders. He looked like Jesus if Jesus was hungover.

I was all the way to the table before he raised his sleepy lids and saw me. His face going from slack to smile seemed to happen in slow motion, like he wasn’t used to it.

“Little girl,” he said. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

“It’s Thanksgiving weekend. I’m off from school. I’m home with Mom.”

He patted the fake leather seat next to him but I stayed standing. His hand moved in slow motion, like it was going through water. I leaned on the table and got right up in his face. It had been so long since I’d talked to him last, and I didn’t know when it would happen again, so I figured I should go for it.

“Where have you been?” I said. My voice shook like I was going to cry, even though I never cry in public.

“It’s a long story, kid.” He smelled like bourbon and beer.

“That’s what people always say when they really don’t want to talk about something, or when they’re dying to talk about something.”

“You’re a smart girl,” he said. “I always knew that, that you were smart.” He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke to the side so it wasn’t in my face. His words were in slow motion, too, like the tape in a tape recorder whose battery was going bad. “You did good, kid. I’m happy for you. You’re the American dream, right? You are. I always figured you’d be okay.”

“How do you know I’m okay?”

He smiled, but his eyes didn’t. “I can tell by looking,” he said. A tall skinny guy came right up to the table and stood beside me. “Hey, sweetheart, what’s happening?” he said, putting his hand on my back.

“My little sister,” Tommy said, coming alive. He made the words sound like a hammer coming down three times, and the skinny guy backed up with his hands in the air, the way they do on TV when the sheriff pulls a gun.

“No idea, man, none, so sorry, really,” he said. “I didn’t mean anything, swear to God.” Then he was gone. The whole crowd of guys around Tommy had disappeared, as though I’d made some sort of force field that drove them away.

“Come home,” I said. “Mom will cook for you.”

“Naaah,” he said. “That’s not a good idea.”

“She misses you.” I wanted to say, I miss you, I miss you so much my heart hurts, but that sounded like one of those stupid greeting card things to say. Plus when you’re premed expressions like that don’t work for you anymore. Broken heart, gut feeling. You’re too literal, at least in the beginning, at least until you learn that a broken heart is a real thing.

“I bet she misses you, too,” he said.

“Yeah, but I come home sometimes. You should, too. You owe her that much.” I shouldn’t have said that. The mean look Tommy had given the skinny guy came back, and his eyelids came down, and the smile was gone.

“I owe her not to have the cops show up at her house again,” he said. “That’s what I owe her.”

“What about me?” I said, and it was like all the times I hadn’t said that sentence during my whole life were there when I said it that one time.

“What about you?”

“You let me down.” And now I was crying,