Country Roads(35)

His brother speared several charcoal-colored slabs of meat onto a platter. “That’s just temporary until the smoke clears.”

Paul made a mental note to replace the battery himself before he left. Taking the iced tea from the refrigerator, he grabbed a serving bowl filled with chopped-up lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumbers he assumed was their salad before he went back to the dining alcove.

“Here we are! Marinated hanger steak,” Jimmy said, setting the mystery meat down on the table with a flourish. “I used some balsamic, some Worcestershire sauce, and a little brown sugar, just like the Internet said.”

“So your cable’s working again,” Paul said. “Did you get my e-mail about the change in your health insurance?” He carried his brother’s insurance through his law practice; it was the only way he could persuade the contractor Jimmy worked for to hire a known alcoholic.

“They don’t write those things in English,” Jimmy said. “Why don’t you just tell me where to sign the papers?” He lifted the lid from a casserole dish and steam poured out from the potatoes baked in their jackets. Paul sighed inwardly in relief; his brother knew how to make those because Eric loved them smothered in cheese and bacon bits. Something in the meal would be edible.

“You should know what you’re covered for.”

“We’ll talk about it later.” Jimmy grabbed the tongs and put the largest chunk of meat on Paul’s plate. “Sit down and enjoy some home cooking. I know you don’t get enough of that, being a bachelor without a kid to feed.”

Paul sat. “You’re right. It’s nothing but sandwiches at my desk and takeout pizza.” A lie. He often cooked for himself. He’d managed a decent chicken cordon bleu the other night.

Paul sawed at the steak and turned the conversation to a topic they could agree on. “How’s Eric doing with his new substitute teacher? What’s his name—Voss?”

A look of relief spread over Jimmy’s face. “Sounds like he and Eric have come to an understanding. If Eric finishes his test or his in-class exercise before everyone else, he can read his library book quietly at his desk.”

“It sounds like Mr. Voss knows what he’s doing.”

Eric had a quick mind, which meant he spent a lot of time waiting for the other kids to finish their work. If he didn’t have something to occupy him, he found creative but disruptive ways to entertain himself.

“Yeah, maybe if we’d had a teacher like him, we would’ve raised less hell in school,” Jimmy said.

“I don’t know about raising less hell, but we might have learned something.”

“You took in more than you let on.”

Paul shook his head, remembering how he’d barely gotten into college. “I was in every remedial class they had at WVU.”

“Well, you pulled your shit together for law school.”

“Only because I got interested.”

“Guess I never found anything that interested me. You know, this peppercorn sauce with brandy and black truffles is right tasty, despite all the fancy stuff in it,” Jimmy said, offering one of Paul’s gifts.

Paul took the bottle with gratitude, dousing the overcooked beef in the sauce to give it a flavor other than shoe leather. As the two brothers chewed their steaks in a silence that grew longer and longer, Jimmy’s eyes began to dance. He swallowed and grabbed his iced tea to take a long drink. Paul was still trying to get to the point of choking down the tough beef when his brother started to laugh.

“Bro, you can spit it out,” Jimmy said. “We’ll grind our teeth down to nubs if we try to finish this.”

With a Herculean effort, Paul forced the bite of steak down his throat. “I was beginning to think I’d need dentures before the age of forty.” Jimmy laughed harder, and Paul found himself joining in.

It was like the old days, when he and Jimmy had pulled the best pranks ever seen at the high school and only been caught twice. Of course, Jimmy had charmed his way out of any punishment, while Paul had spent weeks in detention. It had been worth it to see the principal’s face when he found the goat on his desk, eating the school budget papers.

That was before his brother had screwed up his marriage, slid into alcoholism, and nearly lost custody of his son.

A buzzer sounded from the kitchen, and Jimmy bolted out of his chair. “Oh shit, I forgot about the apple pie.” Reappearing with a steaming pie held between two oven mitts, he said, “Don’t look so worried. It’s Mrs. Smith’s. All I did was heat it up,” he said, putting it down on a doubled-up dish towel.