Wally drew in his breath and let it out slowly. “We did a lot of fishing in these waters,” he said awkwardly, focusing on happier times so long ago.
“Reckon we did have some good times,” Jem said, “but I don’t have much time for fishing anymore.” He ran a hand along the gunwale. “Nice of old Todd to loan you his boat.” He gave Wally a sly smile. “You’re in pretty tight with the good citizens of Stony Point.” It sounded like an accusation, and Wally was puzzled. The chip Jem had carried as a boy seemed to have grown into a boulder.
“They’re good neighbors,” Wally said, “and they’ve been good to me.”
Jem said nothing to this, but just stretched back against the seat and peered into some distance Wally couldn’t see.
Actually, they’d been generous to Jem, too, when they could have arrested him after he burned down Homer Swenson’s barn. He’d gone in there to smoke a cigarette. He’d had to work off some of the damages by hauling hay for Swenson all summer.
“It’s good to have friends, Jem,” Wally said thoughtfully. He paused. “That was Annie’s friend running along the path a few minutes ago, wasn’t it?” He hoped for an offhand manner as he steered, his hand steady on the tiller.
Jem looked up, startled.
Wally knew he was surprised that someone had seen them. “She was running like a mad woman.” Wally jerked a thumb toward his open tackle box. “Binoculars. I keep them for bird-watching.” He waited for a sarcastic comment about bird-watching, which his brother was likely to think wasn’t manly.
“I ran across her on the footpath, but she was too busy to say hello. She—uh—said she was late for work. So much for friendly citizens.” Jem gave a nervous laugh. “Then again, maybe I’m losing my touch.”
Wally negotiated a bend in the coastline, and they rode in silence for a while. It was hard to figure Jem out when they were kids, and he was a long way from understanding him now. “How come you never came back all those years?” Wally was surprised at the sad sound of his own voice. In spite of everything, he’d loved Jem. “Didn’t you ever think about me?”
A frown darkened the handsome face. “’Course I did. I told you, I just got busy. You know how life is. Things pile up on a person; time gets away.” After a brooding pause, he leaned over and gave Wally a slap on the shoulder. “Plenty of water’s been washing over the bridge for you too, man. You’re married and got a kid and all.” His voice trailed off, and he squinted up at the sky. “Yeah,” he said, stroking his jaw thoughtfully, “a lot of time has passed, but we did have some good times back in the day.”
Wally saw that the trousers of Jem’s pants were frayed at the hem; there was a break in the sole of his left shoe. Real-estate bonanzas and five-dollar tips aside, maybe he wasn’t the tycoon he pretended to be. Mister, can you spare a dime? This view of his brother startled and saddened him. Jem wasn’t the brightest bulb in the pack, but he must have learned how to make a decent living. Still, times were hard; jobs were scarce.
“You know,” he began tentatively, “we don’t have much, Peggy and me, but if you need anything …” Wally hesitated, frustrated by his thoughts and not knowing how to express them. Then he heard himself say flatly, “Jem, tell me you didn’t lift that hundred-dollar bill from the Gas N Go last week!”
Several seconds of silence passed; then a gull screamed overhead. He waited, expecting an angry retort or a punch on the arm. Instead he heard low laughter. “Do I look like I need a handout, bro?”
“Well,” Wally stammered, “you used to have some pretty sticky fingers, and then when I heard about the missing money, I just …” Wally floundered, apologetic and angry at the same time. “You were there with me that day. You went inside the station while I was filling up, and …”
“So, they got a posse out for a puny hundred bucks from a cash register?” Jem’s laughter grew, but there was no humor in it. “Man, this really is a two-bit town.”
Jem’s casual attitude fueled Wally’s anger. He blurted out, “The kid working there is being blamed; he might lose his job, and his mother is sick and depends on him.” That the money had been in a cash register hadn’t been mentioned. Jem had supplied that bit of information. Wally felt his throat thicken, not so much out of sympathy for Scooter, but out of fear that Jem could very well have stolen the money.
The mill’s loading dock lay dead ahead. Wally cut the engine and headed in, grasping the tiller so hard he felt his knuckles stiffen. He cast the rope over a bleached post and climbed onto the dock, feeling Jem directly behind him, eager to get out of the boat. He turned back to his brother. “The folks in our town are good people,” he said. “I don’t want to see them hurt.”