Ed shook his head. “Did you know Mike turned down a teaching job at one of them big law schools, Harvard or something, to stay at the Court? He got a slew of offers from big law firms. He showed me ’em. Lord, they were talking money I can’t even believe.” The pride in his voice was obvious.
“More power to him,” Fiske said dryly.
Ed suddenly slapped his thigh. “What’s wrong with you, Johnny? What the hell do you have against your brother?”
“I’ve got nothing against him.”
“Then why the hell don’t you two get along like you used to? I’ve talked to Mike. It’s not on account of him.”
“Look, Pop, he’s got his life and I’ve got mine. I don’t remember you being all touchy-feely with Uncle Ben.”
“My brother was a bum and a drunk. Your brother ain’t either of those.”
“Being a drunk and a bum aren’t the only vices in the world.”
“Damn, I just don’t understand you, son.”
“Join the crowd.”
Ed put out his cigarette on the concrete floor, stood and leaned against one of the garage’s exposed wall studs. “Jealousy ain’t right between brothers. You should feel good about what he’s done with his life.”
“Oh, so you think I’m jealous?”
“Are you?”
Fiske took another sip of beer and looked over at the belly-button-high wire fence surrounding his father’s small backyard. It was currently painted dark green. Over the years it had seen many different colors. John and Mike had painted it each summer, the color being whatever the trucking firm Ed worked for had left over from its annual office repainting. Fiske looked over at the apple tree that spread over one corner of the yard. He motioned with his beer. “You’ve got caterpillars. Get me a flare.”
“I’ll get to it.”
“Pop, you don’t even like standing on a chair.”
Fiske took off his jacket, grabbed a ladder from the garage and took the flare his father handed him. He ignited it, positioned the ladder under the bulging nest and climbed up. It took a few minutes, but the nest slowly dissolved under the heat of the flare. Fiske climbed back down and stamped out the flare while his father raked up the remains of the nest.
“And you just saw my problem with Mike.”
“What?” Ed looked confused.
“When was the last time Mike was down here to help? Hell, just to see you or Mom?”
Ed scratched at his beard stubble and fumbled in his pants pocket for another cigarette. “He’s busy. He gets down when he can.”
“Sure he does.”
“He’s got important work to do for the government. Up there helping all them judges. It’s the damn highest court in the land, you know that.”
“Well, guess what, Pop, I keep pretty busy too.”
“I know that, son. But — ”
“But, I know, it’s different.” Fiske threw his jacket over his shoulder, wiped the sweat from his eyes. The mosquitoes would be out soon. That made him think of water. His father kept a trailer at a campground down by the Mattaponi River. “You been down to the trailer lately?”
Ed shook his head, relieved at the change in subject. “Naw, planning to go soon, though. Take the boat out before it gets too cold.”
Fiske rubbed another bead of sweat off his forehead. “Let me know, I might run down with you.”
Ed scrutinized his eldest son. “How you doing?”
“Professionally? Lost two, won two this week. I take that as an acceptable batting average these days.”
“You be careful, son. I know you believe in what you’re doing and all, but that’s a damn rough bunch you’re lawyering for. Some of them might remember you from your cop days. I lie awake at night thinking about that.”
Fiske smiled. He loved his father as much as he did his mother, and, in some subtle ways of men, even more. The thought of his father still losing sleep over him was very reassuring. He slapped his father on the back.
“Don’t worry, Pop, I never let my guard down.”
“How about the other thing?”
Fiske unconsciously touched his chest. “Doing just fine. Hell, probably live to be a hundred.”