Free The Simple Truth by David Baldacci Page B

across from his son.
    “Talked to Mike yesterday,”
he said.
    “Is that right?”
Fiske said with no interest.
    “He’s doing good up there at the Court. You know they asked him back for another year. He must be good.”
    “I’m sure he’s the best they’ve ever had.”
Fiske stood up and went over to the open doorway. He took a deep breath, letting his lungs fill with the scent of freshly cut grass. Every Saturday growing up, he and his brother would mow the lawn, do the chores and then the family would pile into the mammoth station wagon for the weekly trip to the A&P grocery store. If they had been really good, done all their chores correctly, not clipped the grass too short, they’d get a soda from the machine next to the paper box outside the A&P. To the boys it was liquid gold. Fiske and his brother would think all week about getting that cold soda. They had been so close growing up. Carried the morning
Times Dispatch
together, played sports together, though John was three years older than his brother. Mike was so gifted physically that he had played varsity sports as a freshman. The Fiske brothers. Everybody knew them, respected them. Those were happy times. Those times were over. He turned back and looked at his father.
    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