Again Tony was surprised. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find in the two-room house of a man who hadspent a good portion of his adult life in prison. It wasn’t thesoft comfort of this room. Bright blue couch and curtainsand a vase of handpicked spring flowers on the mantel overthe old fireplace. A Bible on the one chair and a small radio on a shelf. On the wall, watercolor prints and one or twosketches, framed at the local Wal-Mart.
Tony took note of one in particular, a spare, strong sketchof Peaches himself, all the power of the man communicated in a series of broad charcoal strokes on a sketch-padpage. Simple, startling, compelling.
Tony pointed. “Who did this?”
“The boy.”
Tony turned at the hint of pride in the raspy voice.“Johnny?”
Peaches didn’t so much as nod. “You got a problem withthat?”
Tony looked back again. “He did the ones in the house,as well?”
“He did.”
Tony nodded. “I envy you.”
Again Peaches seemed to understand. Tony wasn’t at allconfused by Peaches’s attitude. He had guys like him onmore than one of his crews. Silent SOBs who judged hardand fought harder for what was important. Tough and reticent, but implacable in their loyalty. Tony thought he knewhow to enlist his aid.
“I can help her,” he said without preamble, because heknew Peaches would never respect small talk.
“Who says?”
They stood off in that small room like adversaries, testing, gauging, the battle fought with eyes and postures and size.
“She told me you were in Raiford.” Tony didn’t wait foran answer. “You do time with vets?”
“Why?”
“You heard ’em screamin’ at night. Saw them hide incorners and fly off without warning. You saw them all cluster together and tell you you didn’t know nothin’ becauseyou hadn’t seen it.”
Only Peaches’s eyes gave away his response.
Tony nodded. “Has she told you she was there?”
Peaches shrugged. “Said she was a nurse. It was different. Didn’t need talkin’ about.”
Tony shook his head. “She still wakes up screaming, though.”
Peaches knew. Peaches, who was too loyal to admit it.
Tony didn’t bother to nod this time. “Me, too. I knowwhat she’s going through and I want to help her.”
“Why?”
“Because she saved my life.”
Tony saw Peaches’s distrust. He didn’t mind. Thosewords were too easily given these days, too quickly devalued. To illustrate exactly what his were worth, Tony pulledhis shirt from his jeans and unbuttoned it. He opened it toexpose his stomach and his chest. “She saved my life,” hesaid again, and Peaches, who had seen more than any man should in that penitentiary, was impressed.
“I’m going to try and hang around,” Tony said, rebuttoning his shirt over the scars he’d long since grown used to.“I’ve already talked to some friends who might be able tooffer better help than I can, if she’ll let me. Any help I canget here, though, I’ll take.”
“Has she asked?”
Tony actually sighed. “It’s a tough thing to admit. Notmany people really understand what she’s going through.The popular belief is that people having trouble like she isare cowards, sissies, crybabies. You know, get on with yourlife. Forget what happened. Well, it doesn’t work that way.”
Peaches relented with a ghost of a smile, a very dark smileof memory. “Yeah.”
“Besides,” Tony admitted, “it’s hard. Especially ifyou’ve been trying to pretend for twenty years that it hasn’taffected you.”
