No more. Truce over. The intense anger and crippling grief had not lessened. It had intensified in a way he could barely stand.
Aberlour shut his eyes for a second. The assault was instant. Behind one eyelid, a ring box was at the bottom of Oli’s duffle. Behind the other, four heads were rolling on a dusty concrete floor.
“We’re still friends—brothers,” Oliver said, uncertainty growing with each word. “We’re all that’s left—we have to—” he shook himself, sitting up, reaching out but Abe wouldn’t let him touch him. Not here. Not now. Not after everything.
“Brothers don’t fuck each other!” Aberlour roared.
Oliver’s mouth fell open and he shook his head.
“We’re still friends. No matter what. We’re Darling and Dumber, we’ll always be—”
“There’s no always in this picture, Oli.Youfucked this up. I got our guys killed, but you ruined this.You! Go live your six-figure life, Oliver. I’ll drink to the ghost of you.” He got out of the car and slammed the car door behind him.
“What’s one more fucking ghost,” he lied to himself as he bounded up the steps, two at a time, his head thumping with an impending hangover.
Chapter 32
November 2014
“You alright, son? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” the old man was studying him curiously.
Aberlour shook off the chills running up and down his spine and forced a smile.
“Yes, sir.”
The old man grumbled something unintelligible but didn’t ask again.
“Like I was saying, this here is how you pull down the counter. You can adjust it too. Real helpful if you want to add a row for the kids.”
Aberlour wasn’t listening. Not really. Although he was watching the man as he walked Aberlour through the process, his mind was miles away.
It was a nice fall day. Sunny, with a soft breeze blowing. It was early November, but it still felt a lot like summer. He supposed that was the appeal of South Carolina. Aberlour felt like shit. Pounding headache, alcohol sweats, he could barely focus.
“What’d you say you did again? Before—I mean.”
Aberlour attention snapped back to the old man. “Marine,” he answered curtly.
The old man just hummed and then turned back to the stand.
“You sure you want to buy this, kiddo? You got lots of years left in you. This—” he gestured to the balloon popping stand. “I mean Betsy’s nice, but she’s not exactly a career.”
No, he supposed she wasn’t. Aberlour wasn’t sure why he was doing this. Buying a carnival booth seemed like a terrible idea, no matter how he spun it, but the truth was, he didn’t needthe money. He’d been sick and restless in his stupid apartment. Seeing Oliver again, dealing with the fallout from his discharge, it felt as if he was walking across hot coals. He needed a way out. Something new. A change. A new reason to get out of the house, and this was the first thing that had sparked something in him other than anger in months. He’d seen the ad in the newspaper and knew he had to check it out. With Dr. Galloway’s advice echoing in his ears, he’d grabbed his keys before he’d stopped to think about it.
“Yes, sir,” he repeated.
More grumbling, more muttering, a little shrug.
“So, like I said in the ad, an even thousand and it’s yours.”
Aberlour nodded and reached in his back pocket for the stash of cash he’d put there that morning. One thousand dollars. He was paying one thousand dollars for an old carnival booth. If Carlos could see him now, he’d call him a fucking moron.
“Here,” Aberlour said, handing the money over. The old man took the money with a pleased smile and went about counting it.
“You can have a go, if you want. It’s always better if you can show people how to do it,” the old man suggested, nodding towards the booth while still counting his money.
Aberlour didn’t need to be told twice. He picked up the darts and started aiming them at the balloons.
“Don’t worry if you suck—took me a few weekends to get the hang of it. Of course, by then—” The old man broke off when he looked up to see Aberlour proceed to pop every single balloon on the board.
