Still Life in Shadows (21 page)

“Sure.”

“Deal?” Moriah extended a shaky hand. Gideon took it, bothered by its lack of warmth and energy. But before he could come up with anything more to say, his brother raced out of the shop.

“He’s in a big hurry,” said Kiki, getting up to watch Moriah’s retreat. “What did he mean about the tree?”

Gideon explained about the tree at their home place in Carlisle. As he told Kiki about the wispy tree with swaying leaves, he could almost smell the aroma of the apples in the orchard standing next to it.

“Is your home in the mountains, too?”

“There are mountains nearby.”

“I want to go there. I’ve never been outside of North Carolina, for Pete’s sake.”

“Where would you like to go?”

“Some place with good food and twenty-four-hour TV shows.”

Laughter shot through him. This kid could always make him laugh and feel lighthearted. One minute he was frustrated with Moriah, ready to knock some sense into his brother, and the next, Kiki had him smiling.

O
ver the next few days, Gideon found himself waking from sleep and searching the apartment for his brother—hoping to find him, and yet relieved when he was not in sight. The mixture of emotions drove him crazy with fear. If Moriah wasn’t at home, where was he and what was he up to? If he did show up at home, what would he be up to and what kind of mood would he be in? The expression
walking on eggshells
crossed Gideon’s mind many times throughout the week.

If it were only one ruckus, Gideon could put it behind him, but with Moriah it was clearly more. Something was causing Moriah to react in highly volatile ways—behavior that Gideon had never before experienced from anyone. Anxiety searing both his heart and mind, Gideon tried to clear his head on the next Saturday afternoon. He went for a long walk, but even after five miles, he was still anxious. He passed the Valley Ridge Apartments and wondered if he should demand that his brother move to an apartment there.
Get a backbone
, he reprimanded himself.
Tell him he has to move out today. Or else.

Finally back at his apartment, he sat on a chair in his living room,
trying to relax. He noticed a cobweb in the corner, just above the floor, so he got his mop. He decided that cleaning would be a good way to alleviate some of his pent-up aggravation.

As he dusted under the sofa with a dry Swiffer mop, he felt the edge of it hit against something. Gideon drew it out to find an aluminum-wrapped object measuring about five-by-five inches. Picking it up, he turned it over a few times and then sniffed it, wondering what it could be.

Suspicion grabbed him and he knew he would have to open it. Carefully, he pulled back the foil. Inside were five white, handmade, cigarette-like items. He heard a noise at the door and quickly stuffed the packet into his jeans pocket. As he looked at the front door, he expected it to open and for Moriah to enter. Although his brother claimed he was moving out, he had yet to make good on his promise. The sound at the door continued as Gideon faced it.

With labored breath, he waited. The noise at the entryway to his apartment ceased. Resuming normal breathing, he wondered why he felt guilty for finding whatever it was under the sofa. This was his apartment; he paid the rent. He didn’t need to feel wrong for finding something, even if Moriah had tried to hide it.

He opened the foil packet again, laying it out on the coffee table. This time he noticed a small clear plastic bag underneath the cigarettes. He pulled at the edge and lifted the bag. Inside were tiny crystals, resembling rocks. Gideon’s hands grew hot and he tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. Of course, he could ask Henry what these cigarette-looking items were. But as he studied the crystals, suspicion rose. He had to know now. At his computer, he typed descriptive keywords to search by until he stopped at a photo that matched what was on his table. Meth!

“Methamphetamine has a high potential for addiction and abuse,” Gideon read from a website called Dangerous Drugs. “Made from household products such as lye, cold medicine, battery acid, paint thinner, and iodine, meth can be found in the form of tiny rock-like crystals,
powder, or even made into cigarettes.” Skimming a few paragraphs, he continued to read, “Meth is highly addictive. Symptoms include sleeplessness, paranoia.” Moriah’s words from yesterday shot into Gideon’s memory. “They’re going to get me!” That certainly sounded like what someone afraid that people were out to capture him would say.

Cautiously, Gideon unrolled one of the cigarettes and breathed in. The flaky greenish substance inside the thin paper looked like marijuana to him.
Meth and marijuana, what was Moriah doing to himself? Who supplied him with this
?

Gideon went to the kitchen and got a glass. Filling it with water from the tap, he tried to decide what to do. He’d confront his brother. He drank slowly, the liquid cool against his parched throat. Taking another sip, he walked over to the coffee table. His findings from under the sofa were still there. Drugs—here in his own apartment. Drugs that belonged to Moriah. If Mother and Father could see him now.

We’ve come a long way from Carlisle,
he thought. But then he couldn’t help but recall what Luke’s sister had said to him one Christmas when she came to Twin Branches for vacation. “You can get drugs anywhere. I knew kids in Lancaster that smoked marijuana.”

Could Moriah have started his habit then? Gideon tried to picture a younger Moriah in the loft of someone’s barn on a warm summer night, lighting up a joint. But meth was surely not produced in some abandoned shed or barn, was it? Where had his brother picked up this habit?

When the door rattled, Gideon set his water glass down and quickly wrapped the drugs together again. He’d toss them all out, but first he needed to get them out of sight. Whoever was at the door might not believe that the substances were not his. He shoved the foil package deep under the sofa.

“Hey!” Moriah’s voice boomed from the other side of the door.

Gideon stood to unlock the door.

Moriah breezed past him, a six-pack in his hand. Gideon breathed in a sour aroma.

“Where have you been?”

“Out.” Moriah’s ponytail hung like a knotted rope.

“You’d better not be getting into trouble.”

Moriah laughed, sounding like a hyena. “In this little town? How would I get into trouble? Am I going to be caught with too much apple cider?”

“I’m warning you.”

Moriah’s eyes were bloodshot, the rims puffy, like he had some sort of allergy. His cheeks, like wrinkled linens, were sunk into his face. The usual color from his lips was gone; now they resembled the color of titanium white on a paint chart. “Are you warning me?” He paced toward the bathroom. “No one gets in my way.”

“You can’t do this to yourself.” Gideon stood between his brother and the bathroom door.

“Why not?”

Why not?
Gideon tried to dismiss the nausea creeping into his stomach. “It’s not legal, for one thing.” The minute he said it, Gideon realized that he was letting his brother know that he was aware of his drug use, even though he had not admitted to what he’d found under the sofa. For a second he feared what Moriah’s reaction would be.

“So?” was all that Moriah had to say. He repeated it five times, until Gideon wanted to pull his hair out.

“I’m gonna do what I’m gonna do, so there!” Moriah sounded like a kid being told he couldn’t have candy before bedtime. Not even a Snickers or Twix bar.

“It ruins your health.”

“Have you ever tried it?” He opened a can of Coors.

Where was this leading to? Tried it? Why would he poison his body? Why would he
—“No.”

“Then don’t judge. Don’t be so high and mighty.”

Gideon felt his blood curdle. “High and mighty?!” He was not his father. He had not come all this distance to be likened to his father.

“Just let me live my life.” Moriah downed his beer and reached for another.

“Stop!” Gideon stood between him and the rest of the cans. “Stop
doing this to yourself.” His instinct was to slap some sense into Moriah’s head, but he wouldn’t react as Father used to. With his hands at his side, he yelled, “Wake up!”

Moriah laughed uncontrollably. “Just stay out of my hair.”

S
unday morning a week later, Gideon found himself at the door of Mari’s church. He took a deep breath and crossed the threshold. Meeting Mari and Kiki at the foyer of Fifth Street Presbyterian, he greeted them and then followed the sisters to a pew lined with a long red cushion. In front of them was Angie, wearing a silky black shirt and too much makeup.

Now what did Kiki call this girl? Oh, the tattletale, Gideon remembered. He would have to refrain from calling her that name to her face. After all, she was a Smithfield, and it was likely that her relatives had donated the very pew he sat on to the church.

As Angie smiled at Kiki, Kiki smiled back, and Gideon decided that things must be okay between the girls now.

Before the service started, Mari excused herself to join the other choir members getting their music folders from the director.

Kiki sat closer to Gideon, filling the space Mari had occupied between them. “She’ll be back,” she said.

Gideon picked up his bulletin, a gray piece of paper, and tried to focus on the black print. He read something about a clothing drive in the announcements section. Wondering if he had any clothes to donate, he gazed around the sanctuary. The flower arrangement at the front was robust and bright. He noted the stained-glass windows, scenes of Jesus and the disciples.

As he glanced at one of a nativity scene, he became acutely aware that he was in church.

How long had it been since he was in a church? He’d attended a Christmas Eve service and one at Easter his first year in Twin Branches. Ormond had made him go. Had he been since then? He hoped this wasn’t going to be one of those lengthy services. His
favorite part right now would be when it ended.

The service began with a call to worship, and Gideon laid the bulletin aside. If anything, at least he’d appear interested in what was being read from the pulpit.

When the choir sang “Amazing Grace,” Kiki whispered to Gideon, “This is my favorite part. This is my very favorite part. Isn’t it yours?”

Gideon kept his eyes forward and let the music filter about him. For a moment, he watched Mari singing. She stood to the left, by the organ. He recalled she’d told him she sang in the choir … but not Beatles songs.

As the choir finished “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing,” he thought back to Thursday noon, when he’d ambled in with the paper, his head weary from thinking about Moriah. Mari had approached him with a wide smile. As he ordered a cup of green tea, she asked if he’d like to go to church with her and Kiki this Sunday. The recent events with Moriah still had him feeling dismal, and so without hesitation, he’d said to Mari, “Sure.”

Now, here he was, wearing a clean, pressed, collared shirt and wondering what a good Amish man was doing in a Presbyterian church.

A
lthough Gideon felt like he was from another planet, sitting in a pew at Fifth Street Presbyterian, the service was tolerable. There were even some aspects about it he felt he could get used to. Kiki was right, the choir did a stellar job as they sang “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing” and “Amazing Grace.”

After the hymns, the choir members dispersed and went to sit with friends and family. Mari squeezed between Kiki and Gideon. She and Gideon shared a Bible as the pastor read from Matthew 6. The selected passage about forgiveness seemed strangely familiar. Gideon was sure he’d heard a sermon given by a bishop at a community service years ago based on this same Scripture. Then verse fifteen jumped from the page at him like one of those windup toys where a clown popped out of a jack-in-the-box—“But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.” Forgiveness. Of all the passages in the Bible, why did this one have to be read now? He didn’t want to deal with the flood of emotions that came when he thought of words like
forgiveness
in connection to his father.

In an attempt to clear his head of the Scripture, he looked around the sanctuary. He saw a number of customers, folks who had their vehicles serviced at Russell Brothers. He returned their smiles and hoped that when they saw him next, they wouldn’t ask what he was doing in church because he certainly had no answer for that question.

After the service, Kiki invited him to join the three girls, Angie, Mari, and her, for a picnic. Mari would pick some food up at the Piggly Wiggly, and they would drive out to the river. Gideon’s stomach rumbled at the thought of lunch, and he agreed to join them. He followed in his truck behind Mari’s car over the Smoky Mountain Parkway. Tall pines lined the winding road, their spiky tops projecting into the cloudless blue sky.

It was a warm day, unseasonably pleasant for a Sunday in mid-November. Gideon cracked his window a bit, enjoying the fresh air that flowed into his truck. They passed a small waterfall that ran out of the side of a stony embankment, and then the road curved east and the trees were not as dense. A mile later, they turned into the recreation area, and he parked his truck next to Mari’s vehicle in the paved parking lot. Soon he was helping carry a cooler and grocery bags to a picnic area a short trek from the lot.