“The Walleye Tavern?” I ask trepidatiously.
“Not much. You were upset about your sister Julie and your dad.”
I close my eyes. “I had no right to burden you?—”
A subtle smile comes to his lips as his eyes lighten. “You didn’t burden me. I’ve spent the last few weeks thinking this place is full of the coldest sons of bitches I’ve ever met. And last night you showed me that being raised here doesn’t automatically result in a lack of empathy.”
I wrap my fingers around the mug of coffee. “I’m still sorry. My family isn’t your problem.”
“You’re back here because of mine. I’m still here because of yours.”
The coffee in my otherwise-empty stomach percolates. “Did I say that...that I’m here because of your family?”
“You said you were here to learn truths. Last night you told me what I’ve been thinking all along.”
I slowly lift my gaze to his. “Would you mind repeating whatever wisdom I imparted? Again, I’m at a bit of a disadvantage.”
“You said you think there’s more to Craig’s death than we’re being told.”
“And you think that too?”
“I would say I don’t only think it, but instead, I know it, except I hit a fucking brick wall at every turn.” He takes a deep breath and looks out at the lake. “You also said that you suspect there is a connection between Craig’s death and what happened to your sister and Marty Thompson.”
I join him in looking out to the waves. “You’re saying that I confessed my deepest secrets?” When I’m met with silence, I turn to him. “Keith, last night...in your truck...”
“The way I see that,” he begins, “is that last night in my truck, and for a while in your living room, there were two consenting adults. However, as time passed, your level of consent was a bit compromised, so we didn’t...” He smiles. “Jill, you’re a great kisser, by the way, and it could have gone further, but tucking you in seemed like the right thing to do.”
“You folded my clothes.”
He scoffs. “Sorry. Military before police academy. I don’t even think about it. I just do it.”
“No, thank you.” I take another sip of my coffee.
“Not all Gilberts are assholes.”
My heart thumps against my breastbone as I take in this man.
More than my gut tells me that Keith isn’t like his brother.
Craig had a cockiness about him, a self-assuredness that caught everyone’s eye. He was handsome in a pretty way. He not only knew it, he used it. Craig made a good football coach because football is a game of superiority, where stats are the road to success and coveted positions hold domination.
In Craig’s mind, he outshone every one of the players he coached.
He was a college star whose name was known throughout the Big Ten. His players longed to be like him—as good as him, as fast, as strong. They longed to emulate him. Every teenage boy wanted to learn not just from him but how to be him.
Every teenage girl wanted to know him better—in every sense of the statement.
Accomplishing that biblical knowledge was a conquest, a status of superiority among high school girls. Until it wasn’t.
That was six years ago.
A time long gone.
A time, as my mother says, that I need to simply let go.
In my mind, times have changed, but I don’t know that for sure.
As I take in Keith’s profile, I see someone different than Craig. Keith is confident and content. He isn’t showy or all about conquests or accolades. If he were, I would have found him in my bed, not on my porch.
