Page 74 of Oddly Fine

The crowd was staring at him expectantly, waiting to hear what the youngest Thérault had to say. His siblings had gone before him. Jackson had spoken of his brother’s unflagging support. Of how Franklin had always been just a phone call away. Maggie had talked about growing up with Franklin as an older brother who she had leaned on, depending on his advice.

Beckett hadn’t the faintest fucking idea what to say about Franklin.

He started speaking, hoping for a flash of inspiration along the way.

“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Beckett, Franklin’s younger brother,” he said, figuring that introducing himself was a good stalling tactic, looking out at the crowd and trying to focus only on the people he knew. A few cousins and some old family friends had shown up.

“Franklin was a great older brother.”

Despite feeling the need to satisfy social norms, Beckett inwardly acknowledged the irony of this bald-faced lie. In Franklin’s perfect world, there would have been another son between him and Beckett. One who Franklin could have successfully influenced and guided over the years, taught the differences between right and wrong.

“He was—” What had he been? Sarcastic? Rude? Challenging? A royal pain in the ass, all day, every day, when they lived under the same roof? And even in the years after that? There was no question that he’d had a hand in shaping Beckett into the person who stood before them today, but was that something to brag about if, in the course of things, he revealed details about Franklin’s asshat treatment of him? Probably not. Jesus God, but doing this speech was like crawling across a minefield. In full battle rattle with a loaded rucksack.

“I mean—Franklin was brilliant.”

That much was true, at least, so Beckett mentally patted himself on the back for coming up with that one on the fly. Unfortunately, he couldn’t just stop right there and then race out the church’s front door like he so desperately wanted to. So, taking a deep, cleansing breath, he dived right back into his speech, hoping he could keep it rolling.

“It was like they made one kid with all of the other kids’ brains combined.” His attempt to toss a joke into his speech fell flat. Unsmiling, the attendees stared at him blankly. Panic clawed at Beckett’s throat. Anger too. Vengeful anger, the kind that usually resolved itself with a cleanly delivered punch, or a perfectly aimed bullet. Not that this was anything new. That anger had been festering for days. Dammit, Franklin asked for this. He’d fucking killed himself! Out of nowhere, without giving anyone a heads up that anything was wrong! While Beckett knew shit like this happened every fucking day, he still found it difficult to accept Franklin’s final act, especially since he’d given Beckett such a hard time about his mental problems after being discharged from the Marine Corps.

“Being younger, I was always getting compared to him at school. Teachers were usually excited to see me at first, because they figured after Maggie and Franklin—I’d be a smart angel of sorts,” Beckett shook his head, and chuckled. A few people followed his lead, which lightened the mood somewhat. “But they’d eventually realise that we were nothing alike, and I’d get the old ‘your brother would never have—' lecture every day. He was always the smartest kid in class. In fact, he was the smartest kid period. Nose always stuck in a book, always trying to outwit everybody all the time. Getting the last word in was virtually impossible with Frank.”

Although those remarks weren’t really very kind, they were sure as hell true. The last time they’d spoken, they’d nearly come to blows because Franklin couldn’t resist doing a psychoanalysis of his relationship with Hayes, despite Beckett’s protestations. The irony that Franklin had, once again, gotten in the last word before killing himself was just feeding the fire burning in Beckett’s gut.

“You should know—” Beckett said, his previously tight control on his temper suddenly slipping right off the leash, “Franklin was brilliant, but in the end, he was just as fucking stupid as the rest of us.” Giving in to a combination of extreme emotional and physical exhaustion, he’d lowered his inhibitions far enough to share the truth.

The crowd stirred uneasily and began whispering among themselves. He looked to Hayes to see how he had reacted. Hayes remained expressionless, alert to Beckett’s sudden change in mood as well as those who’d listened and reacted to Beckett’s remarks. His body language was tense and he looked poised to spring into action at any given moment. Beckett found Hayes to be a source of strength, which he used now to continue his speech.

“My brother was a bastard. The best kind, but a bastard, nonetheless. He liked to toy with people because it was easier for him to do that than to risk getting hurt. He’d call and ask me about my life, but he’d never answer any of my questions—” he looked down at the podium in front of him. Briefly, he wondered how many tears had been shed there over the years, and how many more it would take until the varnished surface showed any damage. “I always figured—who cares? He doesn’t want to share? He wants to play Mr. Independent? Fine.” He bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head, sensing the crowd wanted to refute his statement. “But then, shut up and take it, you know? Killing yourself after refusing help? That’s a coward’s move.”

The shift in the crowd’s mood was immediate. Suddenly, their mourning dissipated as they began muttering among themselves about Beckett’s comments, nodding and shaking their heads. Beckett figured that they were either with him or against him. Encouraged by their reactions, he leaned closer to the microphone.

“Anybody else—I would have understood. But him? With his pompous attitude and his big fancy degree?” He shook his head and snorted derisively. “I had a great older brother, but I guess he ended up being nothing but a selfish fucking prick.”

Before Beckett knew what hit him, Jackson leaped out of his seat and, with a brutal shove, knocked him away from the lectern.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Jackson growled, grabbing Beckett by the back of the neck and shaking him hard enough to rattle his back teeth. Dragging him along beside him like he was a bag of trash, Jackson headed for an office behind the vestry and literally tossed him into the room. Slamming the door behind them, he yelled, “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

After picking himself up off the floor, Beckett threw his shoulders back, fully intending on taking on his older, much larger brother. He might get his ass beat—okay, for sure he would definitely not come out of this looking too good—but when the fuck had that ever stopped him?

Abruptly the door opened and Hayes walked in. Sizing up the situation in two seconds flat, he advanced on Jackon and glared at him warningly.

“Leave it!” Hayes ordered sharply.

“He’s fucking lost it! Did you hear—”

“Leave. It.” Hayes repeated coldly, through gritted teeth.

Jackson held Hayes’ stare for a long, intense moment before backing down. With a growl of frustration and clenched fists, he stomped out.

Beckett and Hayes stood shoulder to shoulder watching him leave. Just the two of them against the world, the way it should be, Beckett thought with a sigh of satisfaction.

Once Jackson was out of sight, Hayes turned to Beckett with a sympathetic expression.

“I should have prepared something before I got up there,” Beckett reflected with a pained grimace.

“I don’t know—it felt pretty honest,” Hayes refuted with a faint smile.

“My brother’s dead. I could have lied, or some shit. Instead—I just told everyone he was an asshole.”