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the eyes had not changed, and they crinkled at the corners when they settled on me.
    “I do not freakin’ believe it,” he said. His voice was as big as the rest of him. “Jesus, Adam, when did you get here?” He came down the stairs, stopped and looked at me. He stood six four, and had me by forty pounds, all of it muscle. The last time I’d seen him he’d been my size.
    “Damn, Jamie. When did you get huge?”
    He curled his arms and studied the muscles with obvious pride. “Gotta have the guns, baby. You know how it is. But look at you. You haven’t changed at all.” He gestured at my face. “Somebody kicked your ass, I see, but other than that you could have walked out of here yesterday.”
    I fingered the stitches.
    “Is that local?” he asked.
    “Zebulon Faith.”
    “That old bastard?”
    “And two of his boys.”
    He nodded, eyelids drooping. “Wish I’d been there.”
    “Next time,” I said.
    “Hey, does Dad know you’re back?”
    “He’s heard. We haven’t spoken yet.”
    “Unreal.”
    I held out my hand. “Good to see you, Jamie.”
    His hand swallowed mine. “Fuck that,” he said, and pulled me into a bear hug that was ninety percent painful backslapping.
    “Hey, you want a beer?” He gestured toward the kitchen.
    “You have the time?”
    “What’s the point of being the boss if you can’t sit in the shade and drink a beer with your brother? Am I right?”
    I thought about keeping my mouth shut, but I could still see the migrants, sweating in the sun-scorched fields. “Someone should be with the crews.”
    “I’ve only been gone an hour. The crews are fine.”
    “They’re your responsibility—”
    Jamie dropped a hand on my shoulder. “Adam, you know that I’m happy to see you, right? But I’ve been out from under your shadow for a long time. You did a good job when you were here. No one would deny that. But I manage the daily operations now. You would be wrong to show up all of a sudden and expect everybody to bow down to you. This is my deal. Don’t tell me how to run it.” He squeezed my shoulder with steel fingers. They found the bruises and burrowed in. “That would be a problem for us, Adam. I don’t want there to be a problem for us.”
    “Okay, Jamie. I get your point.”
    “Good,” he said. “That’s just fine.” He turned for the kitchen and I followed him. “What kind of beer do you like? I’ve got all different kinds.”
    “Whatever,” I said. “You pick.” He opened the refrigerator. “Where is everybody?” I asked.
    “Dad’s in Winston for something. Mom and Miriam have been in Colorado. I think that they were supposed to fly in yesterday and spend the night in Charlotte.” He smiled and nudged me. “A couple of squaws off shopping. They’ll probably be home late.”
    “Colorado?”
    “Yeah, for a couple of weeks. Mom took Miriam to some fat farm out there. Costs a fortune, but hey, not my call, you know.” He turned with two beers in his hands.
    “Miriam has never been overweight,” I said.
    Jamie shrugged. “A health spa, then. Mud baths and eel grass. I don’t know. This is a Belgian one, some kind of lager, I think. And this is an English stout. Which one?”
    “The lager.”
    He opened it and handed it to me. Took a pull on his own. “The porch?” he asked.
    “Yeah. The porch.”
    He went through the door first, and when I emerged into the heat behind him, I found him leaning against our father’s post with a proprietary air. A knowing glint appeared in his eyes, and his smile thinned into a statement.
    “Cheers,” he said.
    “Sure, Jamie. Cheers.”
    The bottles clinked, and we drank our beer in the still and heavy air. “Cops know you’re back?” Jamie asked.
    “They know.”
    “Jesus.”
    “Screw ’em,” I said.
    At one point, Jamie raised his arm, made a muscle and pointed at his bicep.
    “Twenty-three inches,” he said.
    “Nice,” I told him.
    “Guns, baby.”
     
     
       Rivers find the low