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the
gut.
                “They
say Austin’s doing really well at University of Louisiana. It’s his last year.”
                There
it was, the kick that felt like a chaser to the emotional torture routine.
“Good,” he managed.
                “They’d
always be glad to see you. Maybe we can drive up together sometime,” Tom said,
his voice carefully neutral.
                “You’ll
never stop trying, will you?”
                He
sighed. “Nope. They were the closest thing to real parents we had. For me, they are my parents, and you were there first, years before I was placed
there. I know none of us are really related but I feel like my family won’t be
complete until y’all on the same page again.”
                “I
can’t un-burn that bridge. There’s no going back.”
                “Only
because you say so. They’ve never rejected you. They even wrote you in prison,
even―”
                “Listen,
I’m glad they say they can forgive me, forgive the way I lied to them and stole
money from them and ran away to get on a bus going half way across the country
so I could murder a man.” He could hear the anger in his voice. “But I have a
hard time believing that. I’ve apologized to them. But I don’t think that
relationship can be repaired. Not really.”
                “Of
course it can. They loved you like a son.”
                Like
a son. And without his willing it, a memory rushed through him. Austin
tucked under his arm, head against his chest, listening to his favorite train
book, again. Somehow he’d fallen into bedtime reading duty. Maybe Sally and Vince
knew that being a big brother to Austin would help heal the loss of Katie Rose.
Maybe they understood how much comfort it would give him to care for someone who
was around his sister’s age when she was murdered.
                Gideon
closed his eyes. What those men had done to Katie Rose, he had done to Austin.
Not physically, but after being there Austin’s whole life, he’d walked away. He
knew what it felt like to be betrayed as a kid and he knew what it was like
when someone hurt a child that you loved. There was no way to forgive that.  He
couldn’t face Austin, and he couldn’t face his parents.
                “I
just… can’t,” he whispered, opening his eyes.
                Tom
nodded. “So, besides saving me from writing up the announcement of the jambalaya
feed for the church bulletin, what are you doing here? You don’t usually drop
by in the middle of the day.”
                 “Just
running errands. And I was thinking about going out on the river sometime. Maybe
call up Bix and see if he wants to show us that spot he found with all the
bluegill. You interested?”
                “Sure,
name the day. But the last time we went out on the boat, you said Bix’s running
commentary gave you a headache and you’d rather listen to banjo music for five
hours straight.”
                 “Even
a whole day of his stories can’t be as bad as one more day sitting in my
office. Nothing ever changes there. Day in, day out. Same old, same old.”
                 “I
thought that’s what you liked about the place. It’s not like you to get cabin
fever.”
                “It’s
been known to happen,” he said. “Actually, I’ve been thinking of going to the
Southern History conference in Atlanta in November.”
                Tom
was quiet for a moment. “A conference.”
                “Right.”
Gideon tapped his fingers against one knee. “Or maybe the one in Miami in December.
People probably think I’m some old recluse. ”
                He
came around the front of the desk and leaned against it.
                “You
never cared what people thought before.”