Chapter Thirty-Six: The Night Before the Report
The evening before Priya presented her final findings, I received a call from Tomas.
He said he had been asked to speak to a group of local students about the accident.
He wanted to know whether I thought he should accept.
I told him I could not decide what his account would cost him.
He said the invitation frightened him more than his formal interview had.
During the interview, he could answer questions from people who understood the case.
A classroom would contain children the same age he had been when he signed the false statement.
He was afraid they would ask why he had obeyed Raymond Pike.
I asked what he would tell them.
Tomas said he would tell them he had been frightened for his father’s job.
He would also tell them that his fear had helped a false story survive.
I said that sounded like an answer worth hearing.
Tomas was quiet for a moment.
Then he asked whether I believed Daniel would have forgiven him.
I told him I did not know.
I would not turn my brother into a person who could approve every decision we made now.
Tomas said he appreciated the answer.
He had grown tired of people offering him forgiveness on Daniel’s behalf.
After we hung up, I sat on the porch and watched the streetlights come on.
The repaired railing felt solid beneath my hand.
A car slowed near Vivian’s house, and my shoulders tightened automatically.
The driver was delivering groceries.
I watched him carry two bags to her front door.
Vivian opened it only far enough to take them.
She looked across the street and saw me.
For a moment neither of us moved.
Then she closed her door.
I stayed outside until the air grew cold.
My mother called to ask whether I had prepared my remarks for the family meeting.
I told her I had written three pages and disliked every sentence.
She suggested I describe Daniel as I remembered him rather than as the town had described him.
I said that seemed too simple.
She reminded me that the simplest truths had been the hardest to say aloud.
I went inside and opened the notebook containing my draft.
I crossed out the opening paragraph about procedural failures.
I wrote instead that Daniel had borrowed my bicycle and returned it with a bent wheel.
I wrote that he had made terrible jokes and believed he could repair anything with a screwdriver.
I wrote that he had helped frightened children when the arena became dangerous.
Then I stopped because the rest of the speech no longer needed to defend his entire life.
The report would address the machinery and the gate.
I could speak about my brother.
That night I slept without placing the blue file beside my bed.
I left it on the kitchen table where it belonged.
