Still Life in Shadows (20 page)

But Ashlyn shot that theory down. “He doesn’t usually carry work home with him, so I haven’t heard about Moriah.”

Gideon’s voice sounded as lifeless as he felt. “I don’t know where he is now.”

Ashlyn sighed. “Is he missing? Have you filed a missing person—?”

He cut her off. “He’s not missing.” There was no need to file a missing person statement. Moriah wasn’t kidnapped. He was just being difficult, unruly, and stubborn.

“He’s a good guy, Gideon.” Ashlyn’s blue eyes were sincere. “He just likes attention and sometimes …”

Gideon knew what she meant even without her finishing her sentence. Moriah sometimes said too much and got boisterous.

“He’s like all the Amish kids that have come here under your care. He doesn’t want to be known as that goody two-shoes. So he plays it wild.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, you know that, Gideon. I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. My best friend was a preacher’s kid. She felt she had to prove every day that she wasn’t this pious good girl.”

“I bet she didn’t end up in jail.”

“Well, no. But she did steal some bubblegum from the Walmart in Asheville once. It was that Carefree Sugarless kind.”

G
ideon didn’t want Ashlyn to feel that she needed to hang around his office and console him. He knew she’d come to see Luke. So he eyed the bread on the plate before him and decided eating a second piece would do him some good. “Thanks again,” he told her. “This stuff is amazing.”

“You are welcome. It’s healthy, so good for you. Luke calls it love in a can.”

For a brief moment he envied Luke and Ashlyn’s relationship. How nice to have someone to love, to want to build a life and future with. How beautiful. But the feeling lasted only for a short while; it was hard to think romantically when he was worried about his wayward brother.

After Ashlyn left to find Luke, Gideon picked up the second slice of bread. It was truly delicious. He ate another bite.

The phone rang, and he wiped his mouth with a napkin he found in his desk drawer. His heart jumped, preparing for a call from or about his brother. But the first call of the day was a lady making an appointment to have her Camry serviced and then a mother called to ask if the
shop really did repair bicycles. The phone rang a few more times before Gideon said he was walking to Benson’s Laundromat next door.

“Going to finally wash clothes today?” Ormond asked, his face beaming with a smile. Ormond was always good at relieving tension with a joke or a comment. He was the type of person who received all those forwarded email messages with jokes about typos in church bulletins and the funny things kids say. Often he printed them out and chuckled over them when he wasn’t reading the sports page.

But today Gideon saw no humor in the shop owner’s words. Stiffly he said, “No, going to get some chips from their vending machine. Want anything?” Gideon knew that chips were not as healthy as his typical breakfast of multigrain toast with apple butter, but since he’d eaten Ashlyn’s bread, the raisins and whole wheat in that should balance out whatever else nonnutritious he consumed. Now that his headache was lifting, his stomach rumbled with hunger.

“Chips, huh?” Ormond looked surprised. “You are in a bad way, aren’t you? I’ll take a Baby Ruth bar.” Ormond reached into his desk drawer where he kept change and handed Gideon three quarters. “Is that enough?”

“It is.”

“I remember when a Baby Ruth was a dime.”

Gideon left before Ormond could continue down memory lane.

W
hen Kiki arrived, parking her bike with its kickstand, Gideon told her about the mother who’d called.

“When will she bring the bike in?” asked the girl. “Today?” She pulled her puppet from the basket, gave it a kiss and returned it to its compartment. “We are in business, Yoneko,” she said.

Gideon realized he’d been too preoccupied with thoughts of Moriah when the mother had called. He admitted he wasn’t sure.

“Did you tell her to come at three o’clock? I get here at three o’clock.”

“I’m sure she knows.”

From behind them a male voice rang, “Knows what?”

Gideon turned around and there stood Moriah. At first, relieved, Gideon felt the knot he’d been carrying around inside his stomach all day release. Moriah was here, no longer at large. But his relief was short-lived as he noted his brother’s red eyes and dilated pupils. As Moriah sneezed, Gideon also smelled a sour stench. He wondered if his brother knew how badly he needed to bathe.

Moriah smiled down at Kiki and tenderly patted her head. “Got some bikes to fix today?”

She smiled back and energetically replied, “I will have lots of business. It’s gonna happen really soon because I made more fliers.”

Moriah winked at her, making Gideon wonder how Moriah could be so chummy with the girl and practically ignore Gideon.
Didn’t he feel an apology or explanation regarding last night was in order?

Not wanting to start an argument in the shop, Gideon said, “Why don’t you go help Luke?” He motioned to where Luke was at his bay, prodding under the hood of a Volvo.

“Didn’t come to be pestered about working,” said Moriah.

Pestered!
Gideon felt his blood steam. Hotly, he said, “What
do
you want, then? Everyone around here works!”

“I’m moving out,” Moriah said. “I’m gonna live on my own.”

“Fine!” Gideon knew the word came out the same way his father used to say it when he was angry.

“So I won’t be coming by this stinkin’ place no more. I’m outta here for good!” Moriah’s voice was like a thunderbolt, hitting every nerve in Gideon’s body.

It was Kiki’s piercing look that made Gideon catch his breath and stop yelling. Gritting his teeth, he said, “Suit yourself.”

Moriah flung his jacket over his shoulder and stalked out of the shop. A powerful trail of sweat and overly fried food odors lingered where he’d stood.

They all heard Moriah shout his last line across the parking lot. “Goodbye, bro! I’ll see you in hell.”

The words didn’t make Gideon cringe as much as the tone. Moriah sounded like their father. Gideon let his mind spin back to that day when the police said non-Amish neighbors were complaining that the Miller outhouse was not in compliance with the town’s building code regulations. Gideon’s father said the law did not apply to him and cited some statement that said the Amish were entitled to build what they wanted, how they wanted.

“Not true,” the cop said. “You are still under some laws.”

Their father had lashed out, his temper causing him to spout words neither Gideon nor Moriah had ever heard from his lips. He was handcuffed and taken to the local jail where he’d spent a night. He promised he would not cause a ruckus again. His next act would never be punished, but it was the one that made Gideon vow to leave as soon as he turned fifteen. Forget rumspringa. He would leave before the Amish rules said he could venture out and run around freely.

As Gideon looked out at the parking lot, he only saw a few parked cars, the metal Dumpster, and the fence that ran around the perimeter of the auto shop. A catbird cried from a nearby tree, but Gideon barely heard its cry because Moriah’s words were still screeching in his ears.

K
iki had just adjusted the brakes on a shiny blue bike, brought in by the caller from yesterday. Proudly, she spun the wheels and then, releasing the kickstand, pushed the Road Runner around the inside of the shop. “It’s fixed! Look, I fixed it, Gideon!”

Gideon smiled, pleased that Kiki was happy about her work. He really needed to pay her for her work; he must discuss that with Ormond. However, right now Kiki seemed more interested in working than getting paid. Gideon found that both refreshing and unusual. He wondered when humans started to care more about how much they got paid instead of how well they performed a job. Had he once been more zealous than he was now? Or was he more determined to prove that Ormond had not made a mistake in entrusting Russell Brothers to him completely when Ormond eventually retired? He remembered that day
the older man had set a cup of iced tea in front of Gideon and ordered, “Drink up! Hurry, before I change my mind. Or before Elma talks me out of it.”

Gideon knew that Elma was Ormond’s ninety-eight-year-old mother, a tiny woman who still drove a 1976 Cadillac, much to everyone in Twin Branches’ dismay. Elma Russell had been known to call a blue dress, gray, and a pair of black shoes, brown. If she could no longer recognize colors, the residents wondered, then how would that help her when she came to a traffic light? The locals had all encountered at one time or another the Cadillac with the license tag that read ELMA #1. She wove in and out of the streets, made U-turns from the right lane, and stopped in the middle of the road to search for her glasses that she claimed fell off her face whenever she slammed on the brakes.

Ormond had noted Gideon’s perplexed expression, so he clarified his original statement. “Congratulations! The shop is yours! When I go, it will belong to you. Elma will have to deal with it.”

Gideon knew Elma had strong opinions and imagined that she had tried to talk her son out of leaving the auto shop to an outsider and non-family member. Yet, as he looked at both the cup of tea and around the shop, he wondered if Ormond was making the best decision. Feeling unworthy, Gideon had gasped, “You’re leaving this place to me?”

Ormond clapped Gideon on the back. “Yep, I’m leaving it all to you. Drink up!”

Not sure what to say, Gideon had blinked. He took a sip of the tea. It was a little too sweet for his tastes. “Are you … sure?”

“I have rarely been more certain of anything. You just need to come with me to my attorney’s and we’re set in stone.”

“Attorney’s?”

“Don’t you have those in Amish country?”

Gideon knew lawyers were everywhere, and never far, not even in Amish country.

“This is your entire headache when I go,” said Ormond as he motioned a hand above his head and let it move across the office. “I’ve decided
you would be the best owner when the time comes. You are conscientious, dedicated, and you know cars.” Then he sailed out of the shop to order lunch, tossing over his shoulder as he went, “You are welcome.”

Slowly realizing the impact of what Ormond had just told him, Gideon felt a smile spread over his own face.
Conscientious, dedicated, and I know cars. Well, all of that is true.
This time when he took a sip of tea, it was not too sweet at all. It was just right.

K
iki was enjoying the Baby Ruth morsels of chocolate that Gideon brought to her from his walk to the Laundromat. Flecks of chocolate smeared her mouth. Laughing, she said, “These are the best!” He’d take her some Tums later and hopefully, her stomach would be okay. Gideon had heard Mari warn the young girl not to eat too much chocolate because it did make her hyper. Kiki even claimed that chocolate gave her digestive system a bubbly feeling. “But,” she cooed, “it’s so delicious. No wonder they make Easter bunnies out of this stuff.” She ran her tongue over her lips in an effort to enjoy every morsel.

Before Gideon could get a paper towel for her to wipe her mouth, in walked Moriah. His footsteps were heavy against the shop’s floor.

Without acknowledging anyone, Moriah bellowed, “They’re going to get me!”

“Get you? Who?” Moriah’s tone was frightening, but Gideon strove to remain calm.

Ignoring his questions, Moriah stood inches from Gideon’s face and cried, “No matter what happens to me, bury me by the weeping willow. Okay?”

Gideon wondered what his brother was up to.
Why did he always feel he needed to have all the attention?

As Moriah faced him, demanding an answer, Gideon looked at the ground, at the wall, at Kiki—anywhere but his brother’s bloodshot and crazed eyes. There were too many fears portrayed in them. Fears Gideon didn’t want to see.

“Okay, bro?” Moriah repeated.

“The one by the apple orchard?” Gideon asked as evenly as he could. He was not going to get in another argument, especially not here. Not at work, again.

“That’s the one. Okay? Bury me there. Only there.”

Gideon recalled how Moriah loved to climb that tree and pretend he was a pirate on a ship. His younger brother’s infatuation had not come from TV, videos, or books on pirates. It was a little boy who lived on York Road that had given Moriah a taste for hidden treasure and adventurous seas. This boy dressed in a black hat, brandished a toy sword, and wore a patch over one eye when he played. Moriah saw this boy when he’d ride into town with Gideon. As their horse and buggy passed the front lawn, Moriah would crane his neck to view the pirate scene. Amused by his antics, Moriah even repeated some of the boy’s phrases: “Aye, yes, a pirate’s life for me!” Gideon’s thoughts shifted from the past to this moment. Why was his brother suddenly focused on death? “Why all this talk about burial?”

“I asked you—will you?” Moriah’s shrill voice made Gideon’s skin grow clammy. “That’s what I’m asking!”