by BobMathews
said. “I feel a little better.”
“You must love your brother a lot,” she said. “You’re lucky. I didn’t have any brothers or sisters.”
“Sometimes I love him,” Eddie laughed. “It’s family, you know? We’re not close, but we gotta be there for each other. Who else is there?
“I remember when we were kids, Allen was playing around and pushed me out of this big pecan tree out back of our house. It was high up, and we were horsing around.”
“My god,” Erin said.
Eddie nodded.
“Broke my arm. He got this weird look on his face before he pushed me, though. I always thought he wanted to be an only child. He almost was, if I’d landed a little different.”
“I don’t think I could have gotten over that,” she said.
“Who says I did?” Eddie said. “But he’s family. We stick together.”
Eddie crossed to the bank of elevators. His left hand never left his pocket. He was squeezing the lottery ticket so hard that he was scared he might tear it in half. The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Eddie stepped in and pressed the button for the eighth floor. When the doors opened again, Eddie stepped out into a gray, alien world. The industrial carpeting and wallpaper were both a pale greenish gray that discouraged other colors. A young man in a red sweatshirt and blue jeans lay sprawled asleep on a gray love seat in the eighth-floor waiting room. Somehow, the dim gray furniture seemed to have leached into the sweatshirt, muting the only splash of color Eddie saw.
A tall, thin man with receding hair and glasses stood outside room 814. There was a cigarette plugged into the corner of his mouth.
“Jimmy Rivenbark,” he said, sticking out his hand. “You have to be Eddie. Allen looks just like you, only thinner. Your parents already came. Surprised they forgot to call you.”
Eddie wasn’t surprised. He was an afterthought. Allen was two years older, and he’d always been the golden child.
“I’m gonna go downstairs, burn a cancer stick,” Rivenbark said. “You okay to go in?”
“Sure,” Eddie said. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He pushed the door open.
Allen was pulling his slacks over his thighs when Eddie came in the room. He buttoned the pants and zipped the zipper.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Eddie said.
Allen spun around, his mouth agape. Eddie remembered a similar look on his older brother’s face when he was caught cheating on a freshman exam. Allen was twenty years out of college, now, though. He picked up a green pinstriped shirt from the back of a visitor’s chair and slipped his arms through the sleeves.
“I’m getting out of here,” Allen said.
“No you’re not,” Eddie said. “You’re supposed to stay here for observation.”
“It was nothing, Eds, just a little panic attack. You’d have ‘em too, if you ever got any business. There’s stress that goes along with being successful.”
Allen was gaining more confidence as he stepped back into his CPA clothes. When he finished buttoning his shirt, he looked over at Eddie.
“We both know you’re not going to stop me.”
It rankled. Allen had been a good big brother in his own way, but he always pushed Eddie around. It was something he’d never grown out of. Allen was always in charge. Eddie tried to think of a way to stop him from leaving.
“You still think you’re the big man? Still think I can’t stand up to you? The whole reason I called you was to tell you I won the lottery.”
“What?”
“That’s right. You’re not the ‘it’ boy anymore. I could buy and sell you anytime I want.”
“Bullshit,” Allen said.
Eddie pulled the ticket out of his pocket and showed it to Allen. When Allen stepped closer, Eddie put the winning ticket away.
“You don’t trust me?” Allen said.
“As far as I can throw you. You’re staying here. I’ll stay with you.”
“Listen to me, Eds. I’m not staying. If you try to keep me here, I’m going to hurt you.”
“We’re not kids anymore, Allen. You’re staying. You had a big enough panic attack that you scared the hell out of your family and co-workers. I can stop you if I have to.”
“Do it, then,” Allen said.
Eddie reached for the beige phone beside the hospital bed. He picked up the receiver with one hand and tucked it underneath his chin. His left hand was still inside a pocket of his overcoat, squeezing the lottery ticket. He was about to dial the hospital switchboard when Allen hit him. The blow glanced off Eddie cheekbone, and he could feel the skin split. Blood showered over Allen’s good shirt. Eddie reeled, and Allen grabbed him by the lapels. Eddie brought his knee up into Allen’s groin, and the older brother sagged away, hands clutching at his own crotch. Eddie brought his hands up, aware that he’d pulled the lottery ticket out of his pocket, along with his clenched fist.
“You think that money makes you something?” Allen said. “You’re still a loser, Eddie. Only difference is now you’re a loser with money.”
Allen hit him again, and now Eddie could see what made the cut along his cheekbone. Allen’s thick gold class ring was bloody. The brothers traded blows, grunting for breath in the sterile hospital air. Allen bullied Eddie around until the younger brother was facing the only door to the room, and then hit him with a combination to the gut, and followed that with a kick to the groin. Eddie fell back against the window ledge. His hands opened, and he dropped the lottery ticket as he fought for purchase to regain his footing.
Allen charged, his body carrying forward, forward, forward. Eddie had no choice. He ducked, and Allen’s knees drove into his shoulder. In the instant Allen became airborne, Eddie realized they were both in trouble.
Something snapped high up in Eddie's chest. His collarbone. Son of a bitch. Allen hit the wide glass window, and the pane split in a jagged line down the center, like lightning in a night sky. The glass gave way, and Allen tumbled down, his screams growing faint as the asphalt rushed to meet him. Somewhere above, a small white slip of paper fluttered on an updraft, swung outward, away from the building, and was lost forever.
Eddie leaned out over the precipice and watched as his fortune blew away. He sagged to the floor, eyes blank and dry. His mouth was open and slack. Nineteen million dollars, gone in the blink of an eye.
It took twenty stitches to close the gash in his cheek. While the doctor sewed him up, and worked on setting his collarbone, the cops questioned him.
“It was an accident,” Eddie said. “Just an accident.”
That’s when he overheard the nurse from the information desk. She was talking to another one of the officers.
“He told me,” Erin said. “He almost as much as admitted to me that he hated his brother. Said he hadn’t forgiven him for pushing him out of a tree when they were kids. Can you imagine someone holding a grudge that long?”
The cop heard it, too. Eddie looked around, but there was nowhere to run.
They handcuffed him in front, in deference to his broken collarbone. It was only later, when they officially charged him with murder, that Eddie broke down and began to cry.
END
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