Page 28 of Fallen Roses

“What is it, James?”

The waiter appears with our drinks and the moment is gone and when we are alone again, I note the distance in his expression.

As I sip the wine that burns a trail down my throat, I change the subject. “Tell me about your brother.”

“Do I have to?” He groans, but I note the softening of his expression as he shakes his head.

“He has always been wild. I suppose our upbringing had a lot to do with that.”

“Your upbringing?”

I’m curious, and he nods, a wistful expression on his face.

“I never knew my father. Well, not really. My memory of him is blurred because he died when I was five years old.”

“I’m sorry, James.”

My own loss is too raw to dwell on the subject for long and I’m happy for him to carry on with his story.

“He was in the way of a train when he staggered home from the bar one night.”

“Oh my God!”

I stare at him in horror as he says bitterly, “He was a drunk, and beat my mom, so it ended satisfactorily.”

“He beat your mom!”

I can’t even begin to relate to that, and he sighs. “Like I said, I was young and Dylan a baby, but I knew to fear him because I heard mom crying most nights. He was out of work and couldn’t get a job, and alcohol was his only comfort. He would head out and when he returneddrunk, he would take his frustrations out on her and I was too young to understand. I remember the night he never came home. There was an eerie atmosphere in the house. Almost as if mom knew he wasn’t coming back. When the cops knocked on the door, I was awake and remembered creeping out from my bed and watching through the crack in the door. She never cried. It was unusual because she cried every night, but not that one. She was calm. I remember that much and when the cops left, she told me to come out and show my face. I still remember that night as if it was the last one because she pulled me on her knee and whispered a prayer to the Lord to thank him for our salvation.”

He appears far back in the past as he whispers, “She rocked me in her arms and told me to work hard when I went to school. To be a good man and earn an honest living and make her proud.”

I am caught in his spell as he returns to the past, and I swear I’m not even breathing as his eyes hold mine.

“When she died three years later, we had nobody.”

“What did she die of?”

I reach across and take his hand in mine as a form of comfort, and he squeezes it hard. “Cancer. She never had health insurance and had the most basic care. She died three months after she told us. I was eight and Dylan was six.”

“What happened then?”

“We were orphans and taken into foster care. As we grew, Dylan fell in with the wrong crowd and nobodywanted the problem of the Warner kids. I worked so hard, my mother’s words fresh in my mind every day as if I just heard them. I wanted to make her proud. To be the man she wanted me to be, and that is why I seized this job when it came along.”

“The charity?”

“Yes. We help people like us. Like my mom. Women and children who suffer. We provide medical care for those who have no place to turn and make the lives of the poor better. I like to think she would be proud of me and that is why I care for Dylan so much. He resembles my father and prefers to take the easy road. He drinks, does drugs and will end up dead, which is why I’m grateful for what happened the other night.”

My eyes are full of tears and guilt is weighing heavily on me.

I’m lying to him.

I lied my way into his company for information. I have no noble calling and I’m helping nobody, merely using him to get information that will help my family. Nobody else, not those in desperate need and despite the fact my family donates millions to charity every year, it’s not as if I’ve even bothered to contemplate where it goes and what it means.

“What about you, Ana?”

I stare at him with what I’m certain is a guilty expression and I blink vigorously.

“There’s not much to tell, really. My life wasn’t hard, far from it in fact, and I have no noble cause tomake you think I’m better than a common slut out for kicks.”

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