Page 32 of Lula Dean's Little Library of Banned Book
Mitch stopped in front of him. “Ten seconds in and you’re busting my balls. That how you say hello to your only living relative?”
“My only living relative? You mean aside from my wife and kids?” Jeb asked. Then he grinned. “Hey, Mitch, want a beer?” He pointed to the cooler sitting between the porch chairs and watched his brother grimace at the blood-covered lid.
“Feral hogs,” Jeb explained, leaning down to open the cooler for Mitch. “Gotta keep the numbers down. They’ve been tearing up the orchard out back.”
“You got anything other than this gay shit?” Mitch asked, peering into the cooler.
“Beer can’t be gay,” Jeb explained. “It’s a liquid.”
Mitch looked disgusted but not enough to turn down a cold beer. He opened the can and took a long swig.
“You feeling the urge to belt out any show tunes?” Jeb asked. “As I seem to recall, you used to do a great ‘Hello, Dolly!’”
“Shut the fuck up,” Mitch replied. “Don’t you wanna know why I’m here?”
Jeb didn’t bother to point out to his brother that announcing every movement on social media lost you the element of surprise. “I’ll admit,I’m curious as hell. What brings an international movie star to our Podunk neck of the woods?”
“I’m thinking of running for office in Georgia.”
“Are you, now.”
“Don’t sound so excited,” Mitch said.
“I was under the impression that anyone representing the state of Georgia was required to inhabit the state of Georgia.”
Mitch shooed away the thought like a bothersome fly. “I’m fixing to buy a house while I’m here. Besides, won’t be for a while. I got a lot of work to do.”
Jeb drained what was left of his beer and opened another as he stared out at the vast yard that doubled as a pasture. Sometimes his patients needed a close eye kept on them, so he let them graze in front of the house. Most of the time the patients were horses, but he’d also boarded alpacas, an ibex, and three capybaras. His kids had loved it when they were little, but his wife still missed her flower beds.
Maybe this was an opportunity, he wanted to convince himself. Jeb always tried to look on the bright side, even when his brother’s antics threatened to block out all light. He’d long since given up on waiting for Mitch to mature. At sixty, his brother was just as hungry for glory as he’d been at sixteen. And Jeb had witnessed the lengths he’d go to in order to get it. You’d think Mitch had grown up neglected, but that hadn’t been the case. Their parents had been loving. One might even saydoting. They’d done everything possible to give Mitch what he needed. But no two human beings could fill that bottomless pit. Mitch took everything they had and still wanted more.
But maybe this time he had something to give back. Raging narcissist or not, Mitch did have a public profile. If he really was open to helping his hometown, he could bring nationwide attention to their part of the state, maybe even cut through all the red/blue bullshit that kept anything meaningful from getting done.
“I could help you understand the issues if you’re interested,” he told hisbrother. “We got a whole slew of problems down here that nobody’s talking about.”
“I know. I can’t believe they’re letting that boy in Clarkesville swim on the girls’ team.”
Jeb breathed in deep, knowing full well that if he took the bait, the conversation would go around in circles for hours. “I don’t see fourteen-year-olds as much of a threat to my health, wealth, or happiness. I’m thinking more along the lines of groundwater and stream pollution. There’s hardly a trout left in this county that’s safe to eat.”
Mitch wasn’t interested. “What about all the crime? Who’s doing anything about that?”
“The crime we have around here is largely drug-related,” Jeb said. “It’s a hard nut to crack.”
“I thought so,” Mitch said. “Dealers coming down from Atlanta and fentanyl streaming across the border.”
“We don’t import all of our problems. Most of them started with doctors prescribing too many opioids and locals figuring out how to cook meth in their kitchens.”
Jeb had been a member of the volunteer fire department for two decades. He couldn’t even count the number of lab fires they’d had to put out. A few years back, two of his best buddies had died in the line of duty when a trailer exploded.
“’Least the cops know who to pick up when shit gets stolen. You just go round up all the junkies.”
“What’s a junkie look like?” Jeb asked.
Mitch snickered. “You know,” he said.
Jeb took his cap off and ran a hand through his hair. “Gimme a description.”
“I don’t have to,” Mitch said.
