We'll Fly Away Read online

  Dedication

  To Martha and Michael,

  Thank you.

  Epigraph

  “It is easy to forgive the innocent.

  It is the guilty who test our morality.

  People are more than the worst thing they’ve ever done.”

  SISTER HELEN PREJEAN

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  November 5

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  November 12

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  November 17

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  December 25

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  January 11

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  January 13

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  January 17

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  January 21

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  January 23

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  January 25

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  January 26

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  January 27

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  January 28

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  January 29

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  January 30

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  January 31

  Chapter 31

  February 2

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Books by Bryan Bliss

  Back Ad

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  November 5

  T—

  The Sister said it would be good to write to you, but after everything—I don’t know. What am I supposed to say? It’s not like you’re going to listen, and I stopped really talking to everyone a long time ago. So what the hell is writing a letter to you going to help?

  But Sister wants me to speak honestly, to let my feelings out. And holy hell, writing a letter is definitely better than doing one of those stupid art projects where Sister has me paint my feelings. Can you imagine that? Last time, I painted a tree with a sun coming up over the top of it, because I knew she would eat that mess up. Sister told me it meant I was growing.

  Growing!

  And ha-ha, man, you wouldn’t believe how fat I’ve gotten. Before the Row, I’d been in county for months. I was doing push-ups and sit-ups every day. That was the only way to make it. The dudes in here can still be pretty rough, don’t get me wrong, but it’s nothing like that place. Every night somebody would start screaming, getting their ass beat for the simplest of things. Ramen packets, cigarettes. So I bulked up. Took on anybody who came in my direction. They looked at me wrong, I threw a fist. Eventually it becomes second nature. Eventually you just turn yourself off.

  But now? Damn. I’m round as hell! There isn’t much else to do here but sit and eat and think. Some of the dudes—like Eddie—play ball, take classes. But what’s the point? Every guy in this place has a ticking clock hanging around his neck. Sister says my depression makes me say those things, but like I told her—I’m not depressed. I’ve just got my eyes wide open. Whenever I say that she mm-hmms it away and tells me not to waste her time.

  When she first came around, I got hard with her. Told her not to bother with me. Thought I’d really told her what’s what too. Eddie and everybody lost their minds when that happened, laughing like I’d stood up and told a joke. Because sure enough, the next day, here comes Sister stomping down the Row in those red cowboy boots. Loud as hell. Sat down right in front of me and started talking like I’d never said a sideways word to her. Eddie says once she’s got an eye for you, you’re through. And I guess that’s why I’m writing this bullshit letter, right?

  I swear, T. Sometimes it feels like the walls are closing in on me. I can’t say I wish you were here, but maybe you know what I mean.

  Luke

  1

  LUKE and Toby didn’t know a thing about planes, hadn’t even set foot in one before they found that rusted-out crop duster halfway between Highway 10 and a little gas station that marked the end of incorporation and the beginning of what people simply referred to as county. But you wouldn’t have known it, not with how they went at that fixed-wing plane.

  Every can and bottle from there to Charlotte was claimed and redeemed, five cents that neither of them had before. And what they could, they pawned. Old bikes. A forgotten guitar. The collection of centennial quarters Toby’s mom had given him before she split.

  This was about building bank, cash money. Green.

  So forget candy and movies. Forget baseball or swimming at the public pool, which was just an excuse to stare at the college girls who spent their summers guarding from those tall towers. Forget all of it, because that summer was nothing but duct tape and two-by-fours. Hours and hours and hours, ditching chores and trips to the mall. Dropping everything for that plane.

  The summer passed, and they never got the wing reattached to the body, the fuselage mended. They grew too tall, too old to spend their time on fantasies—to believe that the plane held any magic. At least, that’s what they told themselves. But they kept coming. Kept that plane like a military secret.

  If he had to swear to it now, Luke still dreamed he’d come through the stand of trees and see the plane transformed. Feel the engine in his chest. The wind in his hair. And Toby. Standing proudly with his arms spread wide like, I told you. I told you. He’d get in that plane with his best friend of years and years and take off—never looking back. Never seen again.

  Luke downed the last of the Mountain Dew as Toby watched, fascinated.

  “What?” Luke asked, throwing the bottle behind him, where the cockpit should’ve been.

  “You drank an entire two-liter,” Toby said. “By yourself.”

  Luke shrugged, hoping the subject would pass. But of course it didn’t, not with Toby. His mouth moments from a grin. From the shit he was constantly talking. Toby, who was always boasting how his friend was the best wrestler the state of North Carolina had ever seen. A straight-up monster.

  “I thought you were cutting weight,” Toby said.

  Luke squinted into the sun. It was close to five. His mom would need to be woken up; she’d just gotten on at the Pepsi factory, working third shift. It was the reason they had the out-of-date, nearly flat soda in the first place—the only thing he’d put in his stomach all day.

  “I’m going to make weight,” he said, trying to force confidence into his voice.

  He was still four pounds over, which seemed impossible, seeing as for weeks he’d been living on cereal and whatever his brothers left on their plates. When he decided to drop to 170 and take on Connor Herrera, Coach O tried to talk him out of it. Dropping twelve pounds wouldn’t be easy, even for somebody as committed as Luke. And honestly, there was nothing left to prove.

  As a freshman, Luke had been a scrawny but tough 125-pounder. He surprised everybody by winning the state championship. Especially the senior from Chapel Hill he destroyed in the final. From there it was 135, 155—he went three for three, taking state every year. At 182, there was no real competition. He’d add his fourth championship the same way he’d taken the previous three—joining maybe ten other people who’d ever finished with that number.

  Connor Herrera was on the same path, just twelve light pounds under Luke. He also had three state titles and—thanks to an expensive club team Luke
couldn’t afford—a shiny new junior national championship. Luke could go 182 and nobody would fault him. But he wanted Herrera.

  He’d lose the pounds. He would make weight.

  “But you drank the whole thing,” Toby said, as if reading his mind.

  “I’ve got a week,” he snapped. It was the same way he worked on the mat, quick and decisive. Moving before his opponent even had a chance to think. One two three, done.

  Luke knew Toby had more to say. Usually, Luke would just let him talk until he lost interest. Sometimes it took an hour, but eventually Toby would sit back like he’d just finished a big meal and sigh long and steady. Luke didn’t want to talk about the scale for another minute, let alone the next hour.

  “Mom said you could spend the night again, if you want.”

  Toby’s entire body relaxed. Luke didn’t miss how he tried to keep his face from going slack too. From showing even a moment of relief. All Toby said was, “I get the couch.”

  Home was a one-bedroom apartment half a mile from the plane, shared by Luke’s mom and twin brothers, Jack-Jack and Petey, hell-raisers even at five. By now, both of them would be screaming about dinner, how they were starving, and his mother would have another excuse for why she hadn’t put anything on the stove yet. For not shopping.

  Luke looked up at the sun again. “It’s fine. I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said.

  They should leave, but he didn’t want to stand up. Out here, he didn’t have to think about wrestling, the scholarship offer he’d just accepted, school, any of it. Time stopped in this small grove of trees, and he wanted to believe he could spend the rest of his life sitting here drinking soda, eating whatever he wanted. Talking shit with his best friend until the sun went down.

  But Toby slapped the side of the plane and stood up. Even sitting, Luke’s head came past his waist. And when the sun was behind him, like now, you could almost see through him. Every drop of blood, every vein twisting under his skin. That meant somebody had to have seen the bruises that sometimes peeked from under Toby’s shirt. But other than one do-gooder teacher in sixth grade—who they ignored and was gone a year later anyway—no teacher or principal or any other adult had ever said a thing.

  As soon as he walked into the apartment, Luke knew his mother was still asleep—that she’d be late for her shift tonight. The apartment wasn’t big, but he still ran across the living room, nearly killing himself when he didn’t see one of the boys’ scooters lying across the floor. Behind him, Jack-Jack and Petey were taunting Toby. It wouldn’t be all that long before they’d be bigger than his friend, too.

  He knocked on his mother’s door. The only sound was the fan, clicking each time it oscillated across the room.

  “Mom?” he said, opening the door.

  Inside was hot, the air a mix of cigarettes and stale soda. Across the small room, the twins’ mattress was on the floor, a mess of blankets and dirty stuffed animals. He spoke softly into the dark room. A shadow moved, followed by his mother’s tired voice.

  “Jesus, Petey. I told you to get some cereal.”

  “Mom,” Luke said. “It’s nearly six.”

  At first, Luke thought she’d fallen back asleep—that’s how long the pause was. But then she sat up, knocking the fan over as she ran to her closet, naked and cussing.

  “Six o’clock? Where the hell have you been?” She flung clothes out of the hamper, finally pulling out a light-blue Pepsi shirt and putting it on.

  Their father had left when the twins were barely home from the hospital. Luke had been thirteen, old enough to realize that his parents weren’t in love the way people seemed to be in movies and on television shows. And once his dad was gone, Luke just assumed that was something that happened—that people left you without a word.

  His mother was still spinning around the room. “You were supposed to be back at five.”

  “I didn’t realize it was so late,” Luke said.

  “Well, we both fucked up then, didn’t we?”

  Luke turned and started back to the living room. She wasn’t wrong. He should’ve been home at five, to make sure she was awake and didn’t have to deal with the twins as she was getting ready to leave. To make sure she kept this job longer than her stints at the hosiery mill, or as a waitress at the Waffle House. But he couldn’t keep the indignation from rising up. His mom knew how to set an alarm. And she didn’t need to spend her mornings watching trashy television when she could be sleeping.

  Toby had the twins pinned to the carpet, smiling as he ate a banana, the peel spotted black. Luke had no idea where he’d found the thing. The boys called for help as he passed, laughing out every other word.

  “Stop bothering Toby,” Luke said, pretending to be mad as he went to the kitchen.

  They howled and spit and laughed.

  He made his mother a sandwich, peeling the last thin pieces of turkey out of the package and pressing them between twin slices of white bread. Chips. A small apple from the back of the refrigerator. There wasn’t much else, so he put a handful of cereal into a plastic bag and set it on the table just as his mom hurried into the room.

  “Hey, Doreen,” Toby said.

  She waved without looking. “I need you to figure out dinner, Luke.”

  Toby let the twins off the floor and they came running to their mother, talking a mile a minute, barely breathing between their words. She nodded distractedly as she searched for her lighter.

  “And take them to the park or something,” she told Luke. “God knows they need to get out of the apartment.”

  Luke didn’t move. Of course they’d go to the park. He took them to the park nearly every day. He tried to hide his annoyance, but Doreen saw it immediately. She came over and put a hand on his forearm. “Listen, I’m sorry. But I depend on you.”

  Luke knew that too. He couldn’t take more than a few steps—could barely breathe—without a reminder of how much she depended on him. He forced himself to look her in the eyes. When he was a kid, he would tell people she was the most beautiful woman in the whole world. They’d laugh and he never knew why. She was still beautiful, even now, her eyes hung with perpetual black circles. Her clothes stained and wrinkled.

  She reached for him again, as if she might ruffle his hair the way she had when he was younger, before stopping herself. She sparked her lighter instead, taking a long drag and speaking through the exhale.

  “I’ll see you in the morning. Okay? And boys—be good. Listen to your brother.”

  The door slammed behind her, and a few seconds later, the truck rumbled out of the complex parking lot.

  It was quiet when Jack-Jack came barreling toward Luke, arms out like a glider. Right before the collision, Luke dropped to a knee and swept the wriggling kid up, squeezing him close to his shoulder. Petey came at him fists balled and face lit with a goofy smile. Luke scooped him up too. They both struggled, kicking the air and yelling to be let down. Luke bounced them once, feeling their ribs against his shoulders.

  “All you’re going to do is come back at me,” Luke said, squeezing them again. They were one voice with their promises, their assurances. And of course when he put them back on the carpet, it was only a second before they attacked. Toby jumped in then, grabbing Petey and crying out when the kid tried to bite his ear—dirty to the end. Luke held Jack-Jack at arm’s length as the boy twisted, contorting his body back and forth like a wild animal. The twins were both laughing, but even then they were liable—and the perfect height—to take a swing at your crotch.

  Luke’s mother always said her people were hot-blooded, angry like a stick of dynamite. She said it casually, a way to explain behavior at family reunions. But Luke wanted her to keep going. To tell him and the boys that they needed to be more than a wild card—to control the explosion, because that was just as much a badge of strength. Luke needed something he could hold on to, could use to navigate the world.

  The first time he had wrestled, he nearly got himself kicked off the team, wrenching a boy
’s head and throwing him to the ground like he was made of air. The kid was crying when the ref slapped the mat and Luke came up proud, arms raised. That same murder in his blood. But Coach O had laid a look on him that could have withered an oak. All he said was, “Never again. Not on my mat.”

  Control. Balance. Discipline. How many times had Luke beaten somebody stronger and faster only because he understood these things? The need to pause and breathe and not come out swinging. And when it was time, you attacked fast and hard. But that didn’t mean shit if you went off half-cocked at every word said against you.

  “We’re going to the park,” Luke said.

  Petey gave Luke a skeptical look. “What park?”

  “Wildcat. The one with the wooden castles.”

  The twins shared a defeated but happy look. And for a second, Luke let his defenses down. Which was exactly when Petey clocked him hard in the nuts, cackling as he ran away. Luke fell on the couch in pain. The twins tore for the front door, and Toby followed, laughing just as hard.

  They watched the boys run against the deep sunlight, not talking until Toby yawned loudly and said, “I need to get a job. Maybe bagging groceries at Food Lion. I saw this sweet pickup for sale on Fairgrove Church Road.”

  “You’d be a terrible bagger,” Luke said.

  Toby had only recently gotten his license, showing up late to school with it still in his hands. Luke had been a wreck all morning, expecting the nurse or the principal—who would it be?—to pull him out of class. To tell him his friend had finally been put in the hospital, or worse.

  “We could take it up to Bakers Mountain,” Toby said, ignoring him. “Throw some sleeping bags in the back?”

  The excitement and possibility came off him like day-old booze.

  Luke watched Jack-Jack push Petey, who immediately tackled him. They wrestled for a few seconds before Luke stood up and yelled their names. They separated and went back to running. As he sat down, Toby was still talking. He nodded absently. Camping.

  “We’d find some girls. Bring some ladies with us? Damn, man. Damn.”

  And then he was off, standing up and humping the air vigorously until Jack-Jack and Petey came over, out of breath and utterly confused, a look on their faces like “Is he having a seizure?”