By the light of the moon

of the sky and
condensed it into a deeper and more solemn blue.
    Miles north of Santa Barbara, California, on a lightly populated
stretch of coast, half a mile from the nearest neighbor, this was
the house in which Dylan had grown up. In this place, their mother
had died more than ten years ago, and to this place, Dylan and Shep
still returned between their long road trips to arts festival after
arts festival across the West and Southwest.
    'This is nuts!' His frustration burst from him in those three
words much the way This sucks! might have erupted from him
if he'd learned that his lottery ticket had missed the
hundred-million-dollar prize by one digit, and as Ouch! or
something more rude might have passed his lips if he'd hit his
thumb with a hammer. He was confused. he was scared, and because
his head might have exploded if he'd stood here as silent as Shep,
he said again, 'This is nuts!'
    Miles farther north, in the deserted parking lot of a state
beach, their father had committed suicide fifteen years ago. From
this hill, unaware that their lives were soon to change, Dylan and
Shep had watched the spectacular December sunset that their dad had
viewed through a haze of Nembutal and carbon-monoxide poisoning as
he had settled into an everlasting sleep.
    They were hundreds of miles from Holbrook, Arizona, where they
had gone to bed.
    'Nuts, this is nuts,' he expanded, 'totally, fully nuts with a
nut filling and more nuts on top.'
    Warm sunshine, fresh air faintly scented by the sea, crickets
singing in the dry grass: As much as it might feel like a dream,
all of it was real.
    Ordinarily, Dylan would not have turned to his brother for the
answer to any mystery. Shepherd O'Conner wasn't a source of
answers, not a wellhead of clarifying insights. Shep was instead a
bubbling font of confusion, a gushing fountain of enigmas, a
veritable geyser of mysteries.
    In this instance, however, if he didn't turn to Shepherd, he
might as well seek answers from the crickets in the grass, from the
fairy midges that swooned through the day on lazy currents of
sun-warmed air.
    'Shep, are you listening to me?'
    Shep smiled a half-sorrowful smile at the house below them.
    'Shep, I need you to be with me now. Talk to me now. Shep, I
need you to tell me how you got here.'
    'Almond,' Shep said, 'filbert, peanut, walnut—'
    'Don't do this, Shep.'
    '—black walnut, beechnut, butternut—'
    'This isn't acceptable, Shep.'
    '—cashew, Brazil nut—'
    Dylan stepped in front of his brother, seized him firmly by the
shoulders, shook him to get his attention. 'Shep, look at me, see
me, be with me. How did you get here?'
    '—coconut, hickory nut—'
    Shaking his brother harder, violently enough to make the litany
of nuts stutter out of the boy, Dylan said, 'That's it, enough, no
more of this shit, no more! '
    '—chestnut, kola nut—'
    Dylan let go of Shep's shoulders, clasped his hands around his
brother's face, holding his head in a ten-finger vice. 'Don't you
hide from me, don't you pull your usual crap, not with this going on, Shep, not now.'
    '—pistachio, pine nut.'
    Although Shepherd strove mightily to keep his chin down, Dylan
relentlessly forced his brother's head up. 'Listen to me, talk to
me, look at me! '
    Muscled into a confrontation, Shepherd closed his eyes. 'Acorn,
betel nut—'
    Ten years of frustration, ten years of patience and sacrifice,
ten years of vigilance to prevent Shep from unintentionally hurting
himself, thousands of days of shaping food into neat rectangular
and square morsels, uncounted hours of worrying about what would
happen to Shepherd if fate conspired to have him outlive his
brother: All of these things and so many more had pressed on Dylan,
each a great psychological stone, had piled one atop another, atop
another, dear God, until he felt crushed by the cumulative weight,
until he could no longer say with any sincerity, He ain't heavy,
he's my brother , because Shepherd was heavy, all right, a
burden immeasurable, heavier than the boulder that Sisyphus had
been condemned forever to roll up a long dark hill in Hades,
heavier than the world on the back of Atlas.
    '—pecan, litchi nut—'
    Pressed between Dylan's big hands, Shepherd's features were
scrunched together, puckered and pouted like those of a baby about
to burst into tears, and his speech was distorted.
    '—almond, cashew, walnut—'
    'You're repeating yourself now,' Dylan said angrily. 'Always
repeating yourself. Day after day, week after week,