Tribute

pushed at him. He couldn’t be sure. It wasn’t possible to be sure. At least not until he’d compared the note with the letters, side by side. Or sent them to the graphologist. It didn’t make any sense anyway.
    It was Brian’s father. It just couldn’t be.
    And it made all the sense in the world.
    He stared across the room at Tom standing with his own father, with Cilla’s, grinning at Brian as they tapped bottles of Rolling Rock. He thought of how Tom had once helped him fly a kite on a vacation they’d all taken together at Virginia Beach. Pitched a tent for them to camp in overnight in the Morrows’ big backyard.
    And he thought of Steve in the hospital. Of Cilla staring at broken tiles. And a doll in a pink party dress hanging from a red maple tree Brian had planted.
    Walking over, Ford tapped Tom on the shoulder. “I need to talk to you a minute.”
    “Sure. Looking for poker tips?”
    “Maybe we could walk outside.”
    Tom’s eyebrows raised. “Sure. A little fresh air before your father starts lighting those cigars. Ford and I are stepping outside so I can give him a few pointers.”
    “Lots of luck,” Brian called out. “Make it quick. We’ll be anteing up shortly.”
    No point in wasting time, Ford thought. No point in putting it off. And no way he could sit at a poker table with this tightness in his chest.
    “Nights are cooling off again,” Tom commented as they stepped out onto Brian’s deck. “Another summer at our backs.”
    “You had an affair with Janet Hardy.”
    “What?” Tom’s head jerked around. “For God’s sake, Ford.”
    “She kept your letters. But you knew that. One of the guys on Cilla’s job heard her telling Gavin. Most of them work for you, too. It’s good juice. Too good not to spread around.”
    “I barely knew Janet Hardy. This is a ridiculous thing to—”
    "Don’t. The handwriting matches.” He drew out the note. "I’ve got a good eye for that kind of thing. Shapes, style, form. I bet your father taught you to write. He’d have wanted you to get a leg up.”
    Tom’s face hardened, the lines around his mouth digging deep. “Not only is this an insulting accusation, but frankly, none of your business.”
    There was a coldness inside Ford he hadn’t known he possessed. A hard and icy rage. “Cilla’s my business. What happened to her grandmother, and what’s been happening to her, that’s my business.”
    “Her grandmother killed herself. And Hennessy is responsible for what happened at the farm. I’m surprised at you, Ford. And disappointed. Now I’m going back inside. I don’t want to hear any more about this.”
    “I always respected you, and I love Brian.” It might have been the tone, very cool, very quiet, that had Tom stopping. “That’s why I’m standing here with you. That’s why I’m talking to you before I go to the police with this.”
    “With what? With a stack of unsigned letters written more than thirty years ago and a note I scribbled this afternoon?”
    “I didn’t say they were unsigned.” Ford turned away.
    “Wait. Now wait.” With the first hint of panic, Tom gripped his shoulder. “This isn’t a matter for the police, Ford. It won’t do anyone any good for this to come out. Do you need me to admit the affair? All right, all right. I was mesmerized by her, and I betrayed my wife. I’m not the first man to slip. I’m not proud of it. And I ended it; I ended it before you were born, for God’s sake. When I came to my senses, when I realized what I was doing, I ended it. Why would you punish me, hurt and embarrass Brian and Cathy, over a mistake I made when I was younger than you are now?”
    “You tried to get them back, and put a man in the hospital.”
    “I panicked.” He held up his hands. “I only wanted to find the letters and destroy them. I panicked when I heard him coming in. There was no way for me to get out. I never meant to hit him that hard. It was instinct, just instinct. My God, I thought I’d killed him.”
    “So you shoved the bike on top of him, what, to be sure of it?”
    “I tell you, I was in shock. I thought he was dead, what else could I do? I could only think it had to look like an accident. He’s fine now. He’s all right now,” Tom insisted in a tone of quiet reason. “What point is there in making an issue out of any of it?”
    Ford could only stare. This man he’d respected, even loved, one he’d thought of all his life as a kind of second father, was shifting