Outcast by Lewis Ericson

of him. “Everything smells great, Noonie.”
    Betty smiled. “I made one of your favorite desserts, too.”
    â€œPeach cobbler or German chocolate cake?”
    â€œPeach cobbler.” She nodded with pride.
    â€œThat’s what’s up.” He beamed, filling his plate with several slices of meatloaf, hearty scoops of green beans, and generous squares of hot, buttered cornbread.
    Conversation stalled. Utensils clicked on plates, punctuating the silence. Pat busied herself assisting her son to get more food in his mouth than on the tablecloth around his plate.
    Betty strained for something to say. “Reverend Eason really preached this morning. Didn’t he, Pat?”
    â€œYes, ma’am, he sure did.”
    â€œWhat was the title of the sermon again?”
    Tirrell shot his grandmother a side-glance and held back a simper. He knew the woman could tell you every sermon her pastor preached for at least the last three weeks.
    Kevin put down his fork, picked up another piece of bread, and glared at Tirrell. “So, how long have you been home, little brother? ”
    Tirrell didn’t look up from his plate. Kevin’s tone dripped with contempt. If he could have called him a bastard at the table and not gotten popped in the mouth by their grandmother, he would have.
    â€œI got in Thursday night.”
    Eight years and oceans of misunderstanding separated the brothers. Kevin was as tall as Tirrell and possessed the same distinct facial features as their father had. He had his mother’s eyes, but his father’s intense scowl; all the Ellis men had it. Stubbornness was another trait they shared. These qualities had served Kevin well on his college debate team, and continued to do so in his position working in the prosecutor’s office of Fulton County. His demeanor was as certain as his confident gait. Kevin’s skin tone was a shade darker than his brother’s, and he wore his hair short and faded just as Tirrell did. Aesthetically, one of the only other differences in their appearances was that Kevin sported a neatly trimmed moustache and beard.
    â€œSo, you’re on some kind of leave?”
    â€œYeah.” Tirrell took a break from shoveling his food in his mouth to wash it down with the glass of ice-cold lemonade.
    â€œHow long will you be here?”
    The interrogation was not completely unexpected.
    Betty interceded. “Kevin, let him eat.”
    Kevin looked at his wife. She arched her brow and pursed her lips in agreement—he returned to his plate.
    Tirrell leaned into Tasha, who’d barely looked at him the entire meal. “You look nice,” he whispered.
    Tasha rolled her eyes and threw her napkin on the table. “Excuse me.” She jumped up and bolted for the door. Tirrell chased after her and stopped her on the porch.
    â€œLet go of me, Tirrell!”
    â€œTasha, baby, come on. All I said was that you look nice.”
    â€œWhere were you all night?”
    â€œI . . . I was hangin’ out with Marquis and some of the fellas.”
    â€œYou’re lyin’.” Tasha glanced over her shoulder to ensure no one was watching. She lowered her voice. “Okay, if you were with Marquis where’d you go? What did y’all do?”
    â€œWe just hung out. Watched some TV. Drank a few beers, then we went out to the Compound.”
    â€œIs that all?”
    â€œYeah, it got late, so I just crashed at his place so I wouldn’t wake Noonie up comin’ in.”
    Tasha clenched her teeth. “Then, why you come in here stinkin’ like you been with some other bitch?”
    Tirrell sighed, threw his head back, and wiped his hand over his face. “Tasha, c’mon . . .”
    â€œDon’t Tasha me. You reek of cigarettes and nasty-ass perfume. I hope you had a good time.”
    â€œC’mon, it wasn’t like that.”
    â€œWhy you gotta lie, Tirrell?”
    â€œYou don’t need to