THERE WAS A mountain of paperwork for Donnie to read and sign. The doctor took them to an empty examination office and spread the papers on a gurney. Donnie stared at them, clearly not taking in a word of the explanation Dr. Greene gave. Ben toyed with the idea of asking the doctor to admit Donnie overnight and give him something for the shock. Donnie looked utterly, painfully exhausted, and it made Ben worry for his health. But Donnie would never consent. The memory of his stay in the ICU was still too fresh.

“Before you go, I’ll have to examine you both,” the doctor said at last. “We need to be sure you’re not already exhibiting symptoms of tuberculosis, in which case I would prescribe you different medication. If everything is as it should be, you can go down to the pharmacy and pick up the Isoniazid. You’ll have to start taking it right away.”

Ben went first. The doctor listened to his chest and back, then made him take off his shoes and pants to check for the telltale early TB rash. Afterward, the doctor examined Donnie, who let everything happen without showing a single emotion. Donnie needed Ben’s help with his shoes and pants, and Ben stayed very close, alert for any sign that he was on the verge of collapse.

And then they were finally on their way home, two prescriptions worth of pills in a brown pharmacy bag on the back seat of the car. At first, Donnie stared out of the passenger window, still looking blank. When they were halfway back to Corinth, he started fidgeting, rubbing the palms of his hands on his pants legs and squirming in his seat.

“What is it?” Ben asked, alarmed.

“Can still smell it, all over. The hospital. Him...” Donnie gave a shudder, looking frantic. “Floyd’s all over me.”

“Tell you what,” Ben said. “Soon as we get home, we hop in the shower, and we’ll throw out all our clothes.”

Donnie gave Ben a quick, grateful glance and settled down again, eyes unseeing on the countryside rushing past.

They came back to a dark house that smelled of antiseptic. All blankets and pillows from the living room had disappeared, but Ben was relieved that the cleanup crew hadn’t taken the sofa. All that was left in Floyd’s room was the empty bed frame, the equally empty closet, and a chair. Donnie glanced into the room on their way to the bathroom, but said nothing.

Clambering out of Ben’s car, Donnie had nearly fallen flat on his face, and he was in no condition to shower on his own. Thus, in the bathroom, Ben helped Donnie strip off everything and sat him on the closed toilet lid. Then Ben undressed as well, stuffing all their clothes into a trash bag. He hurried through the house buck naked, cracked the front door open until the bag fit through, and chucked it into the yard. Then he returned to the bathroom.

“C’mon, let’s do this. You’ll feel better once you’re clean.”

Donnie leaned heavily on him as Ben helped him up. Ben turned him toward the tub—and froze. Staring at Donnie’s back, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Large pink scars crisscrossed Donnie’s entire back. The skin looked as if it had melted and solidified again in new twisted shapes. Without even meaning to, Ben reached out and placed his fingers against the biggest welt near Donnie’s spine. Donnie stiffened.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “Not now...can’t...”

Ben nodded. It took him a moment to find his voice, but then he said, as gently as he could, “Okay, okay.”

How had he never seen these scars? Ben cast his mind back, trying to think of the times they’d been naked around each other. Had he not noticed that Donnie had hidden his back the entire time? It was possible, Ben supposed. He probably didn’t even notice anymore that he did it. The scars looked very old. Were they Floyd’s doing as well? But for now, Ben had to keep all his horror and curiosity in check and focus on the task at hand.

He helped Donnie climb into the tub, then stepped in after him. Goose bumps erupted on Donnie’s arms and spread over his back and neck. Ben tested the water temperature and urged Donnie under the hot jet.

He lathered the soap on Donnie’s chest and back, trying not to let his hands and attention linger on the scars. Rinse. Repeat on himself. Coaxing Donnie to wash the rest, holding him by the shoulders. Making sure neither of them slipped in the soapy suds.

Hair last. Ben took a little bit of time with this when Donnie relaxed under his fingers as Ben massaged his scalp. He moved on to Donnie’s neck, then the shoulders. He could feel the knots, the misery, the sadness in the bunched-up muscles.

Ben had almost finished rinsing Donnie’s hair when Donnie started to cry. There was a brief sense of relief in Ben that some of the misery had started to work its way out, but then Donnie slumped against him, sliding down like a rag doll. Ben had no option but to go down with him.

“Hey, it’s okay. I got you. Shhh...” He held Donnie, rocked them both while trying to keep the shower spray from hitting Donnie in the face. Donnie’s tears were almost silent, and he trembled and shook in Ben’s arms. The water went from hot to warm to tepid. When it was cold enough to make them shiver, Ben turned all the taps off.

They had to get out. Donnie needed to be dry and warm. Ben did his best to move quickly, but Donnie couldn’t help. Once he was back on his feet, he let himself be led, but they almost fell out of the tub anyway. Donnie shivered, his stare vacant, his wet skin covered in goosebumps.

Ben wrapped a large towel around Donnie and a smaller one around his own waist. “Time for bed,” he said, his voice echoing around the silent bath.

In the bedroom, Ben rubbed Donnie dry, then got him into boxer shorts and a T-shirt. Donnie no longer cried. His eyes had a glazed, faraway look.

They should be taking the first dose of the Isoniazid right away, but it was all Ben could do to get Donnie into bed. There was no way either of them could get any food down now, and they couldn’t take the pills on an empty stomach.

Finally, Donnie lay curled up under the blankets, and Ben found a pair of clean underpants for himself. When Ben joined him in bed, Donnie pushed himself up and into Ben’s arms with an inhuman sound. Ben pulled him close, and they clung to each other in muted misery.

THE NEXT FEW days went by in a blur of grief and activity. Ben called into work first thing in the morning to request another couple of days of emergency leave. He couldn’t bear the thought of letting Donnie fend for himself. “Two more days, Griers,” Captain Buckley said. “That’s all I can do. Your track record’s been impeccable until recently, but we’re getting into hot water now.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ben said. “Two days are sufficient.” He would find a way to cram in the most urgent tasks into the next forty-eight hours.

So they set to work. That first day, Donnie was too stunned and exhausted to do more than lie on the sofa, watching Ben make phone calls and go through paperwork. Ben got them both started on Isoniazid with their breakfast, and the first dose made him drowsy and slow. Donnie fell asleep on the sofa around noon.

The next day, Donnie felt better and started phoning funeral homes to make arrangements for Floyd’s memorial. After the third call, he dropped the phone into his lap with a sigh. Ben raised an eyebrow.

“It’s no use,” Donnie said.

“What isn’t?” Ben put down a folder full of jumbled bits of paper that somehow related to Floyd’s life.

“I got no money to pay for this.”

Ben clambered to his feet from where he had been crouching on the floor and went to sit next to Donnie on the sofa. “We’ll figure something out.” He pulled out his phone. “Let me call Arthur.”

“No, Ben...”

But Ben smiled and put one hand on Donnie’s neck while he dialed Arthur anyway.

“Floyd was a veteran,” Arthur said once Ben had explained the problem. “Let me make a couple of calls. I’ll get back to you.”

Ben hung up and asked Donnie, “Floyd served?”

Donnie nodded. “Army, for ten years. Suited him.” His eyes grew opaque with renewed sorrow, and Ben hugged him close. He wasn’t all that surprised to learn that Floyd had been a soldier. Sometimes, when a man’s upbringing had left something to be desired, he took well to the order and discipline of a military career. Ben wondered what had gone wrong but didn’t say anything. Donnie wouldn’t be able to bear any questioning right now.

How different these two brothers had reacted to the same history. Donnie was a good man, gentle and smart when given half a chance. He had just needed someone to believe in him. Maybe if Floyd had met someone like Arthur sooner.... But Donnie had said that Floyd hadn’t liked being helped. Or maybe, Ben mused, it really was just luck, good and bad, where you ended up.

In any case, it was his luck that he’d met Donnie when he himself had needed support. A great wave of affection overcame him, and he put his other arm around Donnie. For a while, they just sat together in silence, Donnie resting his head on Ben’s shoulder.

Arthur phoned back within the hour. A veteran’s charity would provide funds, and they were able to arrange a service with an Atlanta-based funeral home in three days’ time.

The next day, Ben had to go back to work, at least for a few hours. He hated to leave Donnie alone, but he had no choice. The captain had made that quite clear. The moment he got to the station, Jason started asking questions about where he had been, but Ben couldn’t bring himself to be honest with his friend.

He still worried what Jason would think of him if he knew he’d moved in with Donnie. That Ben was attracted to both men and women had never been discussed between them, even though Jason might have suspected. Ever since junior high, they’d been very close. They had even masturbated together a few times after they had both turned seventeen, but Ben had never confided in Jason that what had gotten him off then had been watching the other boy’s arousal.

The issue, in any case, wouldn’t be that Ben was with another man, but that he was with this particular man. It had been dislike between his partner and Donnie from the moment they had set eyes on each other, and while that would need sorting out sooner or later, now was not the time for it.

When Ben just mumbled about a family friend dying, Jason finally gave up, looking hurt. A sharp sense of guilt crept over Ben, but his head was full to bursting and he had no energy left to worry about anything else.

THE NIGHT BEFORE Floyd’s memorial service, neither Donnie nor Ben got much sleep. Donnie tossed and turned, nodding off for a short while, then startling awake again. Since the bed was so small, Ben woke up every time Donnie did. Finally, still before dawn, Donnie got up, and Ben let him be. He had become attuned to Donnie’s moods. Right then, Donnie just needed to be alone.

There was no chance of sleep for Ben after that. He gave up and found Donnie slumped on the sofa, hands twisted together in his lap, staring at nothing. His face was gray in the early morning light, and he wouldn’t meet Ben’s eye.

Ben made them both breakfast and insisted that Donnie eat. It had been a struggle to get any food into him since Floyd’s death. Ben was sorry to push him, but all of Donnie’s medication needed to be taken with meals, and it was important that he took the pills at the same time every day.

Donnie only managed half a bowl of cereal before he put the spoon down. Ben looked up to see that he had turned green. He didn’t urge Donnie to eat more.

They dressed in silence. The new black jacket didn’t sit well on Donnie’s narrow shoulders, and the dress pants were too loose. Ben had bought the clothes the previous day, when they’d realized that nothing in Donnie’s closet would do for a funeral. Ben now wondered why they’d bothered. Nobody would care. But Ben put on his own black suit anyway, for which he had braved coming face-to-face with Helen after work the night before.

“Ready?” he asked Donnie, who stood there looking at his shoes, hands balled to fists. Donnie gave a jerk of the head, biting his lip hard enough to make the cut on it bleed again.

Before hitting the interstate into Atlanta, Ben stopped at a gas station to fill up. Donnie was out of the car and headed for the station’s restroom the moment the engine was off.

“Stomach trouble?” Ben asked when he’d paid for the gas and Donnie climbed back into the passenger seat. Donnie shrugged.

“It’s nothing.” He didn’t look at Ben and kept his face averted all the way into the city.

There were seven people at the memorial service, Donnie, Ben, and Arthur included. Arthur and two of the other men came up to them as soon as Ben and Donnie entered the funeral home. The two men introduced themselves as Vince and Pete.

“We grew up either side of the brothers,” the one called Vince explained. “Haven’t seen Donnie and Floyd in years, but when we heard... Well, I’m real sorry, man.” He held out a hand. Donnie accepted the men’s condolences with a nod and a few very quiet words.

Then he looked over at the other two men who had remained in their seats near the back of the room, staring at their little group. Donnie froze, and Ben, who had been about to go up to the strangers and introduce himself, looked around.

“What is it?”

“Why’re they here?” It was hardly a whisper, but the fear in Donnie’s voice was unmistakable.

“One of them is called Philip, isn’t he?” Arthur asked. Donnie nodded, and Arthur continued, “After I phoned around trying to find someone who’d pay for the funeral, he called me. Wanted to know if it was true, that Floyd was dead. No idea how he found out or how he got my number.”

Ben put a hand on Donnie’s back, feeling his muscles quiver. “What is it?” But Donnie just shook his head.

“Let’s sit down, shall we?” Arthur said, worried gaze on Donnie. Ben took Donnie by the arm and led him to seats near the front. He sat very close to Donnie and kept an eye on him. Donnie looked tense and miserable, his hands knotted in his lap. He didn’t look around at the men in the back again, but kept his shoulders hunched, as if expecting a blow from behind. If he turned his head very slightly, Ben could see the two strangers out of the corner of his eye, but it was too gloomy in the dingy parlor to make out their expressions. The men sat very still throughout the service.

The wake was mercifully short. The funeral director came down after his speech, and Ben was distracted for a few minutes with the details of where and when Floyd’s ashes would be interred in an unmarked grave. Donnie had wanted the least possible fuss and been adamant that they wouldn’t have to go to a cemetery that day. Looking at his gray face now, Ben was more than glad. Donnie was at the end of his tether, and the sooner they got home, the better.

When Ben looked toward the back of the funeral parlor, Philip and the other man had disappeared. He was distracted again by Arthur saying, “Will you come back to my place for a bite to eat? Felt wrong not to put on anything. It’s just sandwiches and cake, but it’s better than nothing.”

Ben was about to decline, but Donnie nodded. “Thanks, Arthur,” he said as they walked out of the funeral home. “For everything.”

“It’s all right, son,” Arthur said and patted Donnie’s shoulder. The old man frowned as he kept studying Donnie’s face. So it wasn’t just Ben’s overwrought imagination. Donnie did look unwell to others, too.

VINCE AND PETE agreed to come back to Arthur’s as well, and the five of them settled down in Arthur’s comfortable but cluttered living room. The stories the two childhood friends told about growing up with the Saunders brothers were quite entertaining. Clearly, not all of Floyd’s and Donnie’s childhood had been terrible.

They’re decent men. As Vince and Pete ate their sandwiches, their faces lit up in reminiscence. They had done all right, holding down jobs from the sound of it and bringing up families. It would be interesting to know if their childhoods had been as disordered as Donnie’s and Floyd’s.

Donnie didn’t perk up. He pushed the food around on his plate, not even managing half a sandwich. Even the low-fat strawberry torte Arthur had baked especially for him couldn’t lift his spirits.

“Shall we go home?” Ben asked after a couple of hours of watching Donnie wilt on the sofa.

“Yeah,” Donnie nodded, looking miserable. “I’m sorry...”

“What for? You haven’t done anything.”

Donnie didn’t answer. Ben sighed and went to get their coats. Arthur looked troubled when Donnie said his goodbyes, and Ben gave the old man a helpless shrug behind Donnie’s back.

Donnie was very quiet on the ride back, and Ben let him be. He didn’t want to pester Donnie, even though something was clearly wrong. All he said when they got into the house was, “Why don’t you go to bed?”

As a reply, he just got a jerky shake of the head. Patience, Ben reminded himself. This was a very difficult time, and to top it all off, Donnie was not feeling well.

“Go lie on the sofa, then.”

A very quiet, “All right,” came as response, and Donnie shuffled over to the sofa.

Ben took a deep breath and went into the kitchen to make coffee. By the time he carried two steaming mugs through to the living room, Donnie had taken off jacket and shoes and lay on his side, hands clamped between his knees. Ben put the mugs on the coffee table and sat on the floor close by the sofa. He kept his attention on Donnie, who gave him a fleeting glance, then looked away.

“You don’t have to talk to me, if you don’t want to,” Ben murmured. “But maybe I can help?” He waited.

Donnie began to play with a loose thread on the threadbare sofa seat. “We gotta move out,” he finally said.

That hadn’t been at all what Ben had expected. “Why’s that?”

“This is Floyd’s house. I mean,” Donnie amended, “he was given it to live in, cuz he was in the army. There was a letter.” He gestured at a jumble of paper lying against the wall with bills and letters and other things relating to Floyd that they hadn’t yet gotten around to. Some of the recent mail lay on top. “Came the other day.”

Ben’s confusion grew. He was missing something. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Donnie gave a one-shouldered shrug.

“What’re we gonna do?”

Slowly, understanding dawned. “Donnie, we’ll just move,” Ben said.

Donnie now looked confused in turn, and miserable. “I got no money for rent, Ben. Don’t even have money to have the pickup serviced.”

That admission clearly cost Donnie a lot. It hurt Ben, deep inside, that Donnie would think he might abandon him because he had no money.

“Donnie, we were moving anyway. I never thought we should stay here. There are too many bad memories in this house. But,” Ben added with emphasis, determined to make himself quite clear. “I can afford to pay rent. It’s not gonna be a palace, and you’ll have to share a bedroom with me.” He smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “We’ll get that bigger bed you wanted.” He reached out and put his hand against Donnie’s face. “You didn’t think I’d move without you, did you?”

Ben had expected there would be tears. He gave Donnie a few minutes to get over the worst of it. Then, to Ben’s surprise, Donnie smiled, his eyes soft and still a little wet. “That’ll be nice, being somewhere new.”

“Yeah, it will,” Ben agreed. “C’mon, let’s drink the coffee before it’s ice cold. Can you sit up?” Donnie nodded and pushed himself to sitting, and Ben joined him on the sofa.

He nestled against Ben’s chest, and they sipped their coffee in silence for a while. To Ben’s great surprise, it was Donnie who broke the silence.

“Floyd wasn’t always like that,” he began. “I... Ben, I really wanna tell you, but I dunno if I can...”

“Just start with a little, then. It gets easier,” Ben said softly and tightened his arm around Donnie’s shoulders.

“You saw my back, the other night...”

“That wasn’t Floyd, was it?”

“Nah, that was our Pa. He was real mean. But he was afraid of Floyd, even when Floyd was small. Floyd never took shit from no one, and Pa, he’d get mad. They’d fight, and Floyd’d storm off, and Pa would take it out on me... Floyd didn’t know, not then.”

Ben wanted to ask why Donnie hadn’t told his brother or asked someone, anyone, for help, but he didn’t want Donnie to lose heart. Donnie hadn’t talked this much in ages. This needed out, at his own pace.

“He found out much later. He came back from Afghanistan all fucked up. Got into fights, till they kicked him out. Wasn’t even a dishonorable discharge. They didn’t dare. Just told him to quit and keep his mouth shut and he’d get state assistance. He stayed with me a little while. I had a trailer outside Newnan, pretty small, but it was all mine. I had jobs, shitty ones, but they paid the rent. But Floyd didn’t like being on his own, so I quit. Was proud he wanted to spend time with me. So stupid—”

“Not at all stupid,” Ben said, but Donnie made a skeptical noise.

“We moved here, and it was okay for a while. Floyd had his pension, and at first, we was just drinking. He made out like it was a never-ending party. But he had these friends. You saw a couple of ‘em today.”

“Who were these men, Donnie?” Ben asked.

“His ‘business partners’. Drug dealers. Ben, I think Floyd owed them money. But I know nothing for sure. He kept me out of it.” Donnie groped for Ben’s hand, clearly distressed by the memories.

So maybe Floyd had cared a little about his brother. Or maybe he just hadn’t wanted to share his profits. “I’m sure they’ll just disappear, now that Floyd’s dead,” Ben said, soothing, trying to convince himself as well. But he still had so many questions. “Why would Floyd beat you up, Donnie?” Ben couldn’t help it. He needed to understand.

“Only did twice, really. First time was when he found out about the scars—”

“He hurt you more because he hadn’t protected you when your dad was beating you up?” Ben looked down at Donnie, disbelieving. Donnie’s expression was pleading.

“You don’t know what it was like, at home. He...”

“No, you’re right, I don’t. I’m sorry.” Ben stroked Donnie’s face with one finger. Even with all he’d seen in his job, he found it difficult to imagine a home where there was no love for the children, where the only permissible emotion was rage. How had these men ever been able to function?

The answer was clear, of course: Badly.

Now that they had started, Ben needed to know it all. “Floyd got you into drugs, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Donnie’s voice was barely audible, but it was clear he also felt that he had to give Ben all the answers he could. “He said he liked hanging with me. And I liked it too, was better’n having no one. And it just happened. Was something to do.”

Sadness threatened to overwhelm Ben. And he’d just understood another thing. “You got the HIV from him.”

Donnie nodded against Ben’s chest. “Or one of his asshole friends. We weren’t never careful with them needles.”

“Those friends of Floyd’s, the ones from today. When did they last come to see Floyd?”

Ben could feel Donnie tense against him, then shudder. He looked down. Donnie had closed his eyes, and his face looked pinched and white. “Ben, I know nuthin’!”

Ben had switched on his police interrogation mode without meaning to. “Sorry, I didn’t even mean to ask that. How about I make us dinner now and we call it a day?”

“I’m really not hungry,” Donnie mumbled, shifting away from Ben.

“Donnie, you gotta eat something so you can take your pills. You hardly touched anything at Arthur’s. Just soup and crackers, okay?”

Donnie looked down into the half-drunk coffee he was still holding. “All right,” he whispered.

BEN HEATED THE soup and set the table, leaving Donnie to doze on the sofa. When Ben went to rouse him for dinner, Donnie looked even grayer. He had trouble keeping his eyes open while they ate.

As expected, Donnie just stirred the soup with his spoon, looking pale and queasy. Ben encouraged him gently, worried that if Donnie took his antiretrovirals and the Isoniazid on an empty stomach, he would just feel worse.

“Bed now,” Ben said once Donnie had swallowed his pills, and Donnie went without protest. Ben tidied the kitchen and got the house ready for the night. Then he brushed his teeth and went into the bedroom. Donnie was fast asleep, curled up on the edge of the mattress as usual. Ben undressed and climbed over Donnie, trying not to jolt the flimsy bed.

Donnie couldn’t bear being pinned against the wall during the night, so the inside of the mattress had become Ben’s spot. Usually they went to bed at the same time, but on the few occasions when they hadn’t, Donnie had woken up when Ben came to bed. Even though Donnie huffed about it, their favorite position, and the most comfortable one in the narrow bed, was to spoon, with Donnie fitting perfectly against Ben’s body. Tonight he didn’t even stir as Ben climbed over him, and Ben didn’t dare cuddle up. Donnie needed a sound night’s sleep.

The day had been exhausting, and Ben was done in. He fell asleep at once, despite his worries about Donnie.

He awoke in the middle of the night from the mattress shaking hard. Quick footsteps hurried from the room, and Ben rubbed his eyes. By the time his brain had come halfway online and he realized that something wasn’t right, Donnie was gone. There came a crash as the toilet seat was flipped up. Ben jumped out of bed.

He got into the bathroom just when Donnie lost the battle with the nausea. Ben wet a washcloth under the cold tap, then went down onto his knees by Donnie’s side and put a hand on Donnie’s shaking back.

Donnie retched. He shivered, and it was soon a real effort for him to stay upright. When the vomiting finally stopped, Donnie wrapped his arms around his middle, groaning.

“C’mere,” Ben murmured, and pulled Donnie into his arms. He wiped his sweaty face with the cool cloth. Donnie whimpered.

“You’re really not well, huh?” Ben said. Donnie only managed a small, miserable noise. Ben sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me to fuck off when I made you eat that soup?”

“You’re trying to help,” Donnie gasped.

“Yeah, well, seems I wasn’t. It’s the Isoniazid, isn’t it?”

“Think so...”

“Listen,” Ben said, feeling terrible for Donnie. “If some pill doesn’t agree with you or we’re trying to make you do something that doesn’t feel right, you gotta speak up. Don’t let it get so bad. Doctors fuck up. I fuck up. It happens. All right?”

“Okay,” Donnie whispered, his voice hoarse from the retching. “But what now, if I can’t take them pills?”

“We’re going back to the hospital first thing tomorrow and ask for a different treatment. Maybe they can inject the Isoniazid, that might work better.” Ben hugged Donnie close and kissed his burning forehead. “We’ll figure something out. I’m here for you. I won’t leave you alone in this.”

“Thanks, Ben. I’m real glad.” Donnie’s voice was small and scared.

“I wish there was more I could do,” Ben said. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Not really.”

Ben sighed. “We’re staying here a while, then?”

“Think so.” Donnie shuddered, and Ben sat them up straight again. As

Donnie readied himself for round two, Ben put one hand between his shoulder blades, feeling Donnie’s sickness almost physically in his own gut.

Is this ever gonna get better? How long would they have to keep dealing with this misery, and when would Donnie finally be allowed to catch a break?