December 1984

James stamped his feet, trying to keep his toes from turning into icicles. Michael was late, as usual. He and Peter had been waiting outside the movie theatre for nearly twenty minutes. Most of the matinee crowd had dispersed, and ticket buyers for the next show were warmly tucked in their seats watching the coming attractions.

Peter shivered exaggeratedly, and James took off his scarf and wrapped it around his younger brother's neck, tugging the ends playfully. "I told you it was going to be cold," he chided, zipping his jacket all the way up.

"You sound like Mom," Peter said, but crowded close to James, leeching his body heat.

"I'm channelling her while she's away." He wrapped his arms around Peter and rested his chin on the top of Peter's head. "I thought I'd make spaghetti for dinner. That okay with you?"

"Why can't we just order pizza?"

"Because Mom said no. But we can make popcorn after and stay up late to watch Saturday Night Live." Peter would be asleep before the first musical number. It was the Honeydrippers, though, so he wouldn't chase Peter to bed until after the song. He hummed "Sea of Love" softly, chuckling when Peter tried to squirm out of his grasp.

"How about meatballs?" Peter asked. "Can we have meatballs with the spaghetti?"

James had wanted to try a new sauce recipe with the pasta, but he knew Peter would balk at anything other than meatballs now. "I think there's a can in the cupboard. If we do meatballs, you have to have salad."

He didn't need to see Peter's face to know he was rolling his eyes. "I was wrong. You're worse than Mom."

"You think Mom wouldn't make you eat salad, or worse?" James protested.

"Yeah, but she's a mother--she's supposed to make me eat boring things. We're supposed to have fun when our parents are away."

James snorted. "Yeah, you had a really shitty time just now, didn't you? It must have been some other kid laughing like a hyena beside me." He boxed Peter's ears lightly and laughed when Peter ducked away and turned to glare at him. He stepped aside as Peter lunged at him and caught the end of the scarf, keeping Peter from falling to the ground.

"Doofus," he said fondly. "And you know Mom would never have let you go to that movie, so you can thank Michael for getting us in. If he ever gets here," he muttered. He was used to Michael being late, but it was annoying, and his feet were freezing. If Michael didn't show up soon, he was going to drag Peter onto the bus.

He was a minute away from heading for the bus stop when a car pulled over on the other side of the street. Michael got out of the passenger seat and pounded on the roof. "Let's go, brats. Time's a-wasting."

James made a point of looking at his watch once they'd dodged their way across the street. "I wasn't aware you were familiar with the concept of time," he commented.

Peter was blunter. "You're late and I'm cold. We've been waiting for ages." He glanced into the car. "Why is Josh driving? What did you do with Mom's car?"

"None of your business," Michael retorted. "And stop complaining. I'm giving you a ride, aren't I?"

"Josh is giving us a ride," Peter muttered, but pushed the front seat forward. "Hey, Josh."

"Hey, kid. Good movie?" Josh Randall had been Michael's best friend since preschool. He was the only guy Michael hung around with who didn't treat them like radioactive waste.

"Awesome! Eddie Murphy rocked. He's on Saturday Night Live tonight. We're staying up to watch."

"That'll be good." Josh swung out of the driver's seat and leaned over the hood of the car. "What do you think, Mike? Maybe we should stay in tonight and watch with the kids. Honeydrippers are on, too." He pushed a shock of dark blond hair off his forehead, and then blew on his hands and rubbed them together.

"Honeydrippers are bogus," Michael said dismissively. "It's just a publicity stunt for Robert Plant."

Josh rolled his eyes. "He's having fun, playing what he wants. Besides. Jimmy Page, Jeff Beck. How can you not want to see that?"

"Whatever. Let's get out of here. Unless you want to stand around talking about crap music while we freeze our nuts off." Michael nudged Peter forward with his knee, ruffling his hair when Peter turned around and scowled at him.

"Don't," Peter snapped, patting his hair back down, but then scrambled into the back seat. James was about to follow when he glanced into the front and saw a couple of empty beer cans crushed on the floor and a six-pack tucked partly under the passenger seat.

"Get out of the car, Peter," James said, holding open the door. "We can take the bus home." He grabbed Peter's arm, stopping just short of pulling his younger brother out of the car physically. Peter crawled out reluctantly, shifting his scowl to James. James rolled his eyes and gestured for his brother to follow him.

"Don't be an idiot, Jimmy," Michael retorted. "I said we'd give you a ride. Get in and shut up."

"You've been drinking."

"Josh hasn't and he's driving."

"Jimmy, come on. It's cold out and the bus takes forever." Peter tugged on James's jacket, switching from sulking to puppy dog pleading. James had never built up immunity to that.

He studied Josh carefully. He wasn't holding a beer, but that didn't mean he hadn't been drinking earlier. James liked Josh. He was the only one of Michael's friends who wasn't a complete loser. He was the only one of Michael's friends he could trust. "Are you okay to drive?"

"I'm fine, kid. I promise."

James hesitated. It was only a few miles. And it was cold. "Okay," he said reluctantly. He held Peter back and crawled into the back seat first, remembering that the driver's side seatbelt didn't work. The last time Josh had given them a ride, he'd spent the entire time trying to make it catch. "Buckle up or we walk," he told Peter, who rolled his eyes.

Only a few miles, James told himself again, and put his arm around Peter's shoulders. Josh sped up as they left the commercial district and turned onto the parkway. Traffic was light, just an occasional car heading the other direction, and James looked out the window, letting his mind wander.

He tried to remember if they had all the ingredients to make spaghetti sauce. There was ground beef in the freezer that he could thaw and cans of tomato paste and diced tomatoes in the cupboard. He was pretty sure there was an onion left and some garlic, but he'd have to get Michael to pick up some supplies for Sunday dinner. His parents would be back in the afternoon, but they would be tired from the flight. He could make a roast, maybe poach a salmon, and let his mother relax.

James was torn out of his culinary musings as the car swerved abruptly to the right, cutting onto the shoulder. He turned his head and saw Josh push Michael away with one hand. "Wilson, you fucking moron," Josh screamed, as he twisted the wheel, skewing them back onto the road.

James could tell almost immediately that he'd overcompensated. The car veered into the oncoming lane and back again, and then they were skidding sideways across the road, the tires spinning without traction on the slick surface. James tightened his arm around Peter and tried to brace them as best he could. At least there was no oncoming traffic to worry about, just a stand of oak trees near the shoulder. He knew exactly which one they were going to hit.

Later, he couldn't remember the actual moment of impact. They were moving and then they weren't. He looked to his left and saw that they had come to rest against the very tree he had picked out, but there was no satisfaction in being right. He turned to Peter. "Are you okay?"

Peter nodded, his eyes dark and wide with fear. "Yeah," he breathed. "What happened?"

"Your brother is a fucking idiot, that's what happened," Josh shouted, pushing Michael up against the passenger door. "He pulled the wheel. What the fuck were you thinking?"

Michael twisted away and opened the door, jumping out quickly. "I was just having some fun," he said, dancing away when Josh scrambled across the seat after him. "Chill out."

"I'll chill you out," Josh retorted. "This is my sister's car. She's going to kill me. But not before I kill you first." He stopped, though, and glanced into the back seat. "Are you guys all right?"

James nodded, still a little dazed. For a moment it was as though he were watching the scene from outside his body, and then he heard a hissing sound and he snapped back to awareness. Gas leak. One spark and the car would explode. "Get out," he said, shoving Peter towards the door. "Get out and run. Hurry!"

Josh blinked and looked puzzled, but he pushed the seat forward and pulled first Peter and then James out the door.

James stumbled slightly when his feet hit the ground, but then he shook his head and grabbed Peter's arm. "Run!" he shouted. "It's going to blow!"

But Michael just laughed and pointed at the front of the car. "You idiot. It's just the tire. You watch way too much TV."

James looked where he was pointing and realized that the hissing sound he'd heard was air escaping from a punctured tire. The sudden burst of adrenaline flowed out of him, leaving him cold and shaky, and he rubbed a hand over his face. Michael was right. He did watch too much television. He felt like an idiot.

But then Josh grabbed his shoulders. "You're bleeding," he said.

It was only then that James realized his head hurt. He blinked and touched the back of his head. His fingers came away stained red, and he stumbled backwards in surprise. Only Josh's grip on his shoulders kept him from falling. "Oh, shit," he mumbled, and then he saw Peter's face. "It's okay, Petey," he said. "I'm okay. It's just a cut on the head. Head wounds bleed a lot." He pressed the heel of his hand against the spot where it hurt the most, hoping that would be enough to stop the bleeding. He wished he had a handkerchief, or even just a package of tissues.

Josh let go of James's shoulders and scrubbed his face with his hands. "What are we going to do? You need to see a doctor. Probably need stitches. But the tire's blown and I don't have a spare."

"I don't need to go to the doctor," James protested. A doctor would want to call his parents. A doctor would want an explanation he wasn't prepared to give. "I had a tetanus shot last year, and it's hardly bleeding at all." But when he took his hand away, his palm was slick with blood.

"Fuck," Josh said and pulled the car door open. He rummaged around the floor and came back with a handful of clean napkins from a fast-food restaurant. "Use this," he said, folding them carefully and pressing them against the back of James's head. "I know your folks are out of town. Is there anyone else we could call?"

James shook his head and tried not to panic. Peter needed him to think clearly. "We're only about a five-minute walk from our house. I can look after it there. If it doesn't stop bleeding, I'll go to the clinic on Hudson Street." He didn't think he needed stitches. As long as he kept the cut clean and free of infection, it would heal all right. It wasn't as though he needed to worry about a scar.

"My place is just up the road," Josh replied. "I'm going to have to call a tow truck anyway. Don't worry," he added, when James started to protest. "My parents drove to New York to see a play and I dropped Barb off at a friend's house. She won't be home for a couple of hours." He patted James on the shoulder reassuringly.

"God, stop talking about it and just do something," Michael complained. He leaned against the hood of the car and opened a beer.

Josh stepped away from James, but Peter was faster, launching himself at his oldest brother. "Like you care," he shouted, swinging wildly at Michael. "This is your fault. You said we'd be safe, but you made us crash." He landed several blows before Michael grabbed his arms and shoved him away.

Peter stumbled backwards, but quickly regained his balance and would have rushed Michael again if James hadn't grabbed him in a bear hug and held him back. "Don't," he said in Peter's ear. "It's not worth it." He struggled to keep Peter still, and his head started to ache with the effort. He could feel blood trickle down the back of his neck.

"Let me go," Peter demanded, trying to pull loose from James's grasp. "Why are you protecting him? Why do you always protect him?"

It was a good question, one James couldn't even explain to himself. "I'm protecting you," he replied. "He's drunk. He might not mean to hurt you, but he will."

"Don't be so dramatic," Michael retorted. "I wouldn't dare harm the little bastard."

James tightened his arms around Peter. "Ignore him," he whispered. "You know he's an asshole when he's drinking."

"And you're a self-righteous little prig," Michael said, a split second before Josh punched him in the mouth. "Son of a bitch!" he swore, and shoved Josh hard against the side of the car.

Peter stopped struggling. "Serves him right," he muttered, though he winced when Josh pushed back and knocked Michael to the ground.

Michael scrambled to his feet and tackled Josh, and they both landed hard on the side of the road. They rolled on the ground, each one struggling to gain even a fleeting advantage. James wondered if he should try to break them apart, but he decided they could look after themselves. He reached back again and dabbed at his head with the napkins. It stung, but not too badly. He hoped he wouldn't have to get Peter to cut his hair away.

He was about to drag Peter away and start walking home, when he heard feet pounding down the pavement towards them and somebody shouting.

Josh sat up and shoved Michael away. "Oh, man," he moaned. "It's Barb. She's going to kill me."

He scrambled to his feet and hurried over to his older sister, who had stopped just short of the car, her hands planted angrily on her hips. "It wasn't my fault," he said before she could say anything. "Wilson pulled the wheel and made us crash." He turned and kicked a spray of pebbles at Michael, who was just sitting on the ground, a bored expression on his face. "Stupid bastard could have killed us." He lunged at Michael, but Barb grabbed his arm.

"Don't even think about it." She picked up the beer can Michael had dropped when he tackled Josh. "If you've been drinking and driving, Joshua, I'll dismember you and then I'll tell the parents."

"I dropped you off, like, twenty minutes ago. When was I supposed to get drunk? And what are you doing here? I thought you were at Tammy's."

"She got called into work. And why am I explaining myself to you? You're the one who just trashed my car. I better be able to drive it back to school on Monday." She walked around the car and stared at the flat tire and crumpled bumper. "Jesus. Was anybody hurt?"

"Jimmy cut his head," Josh replied.

James stepped back. He didn't want anybody else involved. He could convince Josh not to say anything to his parents, but Barb had been one of their regular babysitters before they'd been old enough to look after themselves. She had never let them get away with anything dangerous. "I'm all right," he said. "Just a flesh wound," he added, in a bad British accent. He grinned, but it faded away when Barb frowned.

"Let me see," she said. "Turn around."

But James continued backing away. "I said I was all right. It's hardly bleeding any more," he said, shoving the bloodstained napkins into his jacket pocket. He tugged Peter's arm. "We need to get home. Come on," he snapped when Peter didn't move. "If you'd done what I'd asked before, none of this would have happened."

Peter stared at him with a shocked, hurt expression, and James looked away. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean that. I just want to go home." Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, and he brushed them away angrily. Michael would laugh at him now for being weak. But Michael wasn't smiling. He even looked a little worried, which frightened James more than the crash had.

"Josh, go to the house and call a tow truck," Barb ordered. "But give me the keys first. Michael, I don't care where you go, but come back when you've sobered up and we'll talk about how you're going to pay to fix the car. I'll make sure your brothers get home safely." She took the keys from Josh and opened the trunk. She pulled out a small first-aid kit and rummaged through it until she found a gauze pad.

She walked slowly towards Peter and James, stopping just out of reach. "It's all right if you don't want me to look. But hold this against it, all right?"

James nodded and took the pad, pressing it against the back of his head. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I didn't mean to freak out."

"I'd say you had a pretty good reason." She smiled at Peter. "I haven't seen you guys for ages. You're taller than me now."

That wasn't surprising. Barb was barely five foot two. She'd been a star athlete in high school, though, and had never needed height to keep three unruly boys in check. It was Barb who taught him how to do a back flip off the diving board, and who hit ground balls to them when Michael couldn't be bothered. He took a step back towards her.

"Do you have any antiseptic?" he asked.

"Are you saying my car is dirty, or have you just not washed your hair recently?" she teased and held out her hand. When he took it, she led him back to the car and sat him down on the bumper. "Let's see," she murmured. "Bend your head down so I can get a good look."

James closed his eyes and tried not to flinch when she moved the gauze pad and dabbed at the cut. He was glad he had washed his hair that morning. Now he understood why mothers warned about clean underwear. Greasy hair was almost as bad.

"Good news," she said. "I don't think you'll need stitches and we won't have to give you a buzz cut. I'm going to trim a little bit of hair away, but it won't be noticeable."

He heard Barb rummage around in the first-aid kit again, and then cold metal touched his scalp and he nearly jerked away. "That's freezing!" he exclaimed.

"It's winter, genius. Metal's a conductor." But she took the scissors away and blew on the blades. "This is going to sting," she warned, a second before she dabbed antiseptic on the cut.

James managed not to whimper, but he couldn't stop his eyes from watering. He hoped Michael wasn't watching. Barb squeezed his shoulder and dabbed again, a little more firmly this time.

"I'm going to close it with butterfly tape. If that doesn't stop the bleeding, you're going to need stitches. But it's not deep and the edges are clean, so I think you'll be all right."

James had already come to that conclusion, but it was a relief to have it confirmed. He rubbed his eyes as casually as possible and took a deep breath. When he looked up, both Josh and Michael were gone, but Peter was standing in front of him, shifting nervously from side to side. James wanted to tell him that everything would be all right, but he wasn't sure that was true.

Barb sat down beside him. "You want to tell me what was going on? It's not like you to freak out like that."

James lowered his head again. "Delayed shock, I guess," he muttered. The embarrassment was real, even if the excuse wasn't. He hated losing his composure, and remembering what he'd said to Peter made his stomach turn. "I'm sorry," he repeated. The third time wasn't a charm. Everything was still falling apart.

Barb didn't reply. When he glanced sideways at her, she was staring out into the distance, a thoughtful expression on her face. "If you're afraid to tell your parents what happened, I can do it for you."

James shook his head hard enough that it hurt. "I don't want them to know. Mom will get upset and Dad will freak out on Michael, and it'll just be a mess. I'll make sure Michael pays for your car. You don't have to worry about that."

"I don't care about the car," Barb replied. "Another dent isn't going to make a difference, and I can replace a tire. I'm worried about you. What if it had been more than a bump on the head? What if Peter had been hurt?"

James's stomach lurched again and for a brief, dizzying moment, he thought he would throw up. Concussion, he told himself. Blood loss. It would pass. "But he wasn't. Right, Peter?"

Peter nodded, but his face was pale over the ridge of James's scarf, and he couldn't stand still. "But you were," he said, and James was afraid he was going to start crying. "Isn't that bad enough?"

"It was an accident." He believed it. He had to believe it. Michael was thoughtless and reckless, but he would never deliberately hurt someone. Michael would never hurt him.

Josh jogged up, puffing tiny clouds with each exhaled breath. "I called the tow truck. They said half an hour, forty-five minutes. I'll wait for it." He handed James a can of Coke and two aspirin. "Here. The caffeine makes them more effective."

James had heard other stories about Coke and aspirin, but he was pretty sure it wasn't really an aphrodisiac, and no one he knew had managed to get high off the combination. "Where's Michael?" he asked, washing the pills down with a swallow of soda.

Josh shrugged. "Don't know, don't care. He went home, I guess."

Barb stood up and held out her hand to James. "Come on. I'll walk you guys home."

"You don't have to," James replied, but he took her hand and let her pull him up. "We can look after ourselves."

"I know," she said. "It's just habit." She held his hand for a moment. "I won't tell your parents," she said. "But I think they need to know. You're not helping Michael by protecting him."

But it wasn't just Michael he was trying to protect. His mother acted as though anything Michael did wrong was a sign that she'd failed as a parent. And his father and Michael were barely talking any more. James wasn't being noble or self-sacrificing; he was being selfish. A cut on the back of his head wasn't worth his family falling apart.

The house was dark and locked when they arrived. There was no sign of Michael, no sign that he had been and gone. James was relieved to see his mother's car still in the garage. At least Michael wasn't behind the wheel. James knew he wouldn't be able to protect Michael if he hurt someone else.

Barb wrote down a number and handed it to James. "Call me if the cut starts bleeding again," she told James. "And if he's too hard-headed, you'll call, won't you, Peter?"

Peter nodded. "I'll watch to see if he has a concussion, too."

"I don't have a concussion," James retorted. "Hard-headed, remember?" But he would watch for the signs as well. It didn't hurt to be cautious. "Why don't you see if you can find the meatballs," he suggested. When Peter nodded and scampered off to the kitchen with a backwards wave, James shifted uncomfortably and stared down at the floor. "I'm sorry about your car," he repeated. "I have some cash hidden in my room and I can get some more from the bank on Monday morning."

"I want you to stop worrying about the car," Barb scolded. She scribbled down another number. "This is my number in Princeton. Call me any time you need to talk. Promise?"

James took it and nodded, though he knew he wouldn't call. The family had done nothing but talk for weeks, but it hadn't done any good as far as James could tell. "Good luck on your exams," he said. "You're finished this year, aren't you? What are you going to do after graduation?" He tried to remember what she was studying. International Affairs, he thought.

She smiled and her eyes lit up. "I've applied to grad school at Columbia. And I'm hoping to get an internship at the United Nations."

"You'll get it," he said and smiled back at her. He'd found that people almost always believed him when he smiled. It didn't fix anything either, but it made it easier for him to try. And he'd meant it. She'd always known what she wanted and how to get it. He stepped forward and hugged her awkwardly. "Maybe I'll see you around at Christmas," he said.

"Sure, Jimmy," she hugged him back, and her arms were as strong as he remembered. "You take care of yourself."

He watched her walk down the driveway, then closed the door and went into the kitchen to start dinner. Michael didn't come home that night or the next morning, but he wandered in an hour or so after his parents returned, with the news that he'd found a part-time job at the hardware store. His mother insisted on baking a cake to celebrate, and his father gave Michael a beer, and Peter wanted to know if he got to use the power tools.

James said nothing and tried not to finger the scab forming on the back of his head. None of them ever mentioned the accident.