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"Jackie, watch out!" Angel screamed. Jack ducked in time to narrowly avoid being struck full in the face with a hockey puck. Bobby had hit it so hard in a fit of rage it slid off the ice and launched itself at the boy. "Christ, Bobby. Watch it."
"Hey, I'm not the one who wasn't paying attention!" Bobby hollered back. He skated expertly over the ice, weaving in between the opposing team as well as his own, and hit the puck once again with the force of a Mack truck. It sailed across the ice and shot into the goal. "Yes!" He shouted, raising his stick. "Oh, that is another game to the Michigan fucking Mauler, thank you very much!"
Game won, the Mercers retreated to the edge of the pond to change their shoes and walk home. Bobby slung his arms over Jack and Angel's shoulders, Jerry being clever enough to stay away.
"Jesus, Bobby, you stink." Jack made a face. He slid out from under Bobby's arm, turning his face away. The brothers crossed the road and headed onto their street. "Who's standing in out front yard?" Jack asked suddenly.
Jerry shielded his eyes. "You gotta be kidding me. It's Scott." The other three turned to look.
Yes, it was Scott, wearing a t-shirt and baggy jeans in early December. As they drew closer, they realized he was also shoeless, digging his toes into the grey, frozen mud of the front lawn.
"What are you-"
"Someone- Arlene I think- called for you Angel." Scott held out the heavy white telephone. "It sounded kind of important. I was just checking to see if you were home yet. I got lucky."
"Your skin is blue, kiddo." Jerry pointed out, shrugging out of his heavy yellow coat and slipping it over Scott's shoulders. "I think you should go in and change into dry clothes." He started to march his troubling younger brother into the house. Bobby watched them leave shrewdly.
"Hey, Jackie, lemme ask you something." Jack shoved his hands in pockets and turned to Bobby. "You guys got any trees at your school? Any like, trees that you can climb or whatever?"
"Bobby, this is Detroit." Jack reminded him. "Detroit, Michigan. The only trees we have here are the ones people grow in their basement."
"So, Scott couldn't have climbed a tree at school and fallen out?" He demanded. Jack shrugged.
"Maybe if he skipped and went to the park." They walked up the steps and into the front hall. "Why? Did something happen?"
Something crashed in the kitchen. Heedless of his wet boots, Bobby pushed past Jack and went to the kitchen door. Scott was staring miserably at a broken plate.
"Damn it." He said. "Damn it, damn it, damn it. I tried to catch it. That was my favorite plate, too." He knelt and started to pick up the larger pieces. "Bobby, can you get me the broom?" Bobby made a wary track around the glass, taking off his boots and throwing them into the laundry room, so as not to track mud all over. "Shit." Scott had cut a wide gash across his palm.
"Oh man, you okay?" He used the broom to push away the mess, grabbing Scott's skinny arm and pulling him over. He pulled a napkin out of the basket and pressed it against his palm to stem the flow. "It isn't that deep. You want to go take care of it and I'll finish cleaning up?" Scott held tightly to the napkin, standing and leaving.
"He is getting really careless, Bobby." Jerry said. "He's gonna get hurt. I just talked to Angel. You know the girl that called? It was an hour ago. An hour, Bobby."
"Come on, Jerry." Bobby said bracingly. He tried to keep his voice down, wondering whether Scott was in the habit of sitting on the stairs. "You really think he was outside like that for an hour? He would've froze to death."
"Maybe not for a whole hour." Jerry admitted. "But long enough. I brought him in, remember? His skin was almost blue. He was half frozen already." Bobby didn't have a reply, so he knelt and started to move the glass from the floor to the trash can. "What if next time it isn't something that'll just hurt him?" Jerry persisted. "What if he leaves the gas on, or drops something electric into a sink? It's getting dangerous. You have to talk to him."
"And do what?" Bobby snapped. "Tell him to knock it off? Jerry, he's a kid. Kids do stupid things. He'll do what Jack did. Scare himself outta his wits, and then grow a spine. Don't you remember? He was fine before Ma adopted him. He's just scaring himself now 'cause he doesn't know how long it's gonna last."
Jerry paused to think this over, glaring at Bobby. "Jack didn't smash plates or stand outside barefoot in snow." He turned and left the kitchen. Bobby put the broom away, taking his coat off and hanging it up.
Did Scott smash the plate? He seemed remorseful over it. Bobby wondered what else he had done lately that would warrant suspicion, slowly climbing the stairs. Obviously, the docks had been strange. The troubling bruise and raw hands. His new attitude. He had recently taken to long walks, and Jerry and Jack seemed to go to a lot of trouble to hide the knives. Sometimes he played Jack's guitar for hours, never a specific song. Just random notes, the same ones, over and over again. He would sit in a chair or on the couch for long periods of time as well, sometimes swinging his legs, sometimes laying down.
The light in the bathroom was still on. Bobby intended to check on Scott, see if he needed any help with his bandage. He peered through the doorway. Scott had his cheek pressed against the glass of the sink, facing the wall. His cut hand was extended gracefully, blood dripping steadily into the sink.
"It's gross, isn't it?" Bobby turned around. Jack was sitting cross-legged on his bed, staring at Scott. Bobby moved into the bedroom and shut the door. He jerked his head towards the direction of the bathroom.
"How long?" He asked, very quietly.
"He came up here, turned on the tap, sat on the toilet and keeled forward. I was gonna go help but he held out his arm and started doing that." He shook his head, shaking long blond bangs from his eyes. "Go stop him."
Sighing, Bobby opened the door and moved into the bathroom. "What's the matter, kid? You forget how to do a band-aid?" Scott didn't move. "Hey, hey Scott. What's up?" He poked his shoulder. Scott groaned, shaking his head. Bobby shook his shoulder roughly. "Scott."
"What?" Scott mumbled, lifting his head. He yawned, pulling his arm back and stretching. "What time is it?"
"Past your bedtime, apparently." Bobby grumbled. He pulled Scott to his feet, steadying him and walking him gently to his room. Instantly, Scott collapsed onto his bed. Bobby did his best to cover him with a blanket, noting his clothes were still damp. "You're an idiot." He announced to Jack, heading out of the room and downstairs to watch the rest of the hockey game.