“Feelin’ better?” she asked finally.
He didn’t answer her, but he didn’t get up and leave either. She realized as she looked down the length of his body that he couldn’t. He had wet himself.
“Elias,” she said, putting the emery board down on the table, “let Mama help you.” She walked over and put an arm around his shoulders. His shirt stank from whiskey and tobacco. There were fresh track marks on his arms. After he shrugged her off, she went upstairs.
The next time, the last time, Elias left, he had been gone for nearly a week and showed up one Sunday afternoon, his pupils trembling in bloodshot eyes as he shivered, wearing only a flimsy T-shirt in the forty-degree weather. Francine didn’t ask questions but called on Albert, who was upstairs playing video games in the bedroom. He appeared at the head of the stairs.
“Get your brother into the shower,” she said, keeping her voice low. She threw her arms around the paper-thin body—Elias was shivering now—and let her thumb slide over the grainy marks on his arm, punctured by the string of needles. He was crying—loud, sloppy sobs just like he used to when he was a baby. Then she handed him off to Albert.
She found a Reese’s peanut butter cup in a drawer, unwrapped it, and took a bite, enjoying the brief pleasure it gave her. Then she glanced outside the window and saw Billy and his friends playing at the tree with the pit bull. She turned quickly away, not wanting to see more. But barely had the forbidden chocolate settled in her belly when something caught her attention.
Billy was sitting, knees up to his chest on the yellow grass, tilting his ruddy face toward the sun. The other two boys were under the tree with the dog, who was dripping saliva as, teeth bared, he made for the dangling hot dog, tied to a slim branch no less than six feet off the ground. One of them egged Bull on as the other, a rope wound around one wrist, waited just long enough for the animal to be at full height, ready to attack. With a yelp of pain, the dog was pulled back, its legs slamming to the ground.
“Here we go again,” Francine murmured to herself. She heard her knees crack as she got up from the chair.
Francine felt the blood rise to her head so suddenly she thought she might faint. She screamed again. Billy jumped up, and the boys turned white, their eyes riveted. But they weren’t looking at her; it was something else. Something that flew by, whether man or animal, she couldn’t tell. As the rage that had blurred her eyes faded, she soon realized who or what it was. Elias, butt naked, shower water still sliding off his skin. But it wasn’t that sight that caused her body to quiver; it was what she saw as she focused, the object in his hand.
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” Elias was half screaming, half sobbing as he approached the group at the tree, waving the small black gun back and forth like a flag, a rallying cry. No one moved. Francine wanted to say something, but her tongue had frozen solid at the bottom of her mouth. And before she could cry out, before she could even blink, Bull was leaping up for the meat, flying, eyes blazing with a color she had never seen before. And then, just as suddenly, a blast shook the tree, the ground, and everything in it until finally an eerie silence descended over them all. And when the smoke cleared and the stench of the residue shrank from their nostrils, there was Elias, big tears running down his cheeks, the trigger of the gun dangling from his fingers. And Bull, his brown snout pressed to the ground, which quickly tinted a river of red.
Finally, after two or three minutes of silence, Albert appeared. Folding Elias against his chest and taking the gun gingerly, he led his brother into the house. Francine wasn’t sure how long she had stood there, eyes closed, her hand on her forehead, when another sound, a soft one, came to her.
“Francine, we got cops.”
Someone had heard the gunshot and notified the police. Judging by the sound of the siren, they would be at their door in minutes.
And, indeed, when Officers Kates and Ramirez showed up, they wanted to know all about it, what had disturbed the peace in such a quiet neighborhood. Francine and Patrick, who stood as tall as his hunchbacked build would allow, greeted them at the front door. Just a stupid mistake, they told the officers, just trying to get rid of some old fireworks when Patrick’s cigarette went and fell out of his mouth, setting off one of the damn things. You could go check it out in the back if you want. And by the way, would either of you care for a nice cool glass of water, or maybe an Oreo cookie?
The officers declined, remaining stone-faced. Luckily, by the time they checked the yard, the boys had moved Bull deep into the woods behind the home, covering the suspicious spot with the doghouse, which was now propped just beneath the oak, from its place a few feet behind in the woods. The officers, after only a few moments, which seemed to her like an eternity, moved on with just a warning and a summons for the firecrackers.