Page 144 of Five Brothers
Macon.
Something crashes, and I jump, looking away from the TV. Trace screams behind me, because the noise scared him. He’s little. Just learned to walk.
“You keep fucking knocking her up!” Macon yells as our dad holds him by the collar against the wall. “You just leave her alone!”
“Stop it!” Dad pleads with him. “Stop!”
He shakes Macon, but my brother is almost as tall as our dad. Dad isn’t hurting him, but they’re fighting a lot, and Macon messed up the table. It’s upside down in the kitchen.
He shakes his head as Dad tries to hold him. “There are too many of us,” Macon tells him. He cries.
Army picks up Trace. He tries to hold him in one arm and take my hand, but I pull away.
“I hate it here,” Macon shouts. “I hate her like this! Why can’t you leave her alone?”
Dad stands there, his black hair gone white at his temples. I stare at the tears in the plaid shirt tied around his waist.
Macon loves Mom more than he loves Dad. He’s always mad at him.
The ceiling creaks, Mom in her room. She’s there a lot. Alone. A lot. “She can’t have another kid,” Macon chokes out.
He and Dad look at each other, but my dad doesn’t say anything. He leaves out the back, the screen door flapping shut behind him.
Looking back at Macon, I see the wet spots on his T-shirt, and he wipes his face dry. He doesn’t look at us, just runs out the front door.
“Dallas, come on,” I hear Army say.
Instead of following him, I go to the window in the dining room and climb out to the wing of the house that used to be here. Big columns still stick out of the ground, and there’s lots of boards everywhere. Iron sits up on a platform nailed onto the old rafters that my dad built for the older boys, and only they’re allowed to go up. He lets me climb up there sometimes, though. Iron is six.
The light shines down, and I stand under the treehouse, seeing him through the cracks. He’s lying down, his arms under his head. There’s music somewhere. It smells good out here. Flowers.
I almost call up to him to help me up, but I don’t. I don’t want him to move. It’s nice to look up. I love Iron. He’s nice to me.
She can’t have another kid.
I hold my fingers, looking back at the house and up at the rafters. I don’t know where to go.
My throat hurts. I want to cry.
The sun goes down while I’m out there.
And then … someone picks me up. I’m in the air, flipping around, and I’m on Macon’s back, holding tight as he climbs up to the treehouse. I smile at the feeling in my stomach, suddenly feeling better.
We sit on the landing. Army follows with a bag. Iron pops up, seeing us, and Army takes out ice cream and cups and spoons and chocolate sauce. I grab the bottle because I can do it myself.
“Is Mom okay?” Iron looks at Macon.
“Mom’s fine,” he mumbles, scooping ice cream into the mugs.
“Trace is in bed. Ice cream for dinner.”
We all get our cups, and I squeeze the syrup into mine. Lots and lots.
“Stop yelling at Dad,” Army whispers to Macon.
“Fuck him.”
Macon doesn’t look at him, but he looks at me, and I get scared. Then, he holds out his cup, and I smile, squeezing the syrup into his as hard as I can.