Page 89 of Five Brothers

He starts to back away. “You should come tonight.”

Everyone starts spilling out of the bar, hopping into cars with their open containers of liquor, and I kind of want to go. All the other women are going.

Removing my apron, I take out my tips from the restaurant and stuff them in my back pocket, following everyone out of the bar.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I call out to Iris, not asking if I can leave. The place is almost empty, and it’s her shift to close up.

I walk out into the parking lot, tires sloshing through puddles as people leave, and I catch sight of Army, stopping in his truck andwaiting to see what I’m doing. Dallas is in the front seat, Trace and the girl in the back.

But I look away and keep walking, seeing him finally pull away out of the corner of my eye. Off to the strip club without me.

I walk toward the light in the garage. Macon shouldn’t be alone so much.

10

Krisjen

Taillights disappear in the distance. As the roar of the cars fades, it leaves the Bay deserted and quiet as I step into Macon’s garage. My Rover is up on the lift, about six inches off the ground, and two of my tires are missing.

The car shouldn’t be taking this long to fix, but I’m not complaining. He’s busy, and I’m lucky to have him at all. And for free.

The speaker on the shelf plays Hozier, and I walk around the car. Sections of paint are sanded off, all places where I had either scratches or maybe a dent or two. I don’t know. I didn’t keep track of every time someone’s car door slammed into mine, ormaybethe few times I drove over bushes or through trees, sneaking around with my friends and causing havoc like an idiot.

The driver’s side door no longer has the two-foot-long line of silver paint that I just suddenly noticed one morning after coming out of my house this past summer. Coincidentally, I’d told Milo off (again) the night before. It’s probably related.

Macon steps out of the house, stopping at the top of the stairs. He holds a greasy cloth in one hand, a car part in the other. I clear my throat. “Iron replaced the two tires that were damaged,” I say, walking around the car. “What’s wrong with the other two?”

I’m not going to be nervous. If he tells me to beat it, I will. Let’s see what happens.

But he continues down the stairs, saying instead, “They were bald.”

I follow him with my eyes, taking stock of the dark circles under his eyes that are always there now. I would’ve thought he was going to bed after that shower earlier. I spot the bag of food on the table, still unopened.

I squat down, picking up a piece of sandpaper on the cement floor.

But a hiss hits my ears, and I halt in my tracks, gasping. A snake sits coiled on one side of the garage door, gray with black spots. That’s a …

That’s a …

Oh shit.

I jerk my eyes to Macon, but he’s already there. He leans down, and I open my mouth to scream for him to stop, but he yanks the tail, catches the neck, and I watch as he walks into the street, flinging it into the woods on the other side of the road.

I’m breathing hard, my heart jackhammering, but he turns and heads back to his worktable, not looking at me.

That was a …

That was a …

What the fuck?We have wildlife here, but that was a pit viper. A pygmy rattlesnake. We did a project in sixth grade about the wildlife threats in our area. I remember.

I put my hand over my mouth, ready to vomit.

I swirl my eyes around me, checking for any more. That can’t happen often, right? We don’t actually see them in St. Carmen.

I glance at Macon. He squats down on the other side of the car, and I start to hear sandpaper grinding against the car like what just happened couldn’t have gone bad in a second.

Like going to look for a gator on the loose by himself a couple of weeks ago wasn’t careless, too.