Almost Kings by Max Doty Page A

annihilated.
    “Something’s wrong,” I said. “Lizzie sent me to—”
    My brother was pulling up his jeans by then and looking around for his shirt. Nadine leaned back and put her head against the windshield. Her skirt was still pulled up to her hips, and I saw everything.
    “Shirt,” he said. “Shirt, shirt. Damn it.”
    I backed out the door and took a few steps toward the main house. There, standing in the snow, was Lizzie. She must have followed me out.
    “You found him,” she said. “Didn’t you?”
    I was an ice sculpture, the falling flakes not melting on my coat. I said nothing.
    “Well?”
    My tongue was a frozen lump. She pushed past me through the door, and I heard her scream as she entered the garage.
    “James,” she said.
    “Damn it, Lizzie. You said you weren’t coming.”
    She backed out the door and tripped on the gap where the concrete floor gave way to dirt. She fell to the wet ground, and my brother, still shirtless, ran out to help her up. Her arms were coated in mud and snow that rubbed off on him as she pushed him away and fell back down.
    “Get the hell away from me,” she screamed. She was bawling now and gasping with pain from her gut. As she knelt there, she pulled off the ring Truck had given her. She held it up to his face and flung it out into the trees. He watched it disappear into the darkness.
    “Fuck you,” she said. “Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.”
    “Lizzie.” I’d never seen Truck cry. He didn’t that night, either, but it was the closest I’d ever seen him come.
    “I said stay away,” she shouted.
    “Fine,” he said. “Fucking fine.”
    He stood in the doorway watching us as I helped Lizzie get up and we took a few steps away. She was putting a lot of weight on me, and I wondered how bad off she was.
    “Are you okay?” I asked.
    “I need to go to a doctor.”
    “Yeah,” I said. “Sure thing.”
    I walked her over to the Ford, reached underneath, and found the spare key kept there for emergencies. I helped Lizzie into the passenger side before I got inside and gunned the engine. As we peeled out, I saw Truck off in the trees, the beam of his flashlight cut-through with snowflakes as he searched for the ring.
     
    The E.R. took Lizzie as soon as we walked in and she told them she’d been bleeding. I hung out in the waiting room for an hour or two, surrounded by coughing old folks and moms with sobbing kids. I’d been here once or twice with Mom and Truck when I was real little, and the place brought back bad memories.
    It was after two by then, and there’d been no word on Lizzie, so I went to the Ford to get some sleep. Truck and Hass had left their backpacks inside, and I found a spare coat in my brother’s bag to use as a blanket. It was just above freezing, too cold to sleep, but I couldn’t go home, and I wouldn’t face the hospital again. The world swirled with cold white, and I wondered if my brother would show.
    There came a point where I started going in and out of dream and became seven years old again. I’d broken a window playing catch with Truck, but when dad had asked who did it, Truck took the blame like usual. Dad was in a bad place that day, and instead of a couple bruises, my brother ended up with a broken arm. My mom told the nurses he fell off the top bunk, but she looked tired telling the lie. I don’t blame her for leaving town a couple months later. I just wish she’d taken us with her.
    The day Dad broke Truck’s bone, I sat in the waiting room while they took my brother in for x-rays. The whole time, I kept looking at my arm and punching it softly with the other, testing my brittleness. Dad never did hit me. I learned not to set him off, and Truck was there to step in the few times I messed up. I always wondered what it felt like, though, to break inside, under the skin. As a kid, I’d always wanted to ask my brother how it felt.
     
    I woke up to a tapping on the window the next morning. Lizzie looked like hell,