and Littlefield sat him at the table. Sometimes it was better to simply let Littlefield think he was right. He leaned Bennie’s crutches against the table before unzipping the bag Bennie had brought with him from the hospital. When he found the bottle, he opened it and shook a few pills into his palm.
“Don’t take his drugs,” said Gwen.
Littlefield poured the pills back into the bottle. He was still looking at his brother. “Bennie, you should stay home for a while. Don’t go into town,” he said. Then he started walking to the bathroom. They heard him pour the pills into the toilet. He flushed.
When he came back into the kitchen he said, “Hey, Bennie, get into bed. You’re sick.”
“Did you just throw out all of my pills?” he asked.
“They’re making you dizzy,” said Littlefield.
“Yeah, they’re also killing the pain,” he said. “Painkillers.”
“Are you in pain?”
“No, he isn’t,” said Gwen. “Because he’s been taking those pills.”
“It’s better this way,” said Littlefield.
Bennie was too tired to argue. Gwen didn’t seem to want to continue the conversation either, so she and Littlefield helped him to his bedroom. Gwen had washed the sheets and neatened his room—the bedside lamp was on, casting a pool of warm yellow light on the glass of water she’d brought him. As soon as Bennie pulled the sheets up to his chin, Ronald came from the other room, leapt up onto the bed, and lay down by Bennie’s feet, panting.
“Get off there, you stupid freak,” said Littlefield.
“It’s okay. I like him there,” said Bennie.
“Suit yourself.”
Littlefield stayed in the room, and before Bennie fell asleep he asked Littlefield about the night at the quarry. Littlefield laughed at first, saying he couldn’t believe he’d run right off the edge. Bennie laughed a little,too, remembering the weightlessness of his body. Then he asked about LaBrecque.
“Yeah,” said Littlefield. “They still can’t find him. They’ve had dogs out there and everything.”
“I saw Boak and Shaw before I got hurt,” said Bennie.
“No shit, Bennie. They were the ones who helped get you to the hospital.”
“Where were you?”
“Julian and I were following LaBrecque, up on the north side. He was moving fast. Julian couldn’t keep up—he fell back—so it was just me chasing him. Eventually I lost track of LaBrecque, too. I got all the way to Roderick’s farm. A hell of a walk.” After a few seconds of silence, Littlefield shook his head. Bennie didn’t understand: Littlefield had chased LaBrecque all the way to Roderick’s farm? It was almost a mile from the quarry. Before Bennie’s mouth could open again Littlefield shut off his light and told him to sleep, and then it was as though he was back at the hospital, working slowly through a flip book of dreams.
5
N ot long before Coach died, just after Gwen and Bennie turned fourteen, they’d gone out to Cape Frederick. For years and years afterward, this was how Bennie thought of his father, how he dreamed about him: Coach standing on the rocks in his long brown spectator parka.
On that trip to Cape Fred, Bennie had been lying in the way back of the Vista Cruiser with Gwen, who was staring up at the drooping material hanging from the car’s ceiling. Littlefield and the family dog, Nixon, were reclined in the backseat. Coach drove and Eleanor, their mother, sat beside him.
Back then, Gwen had short hair, spiked up withmousse. In middle school everyone thought she was a wiseass. At sixteen, Littlefield hadn’t yet made the switch to hard-nosed local; he was still unpredictable, of course, and if he punched you he didn’t care if you cried, but otherwise he was good at school and excellent at any sport he tried. He had muscles before most of his peers. He kept a bigger padlock on his gym locker than he’d been issued. The teachers saw him for what he was: smart, determined, stubborn. Everyone called him Littlefield, their
“Don’t take his drugs,” said Gwen.
Littlefield poured the pills back into the bottle. He was still looking at his brother. “Bennie, you should stay home for a while. Don’t go into town,” he said. Then he started walking to the bathroom. They heard him pour the pills into the toilet. He flushed.
When he came back into the kitchen he said, “Hey, Bennie, get into bed. You’re sick.”
“Did you just throw out all of my pills?” he asked.
“They’re making you dizzy,” said Littlefield.
“Yeah, they’re also killing the pain,” he said. “Painkillers.”
“Are you in pain?”
“No, he isn’t,” said Gwen. “Because he’s been taking those pills.”
“It’s better this way,” said Littlefield.
Bennie was too tired to argue. Gwen didn’t seem to want to continue the conversation either, so she and Littlefield helped him to his bedroom. Gwen had washed the sheets and neatened his room—the bedside lamp was on, casting a pool of warm yellow light on the glass of water she’d brought him. As soon as Bennie pulled the sheets up to his chin, Ronald came from the other room, leapt up onto the bed, and lay down by Bennie’s feet, panting.
“Get off there, you stupid freak,” said Littlefield.
“It’s okay. I like him there,” said Bennie.
“Suit yourself.”
Littlefield stayed in the room, and before Bennie fell asleep he asked Littlefield about the night at the quarry. Littlefield laughed at first, saying he couldn’t believe he’d run right off the edge. Bennie laughed a little,too, remembering the weightlessness of his body. Then he asked about LaBrecque.
“Yeah,” said Littlefield. “They still can’t find him. They’ve had dogs out there and everything.”
“I saw Boak and Shaw before I got hurt,” said Bennie.
“No shit, Bennie. They were the ones who helped get you to the hospital.”
“Where were you?”
“Julian and I were following LaBrecque, up on the north side. He was moving fast. Julian couldn’t keep up—he fell back—so it was just me chasing him. Eventually I lost track of LaBrecque, too. I got all the way to Roderick’s farm. A hell of a walk.” After a few seconds of silence, Littlefield shook his head. Bennie didn’t understand: Littlefield had chased LaBrecque all the way to Roderick’s farm? It was almost a mile from the quarry. Before Bennie’s mouth could open again Littlefield shut off his light and told him to sleep, and then it was as though he was back at the hospital, working slowly through a flip book of dreams.
5
N ot long before Coach died, just after Gwen and Bennie turned fourteen, they’d gone out to Cape Frederick. For years and years afterward, this was how Bennie thought of his father, how he dreamed about him: Coach standing on the rocks in his long brown spectator parka.
On that trip to Cape Fred, Bennie had been lying in the way back of the Vista Cruiser with Gwen, who was staring up at the drooping material hanging from the car’s ceiling. Littlefield and the family dog, Nixon, were reclined in the backseat. Coach drove and Eleanor, their mother, sat beside him.
Back then, Gwen had short hair, spiked up withmousse. In middle school everyone thought she was a wiseass. At sixteen, Littlefield hadn’t yet made the switch to hard-nosed local; he was still unpredictable, of course, and if he punched you he didn’t care if you cried, but otherwise he was good at school and excellent at any sport he tried. He had muscles before most of his peers. He kept a bigger padlock on his gym locker than he’d been issued. The teachers saw him for what he was: smart, determined, stubborn. Everyone called him Littlefield, their
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