Write Your Own Song

Chapter 7

The tree stump Jack was sitting on was a memorial of sorts to Bobby's need to burn shit down.

Jack wasn't a Mercer yet when it had happened, but he'd heard all about it, several times. Hell, he could tell the story in vivid detail if he wanted to since Jerry took every opportunity he could get to share it.

His beloved treehouse - up in flames.

It took Jerry all summer to build that thing from plans he'd carefully drawn up himself. He'd gathered supplies from a neighbor who was building a deck and overestimated the amount of lumber he'd need. It was a really hot summer, and dry, too, but Jerry worked every chance he got, hammering nails into planks at all hours of the night until Evelyn had to force him to come in for dinner. It took weeks, but Jerry never wavered from his plans until he was finished - proudly unveiling his work for his two brothers and their mother one late July night.

And it had taken approximately one week for Bobby to destroy it.

Jerry always told the story with such a somber expression that Jack had to fight the urge to laugh. It really wasn't funny, but the idea of the fire department showing up, sirens roaring, trying to extinguish a fire in a tree while two teenagers looked on - one crying and one cracking up - was just too priceless not to laugh.

Grinning despite himself, Jack pulled a cigarette out of the battered pack he'd found hidden in his bedroom. He knew Bobby had already found all the loose tobacco and Marlboros he'd brought with him from New York and trashed them - for his own good, of course.

No, these cigarettes were old, a forgotten pack from when he was a teenager and had to do stuff like stash them throughout the house to keep Evelyn from finding them. Why he bothered hiding them in the first place, he couldn't figure out. His smoking wasn't something Evelyn had been clueless about - she'd known, of course. Something about her, though, made it feel like he should at least try to pretend he didn't smoke, make some effort to act like a normal teenager and normal teenagers hid things like smoking from their parents.

He pulled out his lighter and spun it around in his fingers, the metal cooling quickly in the brisk air. He studied the cigarette he was holding and wondered if it was worth it. It was going to taste like shit; there was no way it wasn't. He wasn't relishing the thought of inhaling stale tobacco, but at this point, he'd settle for anything that would calm his nerves and help distract him from the letter he'd shoved into his back pocket.

XxXxXxXxXx

Bobby was leaning against the kitchen counter, looking out the window when the front door banged open. He didn't turn around to see who it was - he could tell just by the sound of scurrying feet, the excited yippy little barks of the dog, and the ragged sigh of his brother. He'd almost forgotten that Jerry was coming over today with the kids - Camille was away at her sister's for the weekend and Jerry was stuck watching the kids.

Bobby heard the TV turn on and the obnoxious sounds of some kiddy show filled the house. He hadn't been around his nieces much, but he'd already learned that TV only distracted them for so long. Soon they'd be running through the house, giggling and chattering as they got in the way of everything. It was cute ... for about five seconds.

"Since when did you take up bird watching?" Jerry asked as he stepped into the kitchen, making a beeline for the fridge to grab a beer.

"Ain't bird watching. Fairy watching," Bobby answered as he turned around and reached out, grabbing the beer Jerry had just twisted the cap off of. "Thanks, man," he said with a grin, turning back toward the window.

Jerry stared at his empty hand for a second. He opened his mouth as though he was about to say something, but quickly closed it as he went back to the fridge for another bottle.