I was holding a mug of coffee I’d poured an hour earlier.
Cold now.
I hadn’t taken a sip.
Then the mug was in pieces on the tile.
I didn’t drop it.
Scout made me drop it.
He slammed into the back door with everything he had.
Bang.
The glass rattled in the frame.
Bang.
Then his claws.
Tearing at the wood.
Like the house was burning and he was the only one who knew.
“Scout!”
He barked.
Not his normal bark.
Something deep and raw and furious.
I’d never heard him make that sound.
“Scout, stop it.”
He didn’t stop.
He got louder.
I stepped over the broken mug.
Coffee soaked into my socks.
I unlocked the back door.
I pulled it open.
And I stopped breathing.
Scout was standing on the porch.
Sides heaving.
Mud to his elbows.
Something yellow hung from his mouth.
Bright yellow.
Soft.
With little white buttons.
Daisy buttons.
I knew it before I touched it.
I knew it the way you know your own handwriting.
Ruby’s cardigan.
The one she wore to art class.
The one she had on when the truck hit them.
My legs went out.
I caught the door frame with both hands.
Scout set the cardigan at my feet.
Carefully.
Like it was made of glass.
I knelt.
I picked it up.
It wasn’t torn.
There was no glass in it.
No stains.
Nothing that should be on a sweater pulled out of a wreck.
It smelled like strawberry shampoo.
Fresh.
Like she’d just taken it off.
Both cuffs had purple paint smeared across them.
I touched it.
It came off on my fingertips.
Wet.
The paint was still wet.
Scout barked once.
Sharp.
He grabbed the cardigan out of my hands.
He bolted down the porch steps.
He ran to the back fence.
Then he stopped.
And he looked back at me.
Waiting.
“Jason!”
I screamed it toward the hallway.
“Jason!”
Nothing.
His crutches were propped against the arm of the couch.
The guest room door was closed.
Sleeping, I thought.
The pills make him sleep.
No coat.
