stared at her father, and then at the man who had just hit him with a look of disbelief, as though Arty had just broken some kind of playground rule.
“How about that?” Arty said to Jim. “I think the kid gets it already.” He turned back to Patrick. “Thank your daughter, bud. She just saved you a few more shots.”
Arty gripped Patrick’s chair, and with a solid jerk, spun him a quarter turn and pushed him all the way back against the wall.
He then glanced over at Caleb. The boy was curled into a ball on his mother’s lap, his head tucked into her chest.
“How you doing over there, champ?” he asked.
The boy didn’t budge.
Jim chuckled. “He looks like a fucking hedgehog doesn’t he?”
Arty didn’t respond to his brother. He was focused on Caleb. “Hellooooo? Caaaaaaaleb?”
The boy flinched upon hearing his name, but only burrowed harder into his mother’s chest. Amy hollered until her eyes bulged. Her words were more decipherable through the gag now. Patrick’s too. They had grown wet and thinner from the constant saliva and tears, and Amy’s hateful words were gargled but clear. “Leave hin aloe you huckin hastard!”
Arty put a hand to his chest as though insulted. He looked over at Jim. “She thinks we mean to harm the lad.” He returned to Amy and shook his head. “We’re here to entertain the children, Amy. Not hurt. Never hurt.”
Arty left the room. When he reappeared moments later he was carrying a green pillowcase filled with items that appeared heavy enough to stretch the material.
“Hey, Caleb,” Arty said. “Look what I’ve got.” Arty reached into the pillowcase and withdrew a flat rock the size of an egg. “What do you think? You think this is a good one? How many skips do you think I can get with this?”
Caleb’s head popped up from his mother’s chest and he looked at Arty with one eye. Arty stepped forward and held the rock in front of Caleb’s face. Caleb jerked his head away as though the rock might bite him.
“He doesn’t get it,” Jim said from the corner.
Arty sighed. “I know. I guess I’ll have to do the first one.”
Arty tossed the rock gently into the air then caught it. He weighed it up and down in his palm, puckered his lips and frowned as if determining its value. “You know, I think this is a good one,” he said.
Arty gripped the flat rock between his thumb and index finger, positioned his arm to the side. “Caleb, are you watching? Are you watching?” He smiled. “Because you’re going next, champ.”
Arty whipped the rock at Patrick, catching him square in the chest. There was a hollow thud on impact. Patrick’s head dipped as he let out a strained gasp.
Jim laughed.
“How many skips did I get on that one, Jim?” Arty asked.
“I’d say about three good ones,” he said. Jim looked down at Carrie and asked, “What do you think, sweetie? Is three about right?”
Carrie didn’t respond. She wasn’t ignoring him; she was in shock.
“What’s her deal?” Arty asked.
Jim shrugged, still keeping a good grip on her. “Taking a personal moment I guess.”
Arty nodded. “Fair enough. Her time will come.” He spun. “Caleb!” The boy jumped. “Come on, buddy, I’m waiting on you.”
Caleb began shaking, his whole body vibrating on his mother’s torso. Amy’s sobs of frustration changed to venomous snorts of spit and obscenities.
Arty walked calmly over to her and flicked her hard on the forehead. There was a thock! sound, and Amy winced from the blow. “Act like a lady,” Arty said.
Patrick growled behind him and Jim laughed again.
Arty reached into the sack and grabbed a second rock. “I’m gonna do it without you, Caleb. Here I go…I’m going…I’m gonna do it without you…”
Caleb’s reaction didn’t change. Arty shook his head. He flung the second rock and cracked Patrick in the forehead this time, a flesh-colored egg appearing instantly. Caleb didn’t see it, but screamed into his mother when he heard the smack of the rock on his father’s skull.
Arty looked at the boy and shrugged innocently. “I thought you liked this shit, Caleb.” He turned to Jim. “What gives?”
“They’re just not getting it.”
“No shit. I mean come on, little man, who would you rather have throwing these things, you or me?” Arty walked next to Patrick. “Because I can keep doing it if you want, but I think your old man might prefer less of an arm.” Arty dug his thumb into the egg on Patrick’s head.