Henry Franks by Peter Adam Salomon Page B

dad. No date.”
    â€œYour reflexes kinda suck, you know?”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œSunday?” she asked.
    â€œAnytime.”
    â€œSorry about the ketchup, figured you’d catch it,” she said. “Pun intended.”
    â€œStill not funny.”
    She smiled. “Puns are an unappreciated art form.”
    â€œFor good reason.”
    â€œSeems like an awful lot of food for just the two of you,” Justine said.
    â€œHe’s always telling me to eat more.”
    â€œMy mom’s always telling me to eat less.”
    â€œIt’s not all for us. I think maybe he’s feeding the homeless or something.”
    â€œThe homeless?”
    â€œThe other night he brought home a lot of food. I think he’s leaving it outside for someone.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œAfter dinner, I found the bag on the back stoop.”
    â€œMaybe he’s feeding a stray cat?”
    â€œA stray cat that cleans up after itself? The empty wrappers were inside the bag.”
    â€œDoes he do that every night?”
    Henry shrugged, then shook his head. “I don’t know. Only saw him do it one time.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you ask him?”
    â€œHonestly?” he asked. “I never see him. Plus, even when he’s here, he doesn’t actually seem to be here, if that makes sense. The other night, he was talking to someone, but there was no one else in the room.”
    â€œSee,” she said, “this is the creepy house.”
    He threw the ketchup packet back at her. She caught it mid-flight.
    â€œI can see your backyard from my house,” she said.
    â€œSo?”
    â€œSo, tonight, maybe I’ll keep watch on your stoop, check out the neat-freak cat.”
    As they left the kitchen, Justine slipped her hand back into his but let go before they walked outside. A slight breeze had picked up, salty with the scent of the nearby ocean, but not strong enough to dispel the heavy air or the gnats. Somewhere in the distance a car honked, and a neighbor down the street was mowing. Their arms swung back and forth as they walked next door, their fingers brushing against each other on every swing.
    Behind his fall of hair, Henry smiled and then looked at Justine. She smiled back. It was like nothing he could remember.

fourteen

    His father sat at the dining room table when Henry returned to the house, warped plates and plastic silverware next to unwrapped burgers in need of a microwave. A bottle of water beaded in the heat, leaving a ring on the table when Henry picked it up and finished off half of it.
    â€œGot your blood tests back,” his father said, laying the paperwork next to his plate and pushing the folder across the table. His skin was pale, tight around his eyes and seemed to sink into his cheeks. He kept licking his chapped lips after every bite of dinner.
    Henry glanced at the numbers scrolling down the sheet then pushed them aside. “And?”
    â€œAre you taking your meds?” his father asked. “Some levels are too low. You need to take them every day, Henry. We’ve been over this before. Do I need to sit with you every morning and night to make sure you take them?”
    â€œNo.” Henry took a large bite, staring at his plate as he shook his head. “No.”
    â€œIt’s important you take them. Every day.”
    â€œI know.” He ripped open a packet of ketchup with his teeth and squeezed it onto the remaining half of the burger. “I’ll take them.”
    â€œI’m serious, Henry.”
    â€œI said, ‘I know.’”
    They finished the rest of the burgers without talking, his father watching him eat, the scrutiny a heavy weight in the silence.
    â€œAny problems?” his father asked when they were done.
    â€œProblems?”
    â€œOther than the itching? Odd pains?” His father shrugged, looking everywhere but at his son. “Anything?”
    I think parts of me are dying ,