Henry Franks(22)

“That?” he asked.

“No,” she said, “it hasn’t been long enough. It’s every thirty seconds.”

“You’ve been counting?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Did you hear it that time?”

“No, you were talking.”

Justine reached her free hand up and covered Henry’s mouth with her palm. He turned to face her and slid the flashlight into his pocket, bringing his own hand up to cover her mouth. She smiled beneath his fingers as the beep sounded again.

His eyes widened and she took her hand down. “Heard it that time, didn’t you?”

Henry nodded and started walking away from the circuit box, into the far corner beneath the staircase. Thirty seconds later, they waited for another beep. After, they took a few more steps on tiptoe, trying to see behind boxes. Another beep.

Henry moved a pile of boxes out of the way until he could see underneath the stairs. An old fire alarm hung off the wall, a faint red light blinking as it beeped once again.

“Well,” Justine said, “that was anti-climactic.”

“What were you expecting?” He took the battery out of the alarm and tested it on his tongue.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Seeing how much power is left.”

“With your tongue?”

He held the 9-volt out to her. “Here, just touch the two metal things.”

“No thanks,” she said. “I trust you.”

“It tingles.”

“It’s electricity. We’re already alive—I’m not eating a battery.” She shook her head. “Though I could go for a donut.”

He pocketed the battery and started picking up the boxes he’d moved.

“Henry?” She was on her hands and knees when he turned to look at her, and all he saw was the way her shorts stretched across the back of very tan, very slim thighs, the shadows playing hide-and-seek with his vision as he watched her sit up. “It’s empty.”

She passed a small box over to him, the half-ripped-off label still showing part of an address.

“CME-U,” he read out loud. “I can’t make out the rest, it’s missing.”

“Does it mean anything to you?” she asked.

He shook his head. “You?”

“Of course, it solves everything,” she said. “Do I look like Sherlock Holmes?”

Henry looked her up and down, at the dust stains on her knees, the long tendrils of hair sticking to her neck in the heat, the T-shirt glued to her skin. “I’d have enjoyed the books a lot more,” he said.

Justine grabbed his hand and walked back into the maze of boxes, then let go of him with a laugh in order to straighten out the mess.

On the way up the stairs, she turned the light out and reached for his hand again.



In the kitchen, a bag of fast-food burgers sat on the table next to a pile of junk mail. Down the hall at the master bedroom a ray of light bled through the edges of the door, but his father was nowhere to be seen.

“Dinner?” Justine asked, pointing at the table.

“Burgers again,” he said with a shrug.

“I’m sorry we didn’t find anything.”

“I have that box now, not to mention my scrapbook,” Henry said. “And a burger.”

“And ketchup,” she said, picking up one of the packets next to the bag. “I’d still like to see your scrapbook one day.”

“I’m free Sunday,” he said.

She threw the packet of ketchup at him. “You have a date tomorrow?”

He flinched, his hand a second too slow to stop it from bouncing off his forehead. “Something with my dad. No date.”

“Your reflexes kinda suck, you know?”

“I know.”

“Sunday?” she asked.

“Anytime.”

“Sorry about the ketchup, figured you’d catch it,” she said. “Pun intended.”

“Still not funny.”

She smiled. “Puns are an unappreciated art form.”

“For good reason.”

“Seems like an awful lot of food for just the two of you,” Justine said.

“He’s always telling me to eat more.”

“My mom’s always telling me to eat less.”

“It’s not all for us. I think maybe he’s feeding the homeless or something.”

“The homeless?”

“The other night he brought home a lot of food. I think he’s leaving it outside for someone.”

“Why?”

“After dinner, I found the bag on the back stoop.”

“Maybe he’s feeding a stray cat?”

“A stray cat that cleans up after itself? The empty wrappers were inside the bag.”

“Does he do that every night?”

Henry shrugged, then shook his head. “I don’t know. Only saw him do it one time.”

“Why didn’t you ask him?”

“Honestly?” 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.”