Henry Franks A Novel

nineteen





The salt of the Atlantic lingered on the hot early morning breeze when Henry opened the door. As he walked up the street, he looked over his shoulder toward Justine’s house and slowed his pace when her door opened. He stopped completely when she appeared.

In a white sundress with a yellow belt, Justine flowed down the street, moving from one patch of shade to another. Her hair caught the wind, swirling around her like a cloak, hiding everything but her smile. When she stopped in front of him, she brought the shade with her.

“You,” he said before turning around to look for the school bus.

“Yes?” she said.

“Morning.”

“You too.” She walked up beside him, facing the oncoming bus. “Did you know that high schools in England are called secondary schools? Didn’t help much, though, to be honest.”

“Help?” he said as they found their seat and sat down.

“Well,” she said, twisting around to face him, her leg caught up beneath her. “He doesn’t have a British accent, right?”

“Who?”

“Your father. I was bored. You were asleep, remember?”

He shook his head, then smiled. “Start over again.”

“Your dad, not British, not in secondary school in England. I checked a few Oxford-related school listings, didn’t find many William Franks in their class annuals, very helpful, no pictures though. But, since the years didn’t really work, I gave up. With me now?”

“Yes,” he said. “I think.”

“It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“I know.”

“No, it’s worse,” Justine said. “It’s like looking for one particular needle named William among all the needles in all the haystacks. Have you figured out what you’re going to do if we find out where he went to school?”

Henry shook his head, a half-frown on his face.

“You still could ask him.”

“He’s never even home anymore. No one to ask.”

“Where is he?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Work?” He shrugged. “I don’t think he sleeps much.”

“You all right?”

He looked at her. A loose curl caught the wind from the open windows, warm honey eyes welcoming him along with her smile. “I think so.”

“Ever look for those pictures again?”

“Everywhere but in his bedroom.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“It’s always locked, even when he’s not home. So I don’t even bother anymore.”

“Locked?”

Henry shrugged.

The metallic shriek of the brakes as they turned into the high school carried through the bus. With the motion, Justine slid against his shoulder.

“Any plans this weekend?” he asked.

She looked up at him, her hair falling between them. “Any time in particular? Like, say, Friday night?”

“Friday night would be good,” he said with a smile.

“As long as the hurricane turns north, no plans at all.”

“Didn’t they tell us in school that they always turn?”

“Pretty much. It’s the elbow effect,” she said, bending her arm to show him. “Hurricanes tend to prefer Florida or South Carolina. Georgia’s protected.”

“Would you want to see a movie or something?”

“Like a date?” She smiled, running her fingers through her hair to tie it up in a ponytail.

“Like a date.”

“Yes,” she said. “Although of course it’ll have to be approved by my parents. But for the record, my answer is yes.”

They were almost inside the school, walking next to each other, when she reached for his hand.