couch. His feet were propped on the coffee table in classic Dale fashion.
Dale’s dad stood and stared at the pair with a tired look. “Been a long time, son.”
Jonah waited for Dale’s response, worried the zombie might say something that would get the pair of them kicked out before they could get the information they came for. Dale, however, said nothing. In fact, he wasn’t even looking at his dad. He was rummaging through the man’s DVD collection.
“Dale,” Jonah whispered.
Dale snapped his attention to Jonah. “What?”
Jonah dipped his head in the elder Jenkins’s direction.
Dale shook his head in confusion again.
“Your father is talking to you,” Jonah said. He was worried that he had placed too much emphasis on the word ‘father’, because the elder Jenkins raised an eyebrow.
“Hi,” Dale said, lifting his hand to his dad before he turned his attention back to the rack of movies.
Jonah groaned. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jenkins. He’s … well … Dale.”
“Don’t worry, young man,” the elder Jenkins said. “He never paid me much attention when he was younger. Why start now? Can I get you some coffee? Or do you want something stronger?”
“Oh, coffee is fine, thanks.”
“How do you take it?”
“He likes his coffee like he likes his women,” Dale said without looking up from his crouched position in front of the DVDs.
It was a favorite old joke between them, but it wasn’t the most appropriate punch line to air in front of an estranged man you were trying to befriend.
“Not now, Dale,” Jonah hissed.
“Okay then, how does he like his women?” the elder Jenkins asked, a smirk lurking about his lips.
Usually, normally, on an average day when they were joshing and fooling about, the joke was funny. Dale would say the punch line in a Groucho-esque voice and end it with a little soft shoe shuffle to lighten the terrible implications of the words. But today, tonight, in this veritable stranger’s home, the punch line was less of a punch to the funny bone, and more of a punch to the gut.
How did Jonah like his coffee and, by extension, his women?
Dale looked up to his dad and recited, “Ground up and in the freezer.”
Dale said this with such flatness, such grim authority, that the temperature of the room seemed to drop ten degrees. The effect left Jonah nauseated, as if he had just borne witness to something awful.
“I see,” Dale’s dad said. The smirk was long gone.
“He’s only joking,” Jonah squeaked. “I take cream and sugar. Thanks.”
“Anything for you?” The man looked to his son for an answer, but Dale ignored his father and returned to the stack of movies. The elder Jenkins let out a soft sigh, then said, “Make yourselves comfortable. I expect we have a lot to talk about.”
As the older man disappeared into the kitchen, Jonah took the recliner across from the couch, leaving Dale to sit next to his dad. The zombie had finished inspecting the movies and had moved on to the rack of CDs. Jonah was appalled at the lack of interest the dead man was showing in the situation. “Dale.”
“What?”
“Come over here and sit down.”
“Why? I’m more comfortable when I move around.”
“Because the man opened his home to us. The least you can do is pretend to care.”
Dale straightened. “And why should I care? From what I can remember, he cut me out of his life years ago. I don’t even remember him now. Why should I care?”
“Dale—” Jonah started.
“He has a point,” the elder Jenkins said, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, a steaming mug in each hand. “I haven’t been there for him.”
“See,” Dale said, as he sat on the far end of the couch. “Daddy says I’m right.”
“There’s still no need to be rude,” Jonah mumbled.
“I wasn’t sure what to think when I saw you on the sidewalk,” Mr. Jenkins said, joining his son on the couch. “And now that you’re up here, I can’t help but wonder what this is all
Dale’s dad stood and stared at the pair with a tired look. “Been a long time, son.”
Jonah waited for Dale’s response, worried the zombie might say something that would get the pair of them kicked out before they could get the information they came for. Dale, however, said nothing. In fact, he wasn’t even looking at his dad. He was rummaging through the man’s DVD collection.
“Dale,” Jonah whispered.
Dale snapped his attention to Jonah. “What?”
Jonah dipped his head in the elder Jenkins’s direction.
Dale shook his head in confusion again.
“Your father is talking to you,” Jonah said. He was worried that he had placed too much emphasis on the word ‘father’, because the elder Jenkins raised an eyebrow.
“Hi,” Dale said, lifting his hand to his dad before he turned his attention back to the rack of movies.
Jonah groaned. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jenkins. He’s … well … Dale.”
“Don’t worry, young man,” the elder Jenkins said. “He never paid me much attention when he was younger. Why start now? Can I get you some coffee? Or do you want something stronger?”
“Oh, coffee is fine, thanks.”
“How do you take it?”
“He likes his coffee like he likes his women,” Dale said without looking up from his crouched position in front of the DVDs.
It was a favorite old joke between them, but it wasn’t the most appropriate punch line to air in front of an estranged man you were trying to befriend.
“Not now, Dale,” Jonah hissed.
“Okay then, how does he like his women?” the elder Jenkins asked, a smirk lurking about his lips.
Usually, normally, on an average day when they were joshing and fooling about, the joke was funny. Dale would say the punch line in a Groucho-esque voice and end it with a little soft shoe shuffle to lighten the terrible implications of the words. But today, tonight, in this veritable stranger’s home, the punch line was less of a punch to the funny bone, and more of a punch to the gut.
How did Jonah like his coffee and, by extension, his women?
Dale looked up to his dad and recited, “Ground up and in the freezer.”
Dale said this with such flatness, such grim authority, that the temperature of the room seemed to drop ten degrees. The effect left Jonah nauseated, as if he had just borne witness to something awful.
“I see,” Dale’s dad said. The smirk was long gone.
“He’s only joking,” Jonah squeaked. “I take cream and sugar. Thanks.”
“Anything for you?” The man looked to his son for an answer, but Dale ignored his father and returned to the stack of movies. The elder Jenkins let out a soft sigh, then said, “Make yourselves comfortable. I expect we have a lot to talk about.”
As the older man disappeared into the kitchen, Jonah took the recliner across from the couch, leaving Dale to sit next to his dad. The zombie had finished inspecting the movies and had moved on to the rack of CDs. Jonah was appalled at the lack of interest the dead man was showing in the situation. “Dale.”
“What?”
“Come over here and sit down.”
“Why? I’m more comfortable when I move around.”
“Because the man opened his home to us. The least you can do is pretend to care.”
Dale straightened. “And why should I care? From what I can remember, he cut me out of his life years ago. I don’t even remember him now. Why should I care?”
“Dale—” Jonah started.
“He has a point,” the elder Jenkins said, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, a steaming mug in each hand. “I haven’t been there for him.”
“See,” Dale said, as he sat on the far end of the couch. “Daddy says I’m right.”
“There’s still no need to be rude,” Jonah mumbled.
“I wasn’t sure what to think when I saw you on the sidewalk,” Mr. Jenkins said, joining his son on the couch. “And now that you’re up here, I can’t help but wonder what this is all
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