their mother.
Henry threw his fork into his omelet.
"He says that a jury will see it as an accident. And that he did all he could to help Franklin. And he has no previous record."
"And he's Cambodian," said Henry.
"That's not fair," said Louisa.
"Of course it's not fair. Poor refugees, let them get away with anything because they've had such a hard life."
"No one is saying that," said Louisa.
"Franklin would say that, but Franklin isn't talking. He's in a hospital room with his brain smacked around, and Chay Chouan is sitting at the dinner table eating egg rolls. 'Everything is going to be fine, after all.' That's what they're saying. 'Pass the ginseng.'"
Louisa stood. "Don't think you know everything, Henry. It isn't like that at all."
But Henry stood, too. "And how would you know what I think, Louisa? You have no idea, because you've been hiding up in your room since Franklin got hit, and you don't know a single thing about what we've been going through while you mope around by yourself. So don't tell me what I think. Don't you dare tell me what I think."
"I do know what you think. You think that Frank is the next Great American Hero, but it doesn't help anyone to live a lie. Because he isn't. No, he isn't. Just say it, Henry, because you already know he isn't."
Henry put his hand up to his neck.
"That's right," Louisa said. And then she went upstairs.
Neither Henry nor his mother ate much of the omelet. And it wasn't because of the eggshells. Or because it was cold.
They didn't talk while they did the dishes.
Black Dog flopped at their feet with her belly up.
But she did eat the rest of the omelet that they scraped into her bowl. Even the shells.
It was still light out after supper—the days were getting longer now—so Henry and Black Dog went down to what was left of Salvage Cove again. Henry brought a Frisbee—though Black Dog didn't understand the point of the game. Henry would throw it, and Black Dog would sit beside him and watch to see what happened next. So Henry would fetch the Frisbee and come back with it, show it to Black Dog, and throw it again. And then Black Dog waited until Henry went to fetch it again. Henry tried six times and finally gave up after Black Dog yawned and stretched out on the strip of sand, bored. He lay down beside her, and together they watched the waves turn black-purple before they broke and their white insides erupted.
Before they left, Henry threw the Frisbee down the beach once more—in case Black Dog had finally gotten the hang of it. Black Dog watched it sail, and then she yawned.
"Good dog." Henry sighed and went to fetch the Frisbee, stopping to rub his hand along the clean ribs of the ship.
He didn't expect the jagged splinter of wood that pierced his palm. When he jerked his hand back, he pulled the wound open farther and left a streak of blood along the wooden beam. The blood caught the very last light and glistened darkly. Henry pressed his two hands together, and then went down to the water to rinse off in the stinging salt. But the wound was deep, and the blood did not stop. When Black Dog came to investigate and smelled the scent of it, she howled and howled like Disaster.
And "Disaster" was the word Blythbury-by-the-Sea used when word got out about the plea bargain.
It was reported in the
Blythbury-by-the-Sea Chronicle.
Mr. Horkesley, on his way to make his deposit at the Blythbury-by-the-Sea Bank of New England, told Mrs. Ramsey, on her way to the Blythbury-by-the-Sea Delicatessen, that it was a scandal, a perfect scandal, and that the Smiths must certainly refuse it. Mrs. Taunton, checking books back into the Blythbury-by-the-Sea Free Public Library, assured each new patron that of course the Smiths would refuse it. Wasn't their son still lying in a coma in the hospital with both arms gone? Of course they would refuse it. Mrs. Syon, who ran the Blythbury-by-the-Sea Antiques and Collectibles Shoppe, mentioned more than a dozen times that she knew
Henry threw his fork into his omelet.
"He says that a jury will see it as an accident. And that he did all he could to help Franklin. And he has no previous record."
"And he's Cambodian," said Henry.
"That's not fair," said Louisa.
"Of course it's not fair. Poor refugees, let them get away with anything because they've had such a hard life."
"No one is saying that," said Louisa.
"Franklin would say that, but Franklin isn't talking. He's in a hospital room with his brain smacked around, and Chay Chouan is sitting at the dinner table eating egg rolls. 'Everything is going to be fine, after all.' That's what they're saying. 'Pass the ginseng.'"
Louisa stood. "Don't think you know everything, Henry. It isn't like that at all."
But Henry stood, too. "And how would you know what I think, Louisa? You have no idea, because you've been hiding up in your room since Franklin got hit, and you don't know a single thing about what we've been going through while you mope around by yourself. So don't tell me what I think. Don't you dare tell me what I think."
"I do know what you think. You think that Frank is the next Great American Hero, but it doesn't help anyone to live a lie. Because he isn't. No, he isn't. Just say it, Henry, because you already know he isn't."
Henry put his hand up to his neck.
"That's right," Louisa said. And then she went upstairs.
Neither Henry nor his mother ate much of the omelet. And it wasn't because of the eggshells. Or because it was cold.
They didn't talk while they did the dishes.
Black Dog flopped at their feet with her belly up.
But she did eat the rest of the omelet that they scraped into her bowl. Even the shells.
It was still light out after supper—the days were getting longer now—so Henry and Black Dog went down to what was left of Salvage Cove again. Henry brought a Frisbee—though Black Dog didn't understand the point of the game. Henry would throw it, and Black Dog would sit beside him and watch to see what happened next. So Henry would fetch the Frisbee and come back with it, show it to Black Dog, and throw it again. And then Black Dog waited until Henry went to fetch it again. Henry tried six times and finally gave up after Black Dog yawned and stretched out on the strip of sand, bored. He lay down beside her, and together they watched the waves turn black-purple before they broke and their white insides erupted.
Before they left, Henry threw the Frisbee down the beach once more—in case Black Dog had finally gotten the hang of it. Black Dog watched it sail, and then she yawned.
"Good dog." Henry sighed and went to fetch the Frisbee, stopping to rub his hand along the clean ribs of the ship.
He didn't expect the jagged splinter of wood that pierced his palm. When he jerked his hand back, he pulled the wound open farther and left a streak of blood along the wooden beam. The blood caught the very last light and glistened darkly. Henry pressed his two hands together, and then went down to the water to rinse off in the stinging salt. But the wound was deep, and the blood did not stop. When Black Dog came to investigate and smelled the scent of it, she howled and howled like Disaster.
And "Disaster" was the word Blythbury-by-the-Sea used when word got out about the plea bargain.
It was reported in the
Blythbury-by-the-Sea Chronicle.
Mr. Horkesley, on his way to make his deposit at the Blythbury-by-the-Sea Bank of New England, told Mrs. Ramsey, on her way to the Blythbury-by-the-Sea Delicatessen, that it was a scandal, a perfect scandal, and that the Smiths must certainly refuse it. Mrs. Taunton, checking books back into the Blythbury-by-the-Sea Free Public Library, assured each new patron that of course the Smiths would refuse it. Wasn't their son still lying in a coma in the hospital with both arms gone? Of course they would refuse it. Mrs. Syon, who ran the Blythbury-by-the-Sea Antiques and Collectibles Shoppe, mentioned more than a dozen times that she knew
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