thought about it. "All right," he said.
I took the bike from Franklin and put it in the back of the Subaru. He squeezed himself into the passenger side, and it was a tight fit. The first time he tried to slam the door, it thunked him in the ass and didn't latch. He sighed, hitched himself over as far as he could, and tried again, with more success. He looked uncomfortable as hell. "Roll your window down if you want, Franklin. It might give you more room."
He looked at the window crank by his right knee. "Okay."
"Which way to your house?"
He was looking at the floor, but he pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "Other way," he said.
Franklin must have gotten around pretty good on his bicycle, because it was something like six miles to his house. It was your basic suburban raised ranch, I don't know who came up with the design but you see them everywhere. There was a Ford station wagon parked in the gravel driveway. I couldn't tell the year of the wagon, but it was from back when they were making them the size of Noah's ark. A small dog with short, curly gray hair ran around in circles, barking at the two of us. Franklin lumbered out, ignored the dog, and stood by while I got his bike out of the Subaru. He took the bike from me and carried it over to the side of the house. He tried to make it lean on the kickstand, but it wouldn't, because of the bent rim. He fussed with it for a minute, then sighed, gave up, and laid it down in the grass.
The front door to the house opened and a woman came out. She was short and sort of round, and her hair was the same color as Franklin's. She looked afraidher eyes were wide, and she clutched her hands together in front of her. She was much smaller than Franklin, who was out of sight around the side of the house. "Can I help you?" The dog ran over to where she was standing, barked at her, too.
"Franklin had a little accident."
He came around the corner just then, stopped, glanced at her, then at me, and shook his head. He seemed to know that the aftermath was going to be worse than the event.
"Franklin! What happened?"
"I hit a tree, Ma."
She sucked in a big breath, hustled down the steps, and went over to him. "You hit a tree? Oh, my God. How did that happen?"
He didn't seem to want to tell her the story. He shrugged. "Went off the road. Hit a tree."
"Franklin, you're going to be the death of me, you worry me so much." She had that sixth sense mothers have, in a half a second she was looking at his arm, holding it up to the light, shaking her head and clucking in consternation. "Go on in the house and take that shirt off. I'll be right in to clean that up."
"It's just a little scrape, Ma." He glanced at me when he said it, and I thought I saw a little bit of amusement on his face.
His mother wasn't having any. "Go on, now." The dog finally got her attention, and she snapped. "Scruffy, shut up!" The dog stopped barking, finally, but he growled and showed me his teeth when he looked at me, as if to say, I may be afraid of her, pal, but I ain't afraid of you.
"All right." Franklin ambled over to me, stuck out a huge mitt. "Thanks for the ride, Manny."
"You're welcome, Franklin," I said, shaking his hand. I winked at him. Out of the corner of my eye I could see his mother watching me in disbelief. "You take care of yourself now, okay?"
"Okay." He let go of my hand, took a step toward the house, and stopped. "You take care of yourself, too."
"Thanks, I will."
His mother watched him go through the front door. "He must like you," she said, looking at the front door, shaking her head. "Honestly, I'm so surprised. Normally he's so shy, he never talks to strangers. He hardly talks to the people he knows. Thank you so much for bringing him home. Did you see the accident?"
"No. He was walking down the road, carrying his bike, and I
I took the bike from Franklin and put it in the back of the Subaru. He squeezed himself into the passenger side, and it was a tight fit. The first time he tried to slam the door, it thunked him in the ass and didn't latch. He sighed, hitched himself over as far as he could, and tried again, with more success. He looked uncomfortable as hell. "Roll your window down if you want, Franklin. It might give you more room."
He looked at the window crank by his right knee. "Okay."
"Which way to your house?"
He was looking at the floor, but he pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "Other way," he said.
Franklin must have gotten around pretty good on his bicycle, because it was something like six miles to his house. It was your basic suburban raised ranch, I don't know who came up with the design but you see them everywhere. There was a Ford station wagon parked in the gravel driveway. I couldn't tell the year of the wagon, but it was from back when they were making them the size of Noah's ark. A small dog with short, curly gray hair ran around in circles, barking at the two of us. Franklin lumbered out, ignored the dog, and stood by while I got his bike out of the Subaru. He took the bike from me and carried it over to the side of the house. He tried to make it lean on the kickstand, but it wouldn't, because of the bent rim. He fussed with it for a minute, then sighed, gave up, and laid it down in the grass.
The front door to the house opened and a woman came out. She was short and sort of round, and her hair was the same color as Franklin's. She looked afraidher eyes were wide, and she clutched her hands together in front of her. She was much smaller than Franklin, who was out of sight around the side of the house. "Can I help you?" The dog ran over to where she was standing, barked at her, too.
"Franklin had a little accident."
He came around the corner just then, stopped, glanced at her, then at me, and shook his head. He seemed to know that the aftermath was going to be worse than the event.
"Franklin! What happened?"
"I hit a tree, Ma."
She sucked in a big breath, hustled down the steps, and went over to him. "You hit a tree? Oh, my God. How did that happen?"
He didn't seem to want to tell her the story. He shrugged. "Went off the road. Hit a tree."
"Franklin, you're going to be the death of me, you worry me so much." She had that sixth sense mothers have, in a half a second she was looking at his arm, holding it up to the light, shaking her head and clucking in consternation. "Go on in the house and take that shirt off. I'll be right in to clean that up."
"It's just a little scrape, Ma." He glanced at me when he said it, and I thought I saw a little bit of amusement on his face.
His mother wasn't having any. "Go on, now." The dog finally got her attention, and she snapped. "Scruffy, shut up!" The dog stopped barking, finally, but he growled and showed me his teeth when he looked at me, as if to say, I may be afraid of her, pal, but I ain't afraid of you.
"All right." Franklin ambled over to me, stuck out a huge mitt. "Thanks for the ride, Manny."
"You're welcome, Franklin," I said, shaking his hand. I winked at him. Out of the corner of my eye I could see his mother watching me in disbelief. "You take care of yourself now, okay?"
"Okay." He let go of my hand, took a step toward the house, and stopped. "You take care of yourself, too."
"Thanks, I will."
His mother watched him go through the front door. "He must like you," she said, looking at the front door, shaking her head. "Honestly, I'm so surprised. Normally he's so shy, he never talks to strangers. He hardly talks to the people he knows. Thank you so much for bringing him home. Did you see the accident?"
"No. He was walking down the road, carrying his bike, and I
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