Chapter 9

BOOM!

A blinding flash came next, as every fluorescent lightbulb above shattered in succession—Pop! Pop! Pop! Fridge doors flew open. The dishwasher front exploded, sending water, suds, cereal bowls, and silverware a dozen feet or more. No one ever tied the incident back to Frank, but he knew. He hadn’t left the house for two weeks afterward.

“I can’t come into work, Vaughn. I’m…I’m sick.” Cough. Cough. Cough.

But once again, Vaughn had soothed him. He’d drawn Frank back out with caring words and sternness. “Not this again. You sound and look healthy as a horse,” he’d said upon visiting the trailer. “Let me feel your forehead.”

“No!” Frank had stood in the doorway. Vaughn had stood on the front steps, because Frank refused to allow him inside his tiny metal home. “There’s no fever. It’s more of a…pulled muscle thing.”