Frank tucked the book under his arm, wagged his head, and smirked while rubbing his index fingers, one over the other, in a shame on you gesture. My father went ballistic. He leaned so far out the window I thought he’d fall. “G’ahead, ya little sissy!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “You come back here, and I swear I’ll put you in a fuckin’ hospital!”
Frank turned and walked out of the courtyard, shaking his head. As I watched him disappear from view, my stomach sank. I thought I’d never see him again.
My father slammed the window shut and paced back and forth, cursing his head off. After a minute or so he pushed open the door and came into the bedroom. I thought for sure he’d start swinging.
“What the hella you doin’ in here?”
“Noth … nothin’,” I said. “I … I was just—”
“Well, if you’re doin’ nothing, then go do it outside where you belong.”
As I walked out of the room, he pushed me against the doorframe. “Let me see you turn out like him,” he warned, holding a stern finger up to my face, “and I swear, I’ll put both of you in a hospital.”
***
Frank moved out of the apartment after that day. He didn’t tell anyone, just packed some clothes in a suitcase and split. When I heard the news, I was devastated.
“How can he just leave like that without saying a word?” my mother asked Connie.
“Ma, you sound surprised.”
“Of course I’m surprised. Why would you think I wouldn’t be surprised?”
My father stalked around the house. “Good! Now he’ll get a chance to see how tough it is out there.” He acted as if he couldn’t care less, but I knew that Frank’s sudden exit had affected him.
My parents bickered about who was to blame. My mother called all of our relatives to see if anyone knew of Frank’s whereabouts. Nobody had a clue.
In the midst of all the family drama, no one asked me how I felt. I was happy that Frank had finally gotten away from my father, but I missed him sorely. I was also fearful of not having him around to speak up for me when the old man exploded and decided to turn my face into a human speed bag.
Connie told me Frank was living in a rooming house on Twenty-First Avenue, about a mile from Bay Haven. She said she’d known where he was all along and that he’d told her to keep it secret until he got settled. A few days later, Frank sent for me. His place was in a musty old three-story Victorian house with big wooden banisters and a wide, creaky staircase covered with a tattered carpet. Frank’s room was on the top floor.
I knocked on the door, and Frank quickly opened it.
“Frankie, are you okay?”
“Yeah … yeah,” he said, pulling me into the room. “Did you tell anybody you were coming?”
“No, nobody.”
“The old man doesn’t know where you are, right?”
“Nobody,” I said. “He asked me where I was going, and I made up some bullshit, told him I was going to the park.”
My brother looked unsettled. His hair was messed and his eyes red.
“Frankie, I was worried about you. I didn’t know where you were. I missed you.”
“I’m sorry, but I had to get out of there. I can’t take the old man anymore.”
“Yeah, I know—me too.”