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Was it about his sister? The letter said, “She be dead.” Meaning she’s alive but sick, very sick, and obviously there was no one to help her. If the letter writer, Sarah, couldn’t help nor her boss either, well, she must be withering away far from home. Parents dead, one of lung disease, another of a stroke. Strike the grandparents, Salem and Lenore. Neither one was capable of travel, assuming they’d even be interested. Maybe that was the reason no Russian-made bullet had blown his head off while everybody else he was close to died over there. Maybe his life had been preserved for Cee, which was only fair since shehad been his original caring-for, a selflessness without gain or emotional profit. Even before she could walk he’d taken care of her. The first word she spoke was “Fwank.” Two of her baby teeth were hidden in the kitchen matchbox along with his lucky marbles and the broken watch they had found on the riverbank. Cee suffered no bruise or cut he had not tended. The only thing he could not do for her was wipe the sorrow, or was it panic, from her eyes when he enlisted. He tried to tell her the army was the only solution. Lotus was suffocating, killing him and his two best friends. They all agreed. Frank assured himself Cee would be okay.
    She wasn’t.
    ARLENE WAS STILL asleep, so Billy cooked breakfast for the three of them.
    “What time is her shift over?”
    Billy poured pancake batter into a hot frying pan. “She is on the eleven to seven. She’ll be up soon, but I won’t see her until evening.”
    “How come?” Frank was curious. The rules and accommodations normal families made were a fascination that did not rise to the level of envy.
    “After I walk Thomas to school, I’ll be late in line at the agency because you and me going shopping. By thattime all the best day jobs will be taken already. I’ll see what leavings I can get. But shopping first. You look like …”
    “Don’t say it.”
    He didn’t have to. And the woman at the Goodwill store didn’t either. She led them to a table of folded clothes and nodded toward a rack of hanging coats and jackets. Choosing was quick. Every item was clean, pressed and organized for size. Even the body odor of the previous owner was mild. The store had a dressing room where a bum or a respectable family man could change clothes and toss the worn ones in a bin. Suitably dressed, Frank felt proud enough to take his medal from his army pants and pin it to his breast pocket.
    “Okay,” said Billy. “Now for some grown man’s shoes. Thom McAn or do you want Florsheim?”
    “Neither. I ain’t going to a dance. Work shoes.”
    “Got it. You got enough money?”
    “Yep.”
    The police would have thought so too, but during the random search outside the shoe store they just patted pockets, not the inside of work boots. Of the two other men facing the wall, one had his switchblade confiscated, the other a dollar bill. All four lay their hands on the hood of the patrol car parked at the curb. The younger officer noticed Frank’s medal.
    “Korea?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Hey, Dick. They’re vets.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Yeah. Look.” The officer pointed to Frank’s service medal.
    “Go on. Get lost, pal.”
    The police incident was not worth comment so Frank and Billy walked off in silence. Then they stopped at a street vendor’s tray to buy a wallet.
    “You wearing a suit now. You can’t be reaching in your shoe like a kid every time you want a pack of gum.” Billy punched Frank’s arm.
    “How much?” Billy examined the wallets on display.
    “A quarter.”
    “What? A loaf of bread ain’t but fifteen cents.”
    “So?” The vendor stared at his customer. “Wallets last longer. You in or you out?”
    Following the purchase Billy accompanied Frank all the way to Booker’s diner, where they leaned against the plate glass, shook hands, promised to visit each other, and parted.
    Frank had coffee and flirted with the counter waitress from