A dot of copper on the boy’s palm. He asks but what makes it lucky, Pa?

Henry tells him to look closely. Look at the year. Eight years ago—well, technically, eight years and nine months—Junior was the same size as this penny. Even smaller, actually.

“Inside of Mom?”

Henry nods. And just look how big and strong Junior is now. And so imagine how much bigger and stronger he’s going to get. It’s pretty cool, huh?

“What do I do with it?” Junior says.

“You keep it with you and,” he closes the boy’s fingers around the coin, making more of a flower bud than a fist, “squeeze. If something bad happens, like, if your tummy starts hurting again or—”

“It still hurts.”

“It’ll get better. Now, squeeze.”

When Henry calls the motel office for an iron, the phone receiver offers no ring tone. He jiggers the cradle and its innards give a faint ding. The cradle shifts on top of the patio table to show the phone not only isn’t plugged in, but has no cord at all. He’s heard of stealing hotel towels and toiletries, had been planning on pocketing the extra bar of soap himself, but a telephone cord? Irritating, yeah, but he’s also mildly impressed.

He steps into his jeans without underwear, then into his boots without socks or lacing them. Tells Junior to keep squeezing, to finish the Sprite, and that he’ll be right back. When he clomps out onto the gravel, peals of dog barks yap after him, as if pleading to accompany him on this late-night stroll to the motel office. The grains of sand and dirt wedging between his toes, the woofs and whines from room 9, and now the obligation to interact with the billboard woman yet again—why, it’s all rather unpleasant, isn’t it? Much less than ideal, indeed, sir.

Outside the office door he pauses to collect himself. His hand squeezes into a fist, though the last of his coins remain in his front pocket. He expels a long stream of air as if this might release some of the heat broiling in his lungs.

The bells above jingle just as ghastly as before. The woman’s flanks ooze and bulge in the gaps of the desk chair’s armrests like a pork shoulder pressed into chain-link. She wields total power here. To get what he needs, he’ll have to ooze courtesy, crank up the charm. He gulps, and bile curdles into a cheesy smile.

“Hey, just me again,” he says. “How’s your night going?”

She’s locked onto the TV behind him. Her jade eyes flicker over then through him, settling back to the screen.

He plants his elbows into the counter, lowering his starchy grin square into her sight line.