“Isabel, what do you do with your day?”

“I go to school.”

“After school. Do you have any hobbies?”

“I watch the store.”

“Until you go to bed?”

“Until supper.”

“Do you have to cook supper every night?”

“Auntie makes it most nights. She cooks it at her house and brings it to us. Or sometimes she fixes dinner at our home.”

“After supper, what do you do?”

“I wash dishes, then I sometimes watch TV or read.”

“Reading is good. Do you have any other special hobbies? Like sports?”

“I’m not good at sports. Except maybe …”

“Maybe what?”

“Well, I like to dive, but I don’t know if I’m good at it.”

“Diving. Hmmm … scuba diving?”

“No, diving off diving boards.” Suddenly it sounds kind of stupid and I don’t even know why I said it.

“Are there diving teams here that you can join?” Ed asks.

“Oh, I don’t know. The university has a team, but that’s for college students. Do I get to see Frank today?”

“Yes, of course. I told you that you would. Did you think I’d change my mind?”

“I guess because … I didn’t look at my mother’s things.”

“Isabel, I can only make suggestions. You have to do the work. Besides, I’m not here to punish you. I’m here to help.”

Doesn’t Ed realize that Frank is the one who needs the help?

Frank’s Hospital Room

White
windowless
two beds
two boys
too many scars.

First Visit

I try not to stare at Frank’s roommate. Shiny pink patches and red scars cover his face.

Ed tells Frank he should have told him that he had two pretty sisters. Frank doesn’t smile, but there’s something different about him in his eyes. Even though he won’t look at me for very long, he seems like he’s really here, out of the trance.

Ed takes Frank’s roommate for a walk while Frank and I visit. He props the door open before they walk away.

“I brought the ukulele,” I say, holding out the case.

“Thanks.” He doesn’t reach for it, so I put it down on the floor.

I’m standing, arms folded, the case at my feet, speechless. I try to think of something to say, but I can’t think of one word.

“Sit down,” he says. Frank is sitting at the foot of his bed, so I settle close to the headboard. Finally, I think of something.

“I’m sorry Tata hasn’t come by.” Of all the words to be taking a spin inside my head.

“He has. He comes every day.”

“He does?”

“In the afternoon. He never stays long. Never talks about anything except fishing.”

Maybe Frank didn’t ask Tata for the ukulele because he was afraid what the answer might be.

“Are they nice to you in here?”

“Yeah, but the food stinks.”

“Sorry.”

He scowls. “Why are you sorry? You didn’t make it.”

I stare at the other bed. “Do you like your roommate?”

“He’s okay. He picks his nose, though.”