The next day they drove to the library, a squat one-story building made of brick and large, flat rectangles of concrete. His father opened a drawer in the card catalog and Frankie headed for the children’s section, but he never made it past the curved, carpeted wall that held tanks of gerbils and garden snakes and a frowning, putty-colored iguana hugging a plastic branch. Before long his father was tapping his shoulder. He didn’t have any books, but he was tucking a folded piece of paper into his pocket and there was a ballpoint pen behind his ear. “You ready?”

They drove from the library to Mr. Krieger’s house, in the neighborhood next to theirs, and parked in his driveway. Frankie waited in the car while his father knocked on the front door. Mr. Krieger stepped outside wearing a dress shirt and a bathing suit. He was growing a beard. Frankie’s father did most of the talking, motioning toward Mr. Krieger’s pickup truck. Mr. Krieger shrugged, said something, and disappeared into the house. Frankie’s father came back to the car. “That’s all set, then,” he said, getting behind the wheel. He glanced at Frankie. “Isn’t this fun?”

At dinner that night, someone had a Gas Attack. It was either Matt or Joe, and they both clutched their throats and leaned sideways while Katherine pretended to throw up and Frankie pressed his hands against his face.

“Can we please?” Frankie’s mother said.

“Please what?” Katherine asked.

“Have a quiet meal, young lady.”

“Why? Did Dad have another rough day watching TV?”

“That’ll do.”

Matt said, “Dad watches more TV than we do.”

“That’s enough.”

Frankie’s father cleared his throat. “I don’t know how you’d know that, since you’re never home during the day.”

“I’m just saying,” Matt said. “It was on when I left and it was on when I got home.”

Frankie’s mother put her fork down. “You’ll clean up that sass mouth, Mr. Man, or you’ll spend the rest of the summer in your room, with no television at all.”

Matt was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Fine with me.” He reached out to the Parmesan cheese shaker and picked at its green foil wrapper with his fingernail. “Maybe I’ll just hitchhike up to Utica and spend the summer with my real dad.”

Matt and Katherine had a second father who lived up north. Frankie didn’t understand it, and he’d been told by his mother that he didn’t need to.

“Hitchhike?” his mother asked Matt.

“Yeah.” Matt stared at the cheese shaker. “Up to Utica.”

She looked down and turned her spaghetti with a fork. “As if he’d want to see you.”

Frankie’s father leaned over his plate. “It just so happens that fake Dad, here, has been busy. I’ve been working with Frankie on a little home improvement project.”