Hank's Arc

Chapter 9 of 14

The cruiser hadn't pulled away yet when Queen V. came up the drive. She looked through the back window at Hank, then down at the floor of the passenger side. A case of beer sat there, half covered by a jacket. She frowned and tapped on the glass until Henry rolled it down. She asked him why it was there. Henry opened his mouth, closed it, then said it was his. For the long weekend. Queen V. studied him a long moment. Then she asked if he'd seen them too. The gold ones. Henry's jaw tightened. He gave one small nod. Queen V. stepped back from the cruiser and looked at all three of them — Hank in the back, Henry behind the wheel, the case on the floor. "Then all of us are going," she said. "All three." Hank stared at the cracked cooler tipped beside the drive, cans scattered in melting ice. Past it, on the wooden platform, a foamy gold shape hopped in slow circles. It waved its little arms at nothing. Hank watched it dance and felt his chest go tight. Henry couldn't see it. Queen V. could. That was the line now. Queen V. walked back to her car. She pulled out a small duffel bag already packed. She climbed into the cruiser's front seat and set the bag at her feet, right next to the half-covered case. She didn't touch the case. She didn't move it. She just stared straight ahead through the windshield. "Drive," she told Henry. Henry put the cruiser in gear. The tires rolled past the platform, past the little pub sign, past the blanket-draped case Hank had stashed by the bench last week. Hank pressed his forehead to the window. The gold dancer kept dancing. Nobody waved back. The drive emptied behind them, and for the first time in years, Hank wasn't the only one leaving something behind.