That evening Johnny and Stella arrived back at the apartment listened to the radio while cooking dinner under fluorescent lights in the cramped kitchen. The two of them had always found cooking to be a relaxing pastime, dating back to the days when they used to knead the dough for home-made ravioli. Tonight it was chicken cacciatore with green peppers, tomatoes and onions plus potato salad with chopped bacon.
"Your father didn't say he'd be late."
"Maybe he's busy."
"Why would he be busy? He's can't work. He doesn't know anyone in this town. What would keep him out after hours?"
"Maybe he's mad at us," Johnny suggested. They both knew that Frank left the house sometimes for no other reason than to be alone and clear his head.
"I guess he's has a right to be," Stella said, stirring the peppers and onions in with sauce and then pouring it over the chicken in a casserole dish.
"I know."
"We were supposed to be keepin' our noses clean."
"I met with the principal at school today. I promised nothing like that would ever happen again."
"I went back to the country club and gave them some cockamamie story about why I went off the other day."
"You think they bought it?"
"I do. I told them it was all my meds. Folks done stuff way crazier than that when they get mixed up on their meds."
"So why'd you do it, Grandma? You keep telling me we can't be heroes and then you go risk everything to save that guy on the golf course."
Stella didn't have a ready answer. She checked the chicken even though there was no need to. She knew it would take another ten minutes but she re-opened the oven, letting all the heat out. "I know that Johnny. I gave you the whole speech about lying low. Then I went and contradicted myself. And I am still not sure why. Who knows why we do what we do, Johnny. Maybe it's choice. Maybe it's fate. Maybe it's just in the blood."
When they finished dinner, Frank still hadn't returned. Stella rinsed their plates and stacked them in the dishwashing machine. Johnny finished his homework and went to his room. He opened an old shoebox where he kept belongings from his old life in Santa Ramona, the time before they went into hiding. There was a newspaper clipping of his old friend Sabrina Santana, a soccer star who was the first girl he ever had a crush on. It made him sad to think he'd never see her pretty face again.
He turned off the lights and took his iPad under his bed sheets. In a minute, he was online in the Comic Club chat room with the Seer.
MY FAMILY IS ALL ALONE IN THE WORLD.
NO YOU'RE NOT JOHNNY.
YES I AM.
THE WHOLE WORLD SHARES YOUR TROUBLES. EVEN PEOPLE WHO AREN'T ALIVE TODAY. THE ONES WHO CAME BEFORE US. THE ONES WHO COME AFTER US.
I DON'T UNDERSTAND.
WE ARE ALL CONNECTED, JOHNNY. LINKED HAND IN HAND IN A CHAIN THAT STRETCHED BACK TO THE BEGINNING OF TIME. WE FACE OUR FEARS TOGETHER.
I DON'T SEE WHAT YOU'RE SAYING.
MOST PEOPLE DON'T. LOOK HARDER AND YOU WILL SEE IT.