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It was Friday night when the boys came home and told Gramma their dad was going to stay in town awhile. It was midsummer, I had just turned seventeen.
It wasn't the first time Uncle Franke stayed out late. Gramma said, "He's gotta whore around." So she left the kitchen light on, the bulb over the sink that made a yellow square shadow through the doorway across the linoleum in the dining room. The darkness that surrounded it stood like still water.
When Gramma got up to make coffee, no one had turned out the light. She figured Franke had stayed with one of his women friends and she didn't give it much more thought.
It must of been late afternoon when the phone rang and Sheriff Philpott asked to speak with "Tookah Daylight," I hollered out the screen door for Granpa to come to the phone. His forehead was wrinkled when he walked through the door, it was unsual for him to get a call.
"Yes, this is Tookah Daylight." Granpa plugged his open ear with the middle finger of the hand that had no thumb. "What's that about my boy, Franke?"
Gramma walked into the dining while she dried her hands on the end of her apron.
"Okay, I guess you'll have to do that." Granpa's face lost all of its normal color and his eyes sunk full of water. He struggled with the phone receiver so that Gramma took it away from him and hung it up.
"What's the matter, Tookah?" Gramma asked in her normal soft voice. "What has happened to my boy?"
Granpa walked past all of us and went out on the porch. He sat in his three-legged chair and balanced himself against the wall. His face was as white as his hair, his bottom lip began to tremble.
"Old man, what has happened?" Gramma asked in a loud, angry tone. "Don't you get closed-mouthed with me. Where's Franke?"
"Don't know woman." Granpa sounded like his throat was full of something bitter.
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"Montee, you go around back and get the boys. I'll send them to town, they'll find out what's going on," Gramma demanded. She was different somehow, like she was scared of something, I hadn't seen her this way. Come to think of it Granpa had never acted like that either.
I started to jump off the porch when Granpa said, "No need Nona. The sheriff is bringing Franke home."
"What? Is he alright? What then?" Gramma leaned in Granpa's face and when their eyes met she knew. She didn't say nothing else, just moved quietly into the kitchen and started pounding bread dough.
Haloka went in after her and sat at the table staring into her black coffee. The expression in her eyes was deep and distant. She didn't ask anybody any questions, she knew more about her grandson, Franke, than anyone. Uncle Franke was about five when Great-Grandfather Ocealah died and they found Franke roaming around in the woods calling out for the old man. He wouldn't sleep after that unless Haloka was near him.
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There was an emptiness in my stomach, like a part of me was missing. I kept trying to shake it loose, expecting to see Uncle Franke's Chevy pickup speeding up the road with dust rolling behind it.
Granpa and I sat on the gray wood porch with silence heavy in the air between us, like fog on a dark day. I just sat there rolling cigarettes until I had a pile of twenty or so in the red Prince Albert can.
Then I noticed the dust on the road, Uncle Franke's pickup and right behind it was Sheriff Philpott in a potrol car with a red ball on top.
Granpa never moved, he didn't even look in the direction of the cars when they pulled in front of the house. Gramma and Haloka came out on the porch.
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