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and he was sixty when I was born, so his heart attack wasn’t really a surprise. Janie was sixteen at the time. Joe was nineteen. He was in Vietnam when Dad died. Janie and I were put in a foster home. Janie promptly left me and stayed with friends until she could get a job and apartment of her own. I stuck it out at the foster home until Joe got back and took custody of me. So Brother Joe was the closest thing to a parent that I had.
    And Janie, well, she was always just a lesson learned the hard way.
    Keeping up with the trend, Janie said, “Look, you can’t stay with me.”
    â€œI didn’t ask to,” I said.
    â€œYou sent me two boxes of stuff… There better not be drugs in them.”
    â€œThere aren’t.”
    â€œOkay, so you send me two boxes. Are the boxes for me? I don’t think so. I think they’re for you. And you come off a Greyhound with nothing but a backpack. And I guaran-fucking-tee you’re planning on staying in Cocoa Beach. So you’d need a place to stay, right?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œSo I’m just telling you. You can’t stay with me.”
    â€œOkay,” I said.
    â€œYou can take a nap. And you can eat some food out of my refrigerator, if you don’t eat all of it. But my husband gets home from work at five-thirty. And you’ll be gone by then.”
    I nodded. I had my ultimatum. It was fair enough. It was pretty much what I’d expected out of Janie. It was actually about a nap and a snack more than I’d expected out of her. She must be softening in her old age, I thought.
    The Land Rover rolled down US-1. The Indian River flanked us to the east. I rolled down the window and took a whiff of that hometown smell: swamps and salty air. And everything looked familiar. We turned east on State Road 528. From the top of the bridge as we crossed the Indian River, I could see the Vehicle Assembly Building. To my right was Merritt Island. We’d cross that and cross the Banana River and I’d see the launch pads of the Space Center from that bridge and I’d see Port Canaveral ahead of me and I’d feel like I was home. I rode along and waited until I was back on the barrier island that is Cocoa Beach. My home city.
    When I was there and feeling comfortable enough, I said to Janie, “You’re not still in touch with Sophie, are you?”
    â€œOf course,” Janie said. “I love Sophie.”
    â€œThat’s why I didn’t call you for four years. ‘Cause I knew you’d tell Sophie where I was.”
    â€œAnd why shouldn’t I?”
    â€œShe stabbed me,” I said. “You know that, don’t you?”
    Janie took her eyes off the road and glared at me. Her eyes always seemed so big to me. Chocolate brown, but they were like baking chocolate. Not sweet at all. Janie said, “I heard that rumor. I don’t believe it. Sophie said it’s not true.”
    I lifted my t-shirt up over my spare tire. “I got scars to prove it.”
    As if she didn’t believe her eyes, Janie ran her fingers across the scars. At first, she seemed surprised. The smart-ass in her came back quickly, though, and she said, “Well, those ain’t liposuction scars.”
    â€œIs Sophie still around?”
    â€œ ‘Born to lose,’ ” Janie said. “I remember when that tattoo went straight across your belly. Now it’s got a nice curve to it.”
    I pulled my shirt back down and asked again, “Is Sophie still around?”
    Janie shrugged. Obviously, she wasn’t gonna answer.
    I said, “Please don’t tell her I’m back.”
    â€œOf course I’m gonna tell her,” Janie said. Because that’s how she was. Fucking Janie.

8
The Fat Kid and the Phantom Ice Cream Truck
    I guess my self-esteem wasn’t low enough, because I decided to go surfing.
    Janie had taken off, gone to an aerobics class or some shit. I’d had my nap and