Further Joy by John Brandon

brother or what.
    â€œHe died young, in his forties. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t give for one more day with that man. I knew the first time he held my hand there’d never be anything else like him, and I was right.”
    Franklin walked up close then, carrying the bin and eating a strawberry. He gave the woman a twenty and thanked her, and she tucked the money into the pages of her book.
    As they were walking back around to the car, Kim noticed there were flowers in the bin. Daffodils, the same color as Franklin’s shirt. As soon as Franklin found a place for the bin in the back seat, he emerged and presented the bouquet to Kim. He wore a daffy, bright-eyed expression, bowing slightly. Kim looked at him and at the flowers, and took them.
    â€œI thought you might like these because you’re a woman and women enjoy when men buy them flowers. That’s one of those things you can depend on. It’ll never change. It crosses cultures.”
    The stems of the daffodils were warm in Kim’s hand, still alive and doing the work they’d been doing before they’d been cut. “What if the man’s mother bought the flowers? Does the woman still enjoy it then?”
    Franklin wanted to grin. “I don’t think when a woman gets flowers, she’s supposed to worry about exactly who financed them. Seems like a vulgar thing to worry about. It’s just something simple that both parties can feel good about.”
    Kim could remember when Franklin was a toddler, could recall Rita forcing him to be normal, forcing him to eat what the other kids ate and play with balls and stare at cartoons. She couldn’t believe that that little kid was the guy standing in front of her. She couldn’t believe that so muchtime had passed. He was taking her out for the day, buying her lunch, giving her flowers. His expression was open and artless, without agenda, and maybe that’s what was making Kim feel disarmed. Kim was the adult and should’ve been the one steering the direction of the day. She found herself thanking Franklin for the daffodils, putting her face near them to breathe them in. She found herself trying to remember the last time she’d received flowers. Valentine’s Day a couple years ago—the obligatory roses, probably from the supermarket, picked up at the last minute.
    Franklin was driving again. Kim felt dazed, adrift, and she wondered if that was willful. Of course, she’d barely eaten all day. She’d had a few strawberries in the car as they tacked along on nondescript roads that seemed to take them back toward town, but the berries had only made her hungrier.
    When Franklin shut the car off, the world seemed inordinately peaceful. They were parked next to someone’s patchy front lawn in a lower-class development. A dog was barking, but not nearby. It was baffling that all the years of her life had led to this spot. This is where she’d arrived. This sensation—of being the prisoner of a strange, serene afternoon—was something she remembered from childhood. It had been a pleasant feeling then. But now she was too free for someone her age. The people who lived in this subdued ward Franklin had driven her to were at work right now, or washing dishes or clipping coupons or reading the Bible. They were married, some of them divorced already. They had families, and the intrigues that came along with families. They had illnesses. They could barely make ends meet. Their kids were hanging out with the wrong crowd or putting on airs.
    Franklin was gathering himself to rise from the car when his phone started ringing. It played a muffled snatch of some old Motown song Kim couldn’t place. The phone was in his pants pocket, and Franklin looked down toward his hip with mild interest. Then he went ahead and stood up and closed his door behind him. Kim could still hear the music, repeating itself and then repeating once more. Franklin