Phantasos by Robert Barnard

Whenever he cooked, the food burned and charred and made the curtains stink of grease and fire.
    He thought about his laundry list of odd jobs: painting, electrical work, bussing tables. Whatever he could get his hands on. Towards the end of his stay in New York, before he moved all the way out to Grand Ridge, Oregon, he got a decent paying job working in an arcade, servicing the machines.
    And Shelly, with her equally long list of varied occupations: barista, waitress, usher. Chef, when there were openings—she was good at it, but she had no formal training, so it was always at divey little places who would take her in when they needed the extra help, and let her go when business slowed back down. Cash under the table. 
    But it didn’t matter what Shelly did, because she was beautiful. Gorgeous. Todd often wondered how a schlep like him ended up with a girl like her. But love is love, and they were in love , madly in love. And somehow the two overcame the odds and made it work.
    Shelly’s true love was performing, and she was auditioning for any gig she could find: stage work, theatre, soda commercials. She even tried out as a movie extra a couple of times when something exciting was being filmed in town. She landed a small part here and there. Never anything big.
    Which Todd could never understand because she was so downright stunning. And it wasn’t just her looks—though that was always the first thing people seemed to comment on—she had genuine charm and a knack for delivering lines. She was so damn likable. A breakout role, or being discovered by an agent…it seemed like an inevitability.
    Any day now.
    And, with their frantic schedules, personal time between the two rarely overlapped. When it did, they savored every moment of it together. When it didn’t, they always phoned one another to check in on how the other was doing.
    And Shelly, she’d do this cute thing—she’d hide notes all over the apartment for Todd to find while she was away at work or auditions. Sometimes they’d be taped to a box of cereal, other times they’d be hidden underneath the cat’s dish. Wherever they were, they always said the same thing:
    “Miss You.”
     

 
     
    Ten
     
    A BIRTHDAY CAKE ON THE EMERSON’S kitchen table read: Happy Birthday, Alec! There was a crudely drawn outline of a DeLorean surrounding the letters—Alley was obsessed with the Back to the Future films—and his mom had cleverly placed candles where the rear thrusters of the vehicle would be. It looked pretty good, actually. A time machine, made out of frosting, ready to roar to life atop the cake.
    Today wasn’t Alley’s birthday, no; his actual birthday was the following Saturday. Unfortunately, his doctor had ordered a battery of tests for that Saturday. And, though the good doc expressed limitless sympathy at the unfortunate timing of the exams, he insisted that there was no rescheduling them. Alley needed special care from special people, people whose services weren’t available on a whim.
    So Alley insisted his birthday party take place on the first day of summer—what better day than that? And the Emerson family obliged.
    Alley knelt on a kitchen chair over the cake, the candles illuminating his face as his friends and family finished singing happy birthday. His smile was ear to ear for many reasons: the good company, the good cheer, the stack of neatly wrapped presents across the room from him.
    Mrs. Emerson said, “Go ahead, Alley. Blow out the candles. Make a wish.”
    Alley looked to his left, where Lauren sat, then to his right, where Benji was. They each smiled and nodded to Alley.
    The room went quiet while Alley thought for a second, then he closed his eyes and blew, and every candle on his cake went out at once.
    The pile of presents had been mostly torn through, the kitchen floor beneath the family dining table littered with shredded wrapper. Alley had been spoiled with a barrage of gifts: a transforming robot, a slot-car set, a