Small Apartments by Chris Millis Page B

were crazy. The administrator was young and very attractive. She introduced herself as Sally Baker and ushered Franklin into a private room.
    “Mr. Franklin. May I call you Franklin?”
    “Yes,” said Franklin.
    “Franklin, I am afraid I have to deliver some very difficult news to you.”
    “Bernard’s dead?” asked Franklin.
    Sally Baker was completely thrown off her well-rehearsed rhythm. “Yes. Bernard’s dead,” she said. “Did you already know?”
    “No. You bring me into a private room, you tell me you have to deliver difficult news. I couldn’t imagine what else you might be preparing to tell me after that setup.”
    “I am so sorry for your loss, Franklin. Bernard died yesterday morning around 11:30 of his brain tumour.
    “Brain tumour
?
”
asked Franklin.
    “You did know he was sick? Bernard was tested six months ago after complaining of increasingly painful headaches and dizziness. He was told the tumour was inoperable.”
    “Bernard never told me diddly squat,” said Franklin. “He just sent me envelopes full of fingernails. Why didn’t the hospital contact me?”
    “Bernard has always been a voluntary resident here. He was here of his own volition. Our rules are completely different for contacting next of kin when the resident is not a ward of the state. Only in the event of serious injury or death.”
    “Or non-payment,” offered Franklin.
    “Right,” agreed Sally Baker. “Or non-payment. Which was never a problem with Bernard. After Bernard died, we tried contacting you by telephone but …”
    “I don’t have a phone,” said Franklin.
    “Well, yes, we discovered that. We also sent a hospital representative out to your home yesterday but they got lost because there is no such place as Garner Street in the city of Buffalo.”
    I can thank the multi-pierced lady at the DMV for that one, thought Franklin. He was silent for a moment. “A brain tumour, huh? So Bernard wasn’t crazy after all. He had something growing inside his head and nobody found it until it was too late. Did you know he was diagnosed by Dr. Sage Mennox himself?”
    “The TV Guru guy?” gushed Sally. “Oh, I just love him. Have you read any of his books?”
    “No,” said Franklin.
    “He’s a little unconventional,” said Sally. “For instance, we don’t refer to our patients as crazy. But when he talks about building a body that is mentally fit and physically strong, I think he’s right on target. I’ve read all his books and I can say that since I started working in a mental hospital—and this is just between you and me—every one of our residents is either unbalanced, unfocused or impure; sometimes all three. Your brother Bernard may have been unbalanced, but he was free to come and go as he pleased.”
    “He was?” said Franklin in astonishment.
    “Of course. This is what I’m trying to tell you. Our policy is completely different for volunteer residents. Bernard would take a long walk every morning and return around lunchtime.”
    Franklin’s bewildered stare was focused on something a thousand miles away. He rested his elbow in his cupped hand and tugged at his upper lip. “I would like to see Bernard now,” he said.
    “Of course,” said Sally Baker. “He’s in the morgue. But first I have some paperwork for you to fill out, and I need to give you this.” She removed a white #10 envelope from the pocket of her plum-coloured silk jacket. “It’s addressed to you from Bernard.”
    “What’s in it?” asked Franklin. More fingernails, he guessed.
    “I don’t know,” said Sally Baker. “It’s addressed only to you.”
    “Oh,” said Franklin. “Silly me. I just thought it might be a good policy to open crazy people’s mail. But now that I know Bernard wasn’t even crazy, and could come and go as he pleased, you’ll have to forgive me for asking such a stupid question.”

CHAPTER
13

    B URT WALNUT PARKED his silver 1999 Dodge Ram in front of 100 Garner and killed the engine.