#hnnnf

“You’re not upending anything,” he says to her. “If that’s what you’re worried about.” The words come out so simple, like he’s reminding her that the sky is blue, or her hair is blonde.

She deposits the small pile of mixed berry into a slot, unbelieving. “Frank -”

“No,” he says, flicking a rogue grape packet back to her side of the table. It bounces off her coffee cup and slides into her lap. “Listen, you… You wanna go, and - and drive off until you can’t anymore, we will do that.”

Karen lets herself imagine a road trip west, where they’d be able to roll the windows down in the van and feel the sun on their faces. It’s far out of place for them, she thinks - for sure. They’d sat beside one another in a courtroom, a jailhouse, and in the moments before and after the war he’s waged - to have a train of thought include a bit more peace between them seemed almost unreal, but definitely not unwanted. “You gonna take me to the beach, Frank?”

He chuckles, the surprise of her light tone lifting his eyebrows and tilting his head, considering. His hand reaches for the mug in front of him again without another word. She’s suddenly thankful the brim of his cap is long enough to hide the growing blush on her cheeks when she catches him peeking, his gaze low.

“I’ve only been to Coney Island once, before,” she explains, hearing herself laugh, too. She can’t recall the last time it had been as real as this, but it’s one of the first good things she’s felt in some time. “I think even then it was considered too early in the season.”

She bought a hotdog - because that was the Thing To Do when she got off the subway. Foggy had puked up his while getting off one of the coasters, and Matt had - at the time, before she knew - such a bizarre knack for the carnival games, leaving a stand with one of those ridiculously oversized stuffed animals. Her toes in the damp sand felt cool and inviting in the Spring weather later on, but she remembers how warm the sun had been on the back of her neck. She wonders briefly if California waters would ever let her feel the same.

“You wanna go back -” Frank quietly offers her, then. How clear must her face be that he can read where her mind goes? “We’ll get in the van, we’ll go.”

“Would it be that easy?”

“I’m not leaving you.”