Free Protecting Marie by Kevin Henkes Page B

crush on whom; who was so afraid of Henry she’d turn around and retreat if she saw him coming toward her in the hallway.
    On their way home from these outings, Henry would invariably say something like, “Now, wasn’t that better than McDonald’s? One-of-a-kind places have much more character.”
    And even if Fanny had had the most wonderful time, she would only go so far as to say something like, “It was fun,” because in her mind the issue wasn’t the merits of McDonald’s, but the power of Henry’s will.
    However, one Sunday last spring, on the road, driving home from a weekend of shopping and museum-going in Chicago, there had been nothing like the Union Terrace, no homey taverns to be found.
    â€œI’m so hungry,” Fanny had said repeatedly. Eyeing a sign for a Burger King, she asked to stop. “Please,” she said. “Burger King is my favorite.”
    â€œI’ll find someplace better,” said Henry. “You know I won’t eat at a place like that. Awful,” he said, shaking his head. “Worse than awful. I’d rather eat—”
    â€œâ€”wind sauce and air pudding,” Fanny cut in. “I know, I know.” She rolled her eyes. “Dumb. Not funny,” she whispered.
    They passed the Burger King. And a McDonald’s and a Wendy’s and eventually another Burger King. Fanny watched each one whiz by, just a blur through the car window that passed out of sight completely in a matter of seconds.
    Fanny was becoming more and more irritable. Her stomach growled and her head ached. Incessantly, she rolled the car window up and down, up and down, hoping that it would annoy Henry.
    Miles and miles of attempting to annoy Henry.
    Henry tried in his own way, taking a couple of exits that seemed promising. He found a diner that looked perfect from a distance, only to discover that it was closed on Sundays.
    â€œOh, well,” said Henry, “we’re not far from Madison now. We can just eat at home. I’ll make something special.”
    â€œI’d rather eat wind sauce and air pudding,” said Fanny, staring at the back of her father’s head with narrow, narrow eyes.
    Ellen, who had been napping most of the way, raised her head and muttered in a groggy voice, “Sometimes you two are so alike it’s frightening.” Then she settled down again, slumped against the locked door. She hadn’t even bothered to open her eyes.
    Fanny could call to mind that day as if it had been yesterday. And obviously Henry remembered it, too. “I remember more than you think.” Perhaps he could even recollect Stupid Hunts and Marie, and maybe she’d ask him about them sometime. After all, he had mentioned milk with a red licorice straw. Fannyalways assumed that her father had difficulty drawing back memories of her childhood, as if they were hidden in deep, murky water and required something beyond ordinary human abilities to bring them to the surface.
    Henry laughed again, and everything about him that could be imposing fell away. “Catherine Deneuve,” he chuckled.
    Watching him, Fanny wished that there was some way to slip into his skin for even a brief amount of time. Just long enough to glimpse her mother and herself from his point of view.
    â€œFinished,” said Henry, pushing his plate aside.
    â€œWe have birthday cake,” Fanny said, almost as a question, glancing at her mother.
    Ellen nodded. “I’ll put coffee on.”
    â€œMom and I already ate some,” Fanny explained to Henry. “But it still looks nice.”
    â€œSounds great to me,” said Henry. “We need a fire,” he added, rising from the table. “Let’s eat in the living room.”
    â€œI’ll be in charge of the cake,” Fanny told them.
    Dinner followed Henry out of the kitchen.
    After preparing the coffeemaker, Ellen joined Fanny by the counter. Fanny was