The Seal of Solomon (Alfred Kropp 2)

“Why?”

“So you can call me, silly.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you.”

“You like me like me or just like me?”

“I like you.”

My chest tightened and I got out of the car, then turned back and leaned close.

“Listen, I get it. You’ve taken me on as a project. Poor, big, stupid Alfred Kropp. Well, I don’t need your pretty . . . I mean pity. Find some other loser to feel sorry for.”

I turned away before she could say anything, jogging across the yard to the front door. I missed seeing the gnarled old oak root sticking up in front of the sidewalk, tripped, and sprawled flat on my face in the cool dirt. Could it get any worse? I had been waiting for a sign and, as

I pushed my big slobbery bulk from the ground, I realized this was the sign I was waiting for.

It was time to leave.

7

Horace was standing in the entryway holding a gray suit on a hanger.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Your suit, Alfred.”

“I don’t own a suit.”

“You do now. You need to try it on to see if it fits. Tomorrow afternoon is the hearing. And you gotta look nice for the judge, Al,” he said.

I brushed past him, went into the bathroom, and proceeded to floss. After a second there was a soft knock and Horace whispered from the other side.

“Hey, Al, I think you forgot the suit. I’ll just hang it here on the knob. We’re having fried chicken for dinner. Isn’t that your favorite?”

I didn’t answer and Horace went away.

I went into the bedroom and pulled my old duffel bag from the closet. It took about five minutes to pack because I didn’t have much. The door opened and Kenny came in.

“What are you doing, Alfred Kropp?”

“Packing,” I said.

“You’re leaving!”

I looked up at him. He started to cry.

“Don’t do that, Kenny. I don’t want Horace and Betty to know.”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.”

“Take me with you.”

“I can’t.”