Everything Changes

their backs to perform splits to old Guns N’ Roses songs. His mouth drops in a comical approximation of awe, and he looks absolutely terrified when one of the circulating strippers invites him into the back for a private dance. “No, thanks,” Matt says while Pete giggles uncontrollably. “We’re looking for Delia.”
    “You have to speak to Dave,” she says.
    “Who’s Dave?”
    “The owner.” She points past the small round tables to the long bar that sits against the far wall. The bar is empty, save for one stool on the far left, upon which sits a large potbellied man with thinning steel wool hair and a beard that seems to have been trimmed specifically to show off the triple chin hanging like a rucksack beneath it. “That him?” I say.
    “In the flesh,” she says before wandering off to peddle some more of her own.
    “Excuse me,” I say to the man. “Dave?”
    “If you’re asking, then you already know,” he says, sipping at his drink. He looks like someone who might have wrestled professionally in another life.
    “We need to see Delia.”
    He turns on his stool to look me over. “You here about the kid?”
    “That’s right.”
    He looks at his watch and frowns. “She’s on in ten minutes.”
    “Then we’d better be quick.”
    Dave frowns as he pulls himself off his stool and leads us through a door to the right of the runway, down a hall, and into the dressing room. A handful of naked women sit at a bank of mirrors, adjusting their makeup, emptying out industrial-size aerosol cans into their hair, and dispassionately propping up their synthetic breasts in lacy undergarments. Other women strut back and forth in dangerously high heels and little else, hurriedly pulling on and off minuscule spandex skirts or tube tops, conversing easily with each other as they prepare to go on. Henry is sitting on the floor in the corner, oblivious to the writhing jungle of long legs and thonged asses that surrounds him. He has his Thomas the Tank Engine train clutched in one hand while the other is busy with a crayon, coloring in a flyer with the club logo, an outline of two naked women bending over in opposite directions.
    “Henry,” I call to him. I can tell by his expression that he recognizes me. “Do you remember me?”
    He nods, pulling the train against his chest. I can feel Matt and Pete behind me, staring at him. Before we can get any closer, Delia steps away from a full-length mirror and positions herself between us. She’s dressed in a sequined bra and panties, her face so garishly made-up that she looks like a marionette. “Hey,” she says. “Zack.”
    “Yeah.”
    “They’re here for the boy,” Dave says.
    “I know what they’re here for,” Delia says, looking over Matt and Pete. “You have some way of proving your identity?”
    Matt and I produce our driver’s licenses, which she expertly peruses before handing them over to Dave. “What do you think?” she asks him.
    Dave gives her back the licenses without looking at them. “I think this is a business, not a day care center. If they’re here for the boy, settle up with them and get your ass out there.”
    I kneel down in front of Henry, who is following the action with wide, intelligent eyes. “Henry,” I say. “Do you know who I am?”
    He nods. “Zack,” he says.
    “That’s right,” I say. “And these are my brothers, Matt and Pete.”
    Henry nods, reaches into his pants pocket, and hands me a bent and weathered photo. I open it to find a picture of Matt, Pete, and me on a fishing boat in Miami. Lela had gone down to see her mother through some back surgery, and I’d used the opportunity to treat my brothers to a small vacation. It was about six years ago, and I have no idea how the picture wound up in Norm’s possession. “That’s right,” I say. “That’s me and that’s Matt and that’s Pete.” I look at Henry. “You’re our brother too.”
    “I know,” Henry says.
    “How would you like to come and live with us?”
    Henry considers the invitation with the air of someone for whom drastic changes in living arrangements are nothing out of the ordinary. “My mom died,” he says matter-of-factly.
    “I know,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
    “Do you know where my dad is?”
    “He’s gone away for a while.”
    Henry nods, looking down at his Thomas train. “He always goes away.”
    “I know. He’s my father too. That’s why it’s good to have three other brothers, right? This way, you’ll