The delivery boy takes an hour and no one is hungry anymore. Amy excavates wet pepperonis from the cold, congealed cheese. She stares at her fish bowl. Donny and Lamb smoke on the balcony. They take turns throwing the old butts through the holes in the railing and into the alley. The neighbor downstairs begins coughing. Lamb and Donny can hear him from where they sit. They hear him cough and spit. Lamb looks at Donny. “The neighbor has emphysema.”

“Sounds like it,” Donny says. The neighbor coughs again then stops. Donny thinks. He doesn’t know what to say. He says, “The days are getting longer.”

Lamb looks at the sky. He feels more tired than annoyed. There are several orange clouds. They look like dolphins. What atmospheric variance formed the clouds? It must be the southern air. One time in Florida, there were palm trees, sand, a dolphin in the ocean he thought was a shark. Do the clouds above him look more like dolphins or sharks? He looks upward. The clouds have already shifted shapes. Now they look like stingrays.

Lamb’s phone rings. He takes it out of his pocket and looks at it. He doesn’t recognize the number and wonders what to do. Answers after four rings. Donny goes inside. Looks at the pizza. Says something to Amy.

“Hello?” Lamb says. He wipes ash from his fingers onto his shorts.

Silence. Then, “It’s good to hear your voice.”

Lamb thinks a moment. Looks at the hair on his legs. Breathes in. Exhales. He says, “Hello, Dad.”

“I was beginning to think you’ve been avoiding my calls. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for a while. I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

His voice is low. More alien than human. Lamb thinks, Inhuman.

“Everything’s, um, good.” Lamb looks at the sky. The dolphins have returned, but are smaller and pink. “What about you?” he says.

Lamb’s father doesn’t hear. Doesn’t listen. He says, “So how have you been? We haven’t talked in a while.”

“I know,” Lamb says. “I know.” He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know why he says I know. He wants to know why he says he knows something when he doesn’t know anything. He chews the inside of his lip. Spits. His saliva hits the railing, dangles for three seconds, and falls into the alley.

“You’re your average prodigal son–”

“Okay, Dad,” Lamb says. “Okay.” There is a short silence. Lamb tries to picture his father. He sees palm trees. Sand. He cannot see his father. “So what can I do for you?”

“I think it was Luke. Or was it Mathew? It’s been a while since I’ve read the Bible.” He pauses for a moment. Clears his throat. “I’m certain. I’m certain it was Luke.”

Lamb can hear his father swallow. Lamb swallows. He holds the phone between his chin and his shoulder. Amy walks onto the balcony and looks at him.

“Who are you talking to?” she whispers. She is holding a pepperoni in her hand. She takes a bite. Lamb shoos her, mouths indecipherably, glares at her with his face twisted in mock agony. She rolls her eyes as if to tell him he’s overreacting and walks away.

“Yeah, Dad,” Lamb says. “I think it was Luke too. In the New Testament.”

“Yes. The New Testament, that’s right.”

There is silence for five seconds. Lamb mentally sees sharks fighting dolphins off the Florida Coast. Stingrays come aid the dolphins like a cavalry or something. The sharks retreat. The dolphins-stingray alliance is victorious and celebrates by headbutting each other.

“Hello?” Lamb says. No response. He looks at his phone. The call has been lost. He stands there for several minutes. Thinks about calling his father back. His father will call back if he wants. He puts his phone into his pocket. Looks at the sky. No dolphins. No stingrays. He can still smell cigarette smoke floating in the air around him. He walks through the apartment to the kitchen sink, not wanting to touch anything before washing the ash from his fingers. The sink is full of dishes. Amy reaches across him for a bottle of fish food.

“Who was that?” she wants to know.