MCU: Spider-Man: Rise of Saint

Franklin watched his mom sort through old papers at the kitchen table. She did this sometimes since the phone call in 2008.

He remembered that day. Coming home from school to find her crying in the kitchen. His dad trying to explain - her sister Mary died in a plane crash with her husband Richard.

"I hadn't talked to her in years," his mom said that night. "Not since she married Richard Parker."

Franklin asked if they had any kids. His mom wiped her eyes. "A son. He's with his aunt and uncle now." She tried remembering their names. "Maybelle and... Benjamin, I think."

That was two years ago. Now in 2010, Franklin sometimes caught his mom looking at the few pictures she kept. Two girls with the same eyes - one who became a scientist, one who stayed in Los Angeles.

"Your aunt was brilliant," she told Franklin once. "Could've worked anywhere, done anything. But she chose a different path."

His mom rarely mentioned her sister's son - Franklin's cousin. He tried remembering the name. Peter, that was it.

The news played on TV, another story about Stark Industries. Since Tony Stark announced he was Iron Man, the company changed everything about how it operated.

"What happened to them?" Franklin asked. "Aunt Mary and her husband?"

His mom set down the papers. "Plane crash. They were traveling for work."

"What kind of work?"

"Research. They were scientists." She picked up an old photo. "Mary was always smart. Even when we were kids, she knew exactly what she wanted to do with her life."

Franklin's dad came home from the construction site, his boots dusty. He saw the papers on the table and gave his wife's shoulder a squeeze.

"Should've reached out to her," his mom said quietly. "All those years wasted being angry."

"You couldn't know," his dad answered.

Franklin went to his room and opened his laptop. He typed "Parker plane crash 2008." The article appeared: "Scientists Richard and Mary Parker Die in Plane Crash." A picture showed them at a research conference. His aunt Mary had his mom's eyes.

His phone lit up. A text from Jerome asking about construction work near the beach.

That evening at dinner, his mom checked her phone like she always did now.

"Remember anything about cousin Peter?" Franklin asked.

His mom looked up. "No. We lost touch before he was born."

Franklin got ready for bed. Tomorrow was Saturday. His dad promised to take him to the new construction site near the beach.

"Night, Franklin," his mom called from downstairs.

"Night, Mom."

Several Weeks Later

Franklin sat on the couch watching TV when his phone rang. His mom's number.

"We're at the store," she said. "Need anything?"

"Can you get those chips? The blue bag?"

"The spicy ones? Your dad says they're too expensive."

Franklin heard his dad in the background: "Eight dollars for chips is robbery."

"Fine," his mom said. "But you're sharing them with your father."

"Thanks Mom."

"We'll be home in twenty minutes."

Franklin went back to watching TV. Some show about people fixing old cars. He checked the time - 8:45 PM.

At 9:15, he texted his mom: "Where are you?"

No answer.

He tried his dad's phone. Straight to voicemail.

The TV show ended. Another one started. Franklin kept checking his phone, watching the minutes change. 9:30. 9:45.

Someone knocked on the door. Franklin looked through the peephole. Two police officers stood on the porch.

One officer wore a name tag that said Martinez. The other was shorter, with gray hair.

"Are you Franklin Saint?"

Franklin nodded.

"Is there another adult in the house with you?"

"No. My parents went to the store."

The officers looked at each other.

"Can we come in?" Officer Martinez asked. "We need to talk to you about your parents."

They sat in the living room. The TV still played in the background until Officer Martinez asked if he could turn it off.

"There was an accident," the gray-haired officer said. "On Pacific Coast Highway."

Franklin heard the words but they didn't make sense. Drunk driver. Cliff. On impact.

"Do you have someone we can call?" Officer Martinez asked. "A relative?"

"My uncle Jerome. In New York."

They used Franklin's phone to call Jerome. Franklin sat on the couch while Officer Martinez talked to his uncle. The gray-haired officer asked if he wanted water.

Words floated around him. Emergency contact. Legal guardian. Arrangements.

Jerome was crying on the phone. Franklin had never heard his uncle cry before.

"I'm getting on the first flight out," Jerome told Franklin. "The officers will stay with you until your aunt Gloria and I get there."

More people came to the house. Someone from social services. A counselor. They talked about shock and trauma and grief counseling.

Franklin sat on the couch. The chips his mom promised to buy never made it home.

Officer Martinez stayed until midnight. He ordered pizza but Franklin wasn't hungry.

"Your uncle's flight lands at LAX at six AM," the officer said.

Franklin nodded.

"Try to get some sleep."

But Franklin didn't sleep. He sat on the couch, his phone in his hand, looking at his last text to his mom. Where are you?

Now he knew where they were. Where they would always be.

The sun came up. Officer Martinez drove Franklin to the airport.

Jerome and Gloria waited at arrivals. Gloria hugged Franklin while Jerome talked to the officer.

They drove home in Jerome's rental car. The house looked the same. Franklin's mom's coffee cup still sat on the kitchen counter from that morning. His dad's work boots stood by the door.

"We'll figure this out," Jerome said.

Franklin went to his room. He had his mom's last words in his phone. "We'll be home in twenty minutes."

Except they never made it home.

Jerome sat at the kitchen table with a stack of papers. Franklin watched him sign form after form, listened to him make call after call.

"Yes, I'm his uncle," Jerome said into the phone. "Yes, I'll be taking custody."

Gloria made breakfast but no one ate. She packed some of Franklin's clothes into a suitcase they bought at Target.

"The movers will get the rest," she told Franklin. "Once we're settled in New York."

More people came to the house. A lawyer talked to Jerome about the estate. Insurance people brought more papers. The social worker came back with information about schools in New York.

Franklin sat in his room while adults moved around the house, deciding things, making plans. His phone kept getting texts from classmates asking where he was, why he missed school.

Jerome appeared in the doorway. "Ready to head to the hotel?"

They couldn't stay in the house anymore. Something about paperwork and estate laws. Franklin grabbed his backpack and the suitcase Gloria packed.

The hotel room had two beds and a view of the airport. Jerome spent more time on the phone.

"Flight's booked for Thursday," he told Franklin. "Gives us time to handle everything here."

Franklin nodded. Three days. Three days until he left Los Angeles.

The social worker brought more papers for Jerome to sign. Temporary custody orders. School transfer documents. Change of address forms.

"The house will go on the market next month," Jerome explained. "After we clear everything out."

Gloria took Franklin to buy new clothes while Jerome met with the lawyers. The mall felt too bright, too normal.

"You'll need warmer stuff for New York," Gloria said, picking out winter coats.

Back at the hotel, Jerome ordered room service. No one mentioned the funeral tomorrow.

Franklin couldn't sleep. Jerome noticed him staring at the ceiling.

"Want to watch TV?" Jerome asked quietly, trying not to wake Gloria.

They sat in the dark hotel room watching old movies until sunrise. Gloria slept in the other bed.

The funeral home looked like a regular house. People Franklin didn't know talked about his parents. His dad's construction crew came in their work clothes. His mom's co-workers from the hospital brought flowers.

Jerome handled everything. Thanked people for coming. Talked to the funeral director. Made sure Franklin ate something.

After, more papers needed signing. More calls to make. The hotel room filled with boxes of things Gloria packed from the house.

"Your new school starts next week," Jerome said. "But we can wait if you need time."

Franklin shook his head. "I want to go."

Wednesday night, they packed the suitcases. Jerome booked a shipping company to send the boxes to New York.

"The house is going on the market next month," Jerome said. "After we clear everything out. The money will go into a trust fund for you."

Franklin looked out the hotel window at the LA lights. Five days ago he sat in that house waiting for his parents to bring home chips.

Thursday morning, they went to LAX. Their flight to New York was at ten. Jerome handled the luggage while Gloria got their boarding passes.

Franklin watched LA get smaller through the airplane window. Somewhere down there was his old school, his empty house, his parents.

The flight took six hours. Jerome let Franklin use his iPad to watch movies. Gloria fell asleep reading a magazine.

New York looked different from the air. More buildings, less space. They landed at JFK as the sun set.

Jerome's car waited in long-term parking. They drove through Queens to Forest Hills. The houses looked smaller than in LA, closer together.

"Here we are," Jerome said, pulling up to his house. Two floors with a basement, red brick front, concrete steps leading to a covered porch.

Franklin carried his suitcase inside. The guest room was now his room. Gloria had already ordered furniture, set up the bed.

"Get some rest," Jerome said. "Registration for your new school is at nine tomorrow."

Franklin put his backpack on the new desk. His phone still showed LA time. Three hours behind New York.

He lay down on the new bed. Tomorrow would be busy with school paperwork and getting settled in.