Chapter 261: Coming Home
"Hahaha! Frank, I knew it—you could totally do it!" Hank threw his arms around Frank, overwhelmed with gratitude after seeing Marie and Skylar reconcile.
Frank smiled. "Even if I hadn't stepped in, they would've made up eventually. Just a little spat, that's all."
"By the way, you're leaving for Texas tomorrow, aren't you?" Frank said, turning serious.
"Yeah." Hank's smile faltered slightly as he nodded.
"It's hard adjusting to a new place. You ready for that? Texas is right next to Mexico—Spanish is basically the main language there. Do you speak any Spanish?" Frank asked.
Spanish—second only to English in the U.S.—was especially common among working-class communities. Frank could speak it fluently, something he'd picked up as part of his background.
"Spanish, huh? Not really," Hank admitted.
"You'll need to learn it. It's not too late to start now," Frank said.
"I get it. Thanks, man." Hank raised his bottle, and the two clinked them together.
After Hank left for his new post in Texas, Marie would call Frank from time to time. Frank often showed up when she asked, leaving the house to Pinkman and the Jane so they could have their own fun.
But when Frank was handling business, he ignored Marie entirely—sometimes even turning off his phone.
"Whew, that batch is done," Frank muttered, removing his gas mask. He wiped the sweat from his brow and pulled a cold beer from the cooler, handing one to Walter.
"Hard to believe we've made this much already," Walter said.
With unlimited raw materials and upgraded equipment, plus Pinkman now able to handle much of the work solo under Walter's guidance, production had soared.
They had already produced nearly sixty pounds of product, stacked neatly in boxes. Previously, they sold each pound for $54,000. The new batch was of higher quality, though its color was slightly off, which might affect the price.
Even if they only got $50,000 a pound, that was still $3 million—at least a million each for the three of them!
"Hahaha! We're gonna be rich!" Pinkman shouted, ecstatic after doing the math.
A million bucks! Something he'd only dreamed of.
Walter was just as excited. This one big sale would be enough to leave his family with a secure future. He let out a triumphant yell into the open desert.
The three of them celebrated, giddy with the windfall.
Back at the house, Pinkman left to hang with his usual crowd, while Frank and Walter stayed behind.
"We'll stop here for now. Any more would be hard to move. This amount's already pushing it," Frank said. "In a few days, Pinkman and I will head back to Chicago for a bit. You should take this time to rest."
Walter nodded. He was exhausted.
"How's the treatment going?" Frank asked.
"Phase one is over," Walter replied.
"Feeling better?"
"Too early to tell," Walter said after a swig of beer. "The doctor said we'll have to wait two more months to assess the results and figure out the next step."
"And how do you feel?" Frank pressed.
"Honestly? No different. If anything, I feel weaker," Walter admitted with a wry smile.
"Things will get better," Frank said, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Cough, cough!" Suddenly, Frank doubled over, violently coughing into his hand.
When he pulled it away, his palm was covered in blood.
"Looks like you're getting worse too," Walter observed quietly.
"I'm fine. Until we've got enough money, we can't stop." Frank grabbed a bunch of tissues and wiped the blood from his hand.
"Yeah… we can't stop." Walter nodded grimly.
The next day, Frank said goodbye to Marie. Pinkman parted reluctantly from the Jane. They loaded the goods onto a smuggler's train and left New Mexico behind.
After several tense, exhausting days on the road, they finally made it back to Chicago—safe and sound.
Once there, Frank hid the goods and rushed straight home.
"Dad!" Debbie and Carl came running the moment they saw him.
"Did you miss me?" Frank pulled them both into a bear hug, rubbing his stubbly face against theirs.
"Ew, your beard's prickly!" Debbie pushed his face away.
"Yo, Pinkman!" Carl held out his fist.
"Yo, little bro! How you been?" Pinkman bumped fists with Carl and gave him a shoulder-to-shoulder bro hug.
"Speak properly," Frank said, smacking Pinkman lightly on the back of the head. "Don't teach Carl your street nonsense. He's still a kid."
None of the older kids—like Fiona—were home. Just Debbie, Carl, and baby Liam.
The younger ones dragged Frank around the house, giving him a full tour.
In the half-month Frank had been gone, the renovations were complete. The two houses were now joined into one. Structurally, it was just a couple of connecting hallways—one on each floor—but the place felt whole now.
Each kid had picked a room, and they'd even saved one for Frank. Sammi and Chuckie had moved in too.
From the kids, Frank learned that things at home hadn't changed much while he was gone—at least on the surface.
But in truth, quite a few things had changed.
Sammi still didn't have a steady job, doing odd gigs here and there. She knew Frank owned half the Alibi Room bar, so she went there to help out.
With the money stress gone, Fiona quit her job and enrolled in classes to finish high school and get her diploma.
Lip had stopped working the ice cream truck. Debbie said he was participating in some professor's research project and rarely came home.
Ian quit the corner store to focus on school, especially math. Fiona even signed him up for extra tutoring.
As for Debbie and Carl, with no more need to scrape by or worry about heating through the winter, they got to be regular kids—just playing, carefree, without a care in the world.
Frank hadn't called the kids to let them know he was coming home. He didn't want to interrupt whatever they had going on.
He stopped by to check in on Sheila and Karen too.
He wasn't in a rush to deal with the product. That could wait until tomorrow.
It wasn't until night fell and the rest of the kids came home that they realized Frank and Pinkman were back.