WATERMELON WEEKEND

My mother believed in the irrepressible power of love.

Some might have called her a romantic, but that wasn’t the case. When it came to distinguishing between love and romance, she could not have cited the definitions. She wasn’t able to manipulate semantics in that way.

But she knew the meaning of the word.

I was the eldest of four boys raised by Elizabeth “Bessie” Fender.

I appeared on the scene when she was nineteen. At four months pregnant, she married my father, John Fender, for whom I was named. Dad finished high school and enlisted in the Armed Forces to provide for us.

Eighteen months later he was dead. The only mementos I have are a pair of pictures on my nightstand. There’s one of him with my mother, laughing on my grandfather’s porch, and another where he’s in full uniform about to ship out to Cyprus.

Oh, and the story of how he died – that’s mine as well, though I usually keep it to myself. There’s nothing noble in the concept of friendly fire. When his Canadian peace-keeping unit was hit that day, he wasn’t the only casualty. A couple of civvies went down, but they aren’t listed by name in the letter Mom received.

That’s another story, and not one I like to dwell on. I never knew Dad, but I have to give him credit. According to my mother, he was handsome and brave, and, like her, he believed in love.

Because I had no father, Grandpa did his best to step into the role. He taught me to fish and how to fix things. He wasn’t a violent man. I don’t believe I ever saw him angry, not really. Still, he took the time to talk to me about self defense, in the way I imagined my own father would have if he’d lived.

“I don’t go for weapons,” he said. “If your enemy is bigger and stronger than you are, he’s going to take your knife and use it against you.

“If you must fight with a weapon, don’t let go of it no matter what. Consider it an extension of your hand. And don’t hesitate to use it.”

I nodded as if I understood.

“And Johnny,” he added, “never forget: It’s always best to walk away from a fight. A real man doesn’t have to prove himself.”

In my childish mind, I knew he was wrong. A man did have to prove himself.

“If you find yourself in a situation where you have to fight, for God’s sake, fight hard. If you knock a man down, make sure he stays down.”

“Have you ever been in a fight, Grandpa?” I asked.

“Once or twice, son.”

He smiled, pointing at the kitchen cupboard. “Go get me the Phillips screwdriver,” he said. “That hinge is loose. I know your mother. She’ll be nagging us if she sees it.”

It was Friday morning more than twenty years ago, when I was twelve going on thirteen. I could hear my eight-year-old brother, Nicky, crashing around in the bathroom. He was supposed to be brushing his teeth, but it sounded more like he was dismantling the plumbing.

The twins, David and Dale, were five. They were good boys, self-sufficient, although they liked to follow Nicky around at times, to his annoyance.

David was the quiet one, content to be in a room with his family. Dale was more talkative, interested in what was going on around him.

Nicky, for the most part, was a sullen child. He didn’t cause trouble, but I guess you could say he had a chip on his shoulder. He liked to be left alone. The only person he really related to was our mother.

That Friday morning more than twenty years ago, we were packing for a weekend at the cottage. Grandpa owned a place up in Muskoka. Mom had a key and a standing invitation to take us there any time she liked.

We spent many weekends at Grandpa’s cottage. In the old days he used to come with us, doing all the things a father would do. He taught us to play baseball, hauling out his pride and joy: a collectable 1938 Louisville Slugger his father had bought him when he first joined Little League.

He used to kid us, saying we had to be “this tall” before he’d let us hold the bat.

He always relented, to our delight. That’s what Grandpas are for.

By the time I was twelve, Grandpa wasn’t well anymore, and he didn’t come up too often. He still liked to know we were using the place, though.

Mom had recently started dating Phil, a thirty-something salesman who was employed by a drug manufacturing company. No one at the pharmacy where she worked knew they were seeing each other. She’d told us about Phil earlier that week, but warned us not to say a word to Grandpa, at least until she was sure it would work out.

Even though Mom was a knockout at thirty-one, a single mother of four boys doesn’t get many romantic offers, so she was excited to be dating again.

It was to be our first weekend together with Phil. He seemed like a nice enough guy. I could tell Mom was hoping it would get serious.

“Remember,” she confided, “let’s not put any pressure on the relationship. It’s our secret for now. Don’t mention it to Grandpa, or anyone.”

I nodded.

I was glad to see Mom happy.

Not so my brother, Nicky. He’d been in a foul mood all week.

“Come on,” I said, tapping on the bathroom door. “I need in there. The twins are already in the van.”

Nicky didn’t answer. A moment later the door opened and he came out, deliberately bumping into me.

I tended to make allowances for my half-brother. According to Grandpa, who seldom had a hard word for anyone, Nicky’s father was a “no-good womanizing bum gambler”. Steve did time for petty theft and car-jacking. His brief marriage to my mother had ended badly.

A few years later she met Brayden, a handsome musician. He was a nice fellow who paid attention to me and Nicky, which most guys wouldn’t do.

When the ultra-sound revealed Mom was carrying his twins, Brayden screwed off. We have no idea where he went. We haven’t seen him since.

I think the twins have it worse than Nicky does. At least Nicky’s father didn’t disappear. It must really suck to be so low on the totem pole.

Mom said the responsibility was too much for Brayden.

I have my own opinion. There are men who face their duties – men like my father and Grandpa – and there are those who don’t. It’s as simple as that.

I seldom think of Brayden. When I do, I admit it’s with a certain measure of disdain.

“Get your stuff,” I said. “Tell Mom I’ll be right there.”

Nicky grabbed his bag and stomped down the stairs.

So that’s how we ended up in Mom’s minivan on a sunny Friday morning in July. Two adults, four boys and one big hairy dog – our golden retriever, Fanny.

Nicky’s mood lifted once we were on our way. He and I played Mario on our Gameboys. Dale fell asleep and David worked on a word search.

“Where do you want to shop?” Phil asked.

We were in Barrie with still a long way to go.

“There’s a Sobeys up ahead,” Mom said. “Do you boys want anything in particular?”

“Watermelon,” Nicky said, smiling at the thought.

“Yes, watermelon,” I agreed.

“Watermelon it is!” Phil said.

David clapped his hands.

Phil grinned at us in the rear view mirror. I wasn’t sure why Mom had let him drive. After all it was our car, and Mom was a good driver.

But he seemed to know his way around, at least so far.

“Do you boys want to come in?” Mom said.

 “No, we’ll be all right here,” I said.

“OK. Keep an eye on your brothers. If the car gets too hot, open a door.”

“I’ll stay with the boys,” Phil said.

As soon as Mom went into the store, Phil pushed his seat back and closed his eyes. It could be a tedious drive if you weren’t used to it.

Mom was in the store about a half an hour. When she returned, Nicky let out a low whistle.

“Holy crap!” I said.

Mom had gone all out. The buggy was piled high with food.

Nicky and I helped load the groceries into the van.

At the bottom of the buggy were three big green watermelons.

I should mention, Grandpa’s cottage has a dock where he kept his boat tied up. The water there is deep and not too full of reeds.

That’s where we learned to swim, doing cannon-ball jumps into the cold lake on a hot day.

Some of my best memories involve munching on watermelon with my legs dangling over the edge of that dock.

So yes, we were happy to see the watermelon.

I caught Nicky’s eye. He was smiling for a change.

David fell asleep north of Barrie. I lost interest in playing with the Gameboys. I’d recently been teaching myself to play chess, so I challenged Nicky to a duel.

He was a better sport than I was, losing without complaint.

Before we knew it, we could see Go Home Lake. Within twenty minutes we’d be at the cottage.

What could be more thrilling for a boy than arriving at a crystalline lake with hours of sunlight still ahead and nothing to do but run, swim and play?

We hurried to change into our trunks and headed for the dock.

“Keep an eye on your brothers,” Mom said.

“I will.”

“Dale has trouble climbing out of the water.”

“I know.”

“I’ll bring down some watermelon in half an hour.”

“Hooray!” the twins shouted.

That evening Mom surprised us with a rare treat – six huge steaks on the barbecue. We ate till our stomachs were distended: baked potatoes, sour cream and corn on the cob.

“Anyone want more watermelon?” Phil asked.

Without waiting for an answer, he went to fetch a large bowl from the fridge.

Nicky and I groaned at the sight of the juicy red melon. Still, we couldn’t help ourselves.

“You boys will be awake peeing all night long,” Mom laughed, reaching for a piece.

“Let’s hope not.” Phil winked at Mom.

She giggled.

I bit into another piece of melon.

Nicky and I washed the dishes while Mom and Phil set up the DVD player.

It wasn’t easy finding movies we all liked. Nicky and I would watch just about anything, but the twins got frightened easily. Especially Dale.

Mom finally decided on Mrs. Doubtfire.

“Be careful with that knife,” Mom said.

I glanced at Nicky, who was carrying the big carving knife toward the sink. It was slick with watermelon juice.

Worried he might hurt himself, I reached for it.

He turned the handle toward me and I dipped the knife into the soapy water, careful not to cut myself.

We have a rule in our house: only Mom and I are allowed to handle the sharp knives. Rather than drying it, Nicky left it standing in the rack.

“Who wants popcorn?” Mom asked.

“We do!” my brothers shouted.

It isn’t easy keeping boys fed. Grandpa used to accuse us of having hollow legs.

“Where’d you put your dinner?” he would joke, watching us go back to the stove for seconds.

The movie was a lot of laughs. Even Nicky enjoyed it. By comparison with Steve and Brayden, Robin Williams as Mrs. Doubtfire looked like some kind of Super-Dad.

The northern air was weighing on us, so after the movie Mom ordered us to brush our teeth and get to bed. Nicky and I shared a room near the kitchen, closest to the bathroom. Fanny usually slept on the floor between our single beds. David and Dale had bunk beds in the middle room. The third small room off the living room, farthest from the kitchen, was Grandpa’s.

Mom had the master bedroom off the other sideof the living room. The cottage had been designed by Grandpa back when Grandma was alive. The big room had belonged to them in those days, but Grandpa seldom came up anymore. When he did, he was happy to use the little room.

Being the oldest, I sometimes stayed up late watching movies with Mom, but it was obvious she wanted private time with Phil, so I didn’t argue. Besides I was tired, and Nicky’s mood was getting dicey. I lay awake, listening to adult chatter in the other room. The sound was alien to me, but not unpleasant. Mom and Phil kept the TV volume low. Nicky was asleep in no time and I followed not long after, seduced by the honest fatigue of a day spent in the sunshine.

I don’t know what woke me. Maybe it was some minor twitch of Nicky’s or maybe Fanny rolled over on the floor. Our dog wasn’t much of a talker. When she needed attention, she would give me a look. I don’t think I ever heard her whine, and I could count the times she’d barked on one hand.

For whatever reason, I found myself suddenly awake, long after everyone else had gone to sleep.

Nicky had a tendency to get cranky if he didn’t get his ten hours, so I crept silently out of bed to the kitchen to check the time.

The clock on the stove said 2:15 am.

I turned toward the bathroom and, as I did, I heard a whisper coming from the twins’ room.

I thought I must be imagining it – there was no way either David or Dale would be awake at that hour. I was about to dismiss it when there it was again, the unmistakeable sound of a whisper coming from the middle bedroom.

David normally slept on the top bunk, being the braver of the two, and Dale was on the bottom.

Not sure of what I’d heard, and not wanting to wake them, I tiptoed to the doorway and peeked inside.

The twins had a nightlight, a plastic cartoon image, plugged into the outlet near the baseboard. By its light, and to my shock, I saw Phil stretched out on the bottom bunk beside my little brother.

I couldn’t see his hands.

Dale saw me before Phil did. My brother’s eyes were frightened, and there were tears glistening in the faint light.

Innocent me – I had no idea what was going on. But it didn’t look right.

“Dale, are you sick?” I asked.

Phil stood, knocking his head on the top bunk and waking David.

“Dale was crying,” he answered, too quickly. “I came to check on him.”

“I’ll get Mom.”

“No need. Everything’s all right now.”

Dale still hadn’t said a word.

“Was it your stomach?” I asked. Dale was sometimes prone to gas, which made him whiney.

He shook his head.

“What was it?” I insisted.

“I want to sleep with you and Nicky,” he said.

“Me too,” David chimed in.

Something wasn’t right. I glanced at Phil and was not reassured by what I saw in his eyes. He was wearing a guilty look, the kind Nicky wore when we caught him red-handed eating the last of the cookies.

“I’ll get Mom,” I repeated.

Phil grabbed my shoulder as I turned.

“I said there’s no need to wake your mother. Everything’s all right now.”

I have a real thing about being touched by strangers. The only man I’d ever admired and felt loved by was my Grandpa, and he wasn’t the touchy-feely sort. He was far more likely to hand me a tool and let me work beside him. That was how we expressed our affection.

I shook Phil’s hand off, probably with more force than I intended.

“Hey there,” he said. “Just wait a minute.”

“Leave me alone.”

“What’s going on?” I heard my mother’s sleepy voice calling from the master bedroom. “Is everyone all right? I knew someone would have trouble sleeping after all that watermelon.” She approached the twins’ bedroom, pulling her robe over her shoulders.

“Everything’s all right,” Phil said. “I got up to use the bathroom and heard Dale crying. I came to check on him.”

“I want my Mommy,” Dale said, becoming hysterical at the sound of our mother’s voice.

“There, there, baby. It’s all right. Mommy’s here now.”

“Stay with me, Mommy.”

“Stay with me,” David repeated Dale’s request, minus the tears.

“Is your tummy OK?”

Dale nodded.

“Do you need to use the bathroom?”

He shook his head.

“Do you have a headache?”

Again, the head shake.

“I think you’ve had a nightmare, sweetheart,” she said, hugging my brother. “You close your eyes now and get back to sleep.”

“It wasn’t a nightmare, Mommy. It was Phil. He scared me.”

My stomach tightened.

By now, Nicky was awake as well. He turned on the light and stood in the kitchen near the counter, a wary look on his face. Fanny was at his side.

“Phil was checking on you, dear,” Mom said to Dale. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“He hurt me. I want to sleep with John and Nicky.”

Mom let go of Dale and stood, her full height falling short of Phil’s by nearly a foot.

“What do you mean, Dale? How did Phil hurt you?”

“He wouldn’t leave me alone.” Dale began to wail uncontrollably. It was obvious we weren’t going to get anything coherent out of him.

“What did you do?” Mom said to Phil, her voice cold in a way I’d never heard before.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Bessie, the boy had a bad dream. I was checking on him. You baby them all too much.”

“Mom,” I said, reluctant to interfere, but unable to remain silent, “I saw Phil. He was under the covers with Dale. Dale was crying.”

“What do you mean, under the covers?”

I looked at my feet. My vocabulary would not allow me to elaborate.

“Go.” My mother pointed at the doorway, her eyes fastened on Phil’s face. “Get your clothes on and get out.”

“Where can I go?” Phil said. “We only brought your car.”

“You can sleep in the van for tonight. In the morning, we’ll call you a cab, and you can catch a bus in town.”

“This is ridiculous!” he shouted. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I don’t know whether you did or didn’t,” Mom said, “but I want you out of my house. Do I need to call the police?”

I edged closer to the phone.

“Police?” Phil said, stepping towards our mother. “Are you threatening me?”

Fanny barked – only once. It was such an unusual sound I couldn’t help but jump.

Nicky’s shoulders stiffened. He slid closer to the dish rack. He caught my eye, and I knew what he was thinking.

Silently, I shook my head. I remembered my grandfather saying a weapon is only as good as the person holding it. If your enemy is bigger and stronger, he will likely take it and use it against you.

It was always better, according to Grandpa, to simply run, and if you couldn’t run, then use your brain.

“Let’s all settle down,” I said in what I hoped was a smooth voice. “Come on, Dale. You’ve had a bad dream. You and David can sleep with me and Nicky tonight.”

In my mind’s eye, I saw the privacy latch my grandfather had attached to our bedroom door. “A boy your age needs to be able to lock the door every now and again,” he said. I figured once the boys were in our room, we could lock it. If necessary, we could use my cell phone to call the cops.

Phil had other plans.

“Settle down?” he mimicked. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” Phil pushed Mom out of the bedroom. She hit her head on the door frame and fell onto the living room floor.

Fanny leapt forward, placing her body between Phil and our mother. Her efforts won her a kick in the ribs. She yelped, but did not move.

“That’s enough,” I said.

Nicky took another step toward the kitchen counter.

David scrambled down from the top bunk and ran to our mother.

“You little shit,” Phil snarled in my direction, his congenial mask now long gone. “I could kill the lot of you and no one would even know I was here.”

Dale let out a fresh howl.

“You hear me? I could start with Dale here, snap him in half with one hand and keep on going till I put every one of you miserable bastards down.”

Phil reached for Dale, pulling him from the bottom bunk. He dug his fingers into Dale’s fragile shoulder and pulled him past our mother into the living room.

“What’s with this brat?” he said. “Doesn’t he ever stop whining?”

He lifted Dale into the air and shook him, yelling, “Shut the fuck up.”

Dale held his breath, doing his best not to cry.

Mom stood up.

“Please, Phil,” she said, in her most reasonable Mom voice, “let’s get some sleep. We’re wound up. It’s probably the watermelon.”

“You stupid cow,” Phil sneered, still holding Dale. “You think you’re going to call the cops on me? A desperate bitch like you with your snivelling litter? Who else would have you?”

Nicky’s hand moved quickly and quietly, lifting the knife from the dish rack. I don’t think Phil noticed.

“I’m sorry, Phil,” Mom said, remaining calm. “I didn’t mean it. Let’s go to bed. We can sort it out in the morning.” She pushed David toward me with one hand. I grabbed him and shoved him behind me, into the kitchen.

Mom stepped towards Phil and Dale, nudging Fanny out of the way. She had to diffuse the situation before it got any more dangerous. She caught my eye. I knew she was counting on me to take care of the boys, get them to safety down the road, once she convinced Phil to join her back in bed.

Then, as if changing her mind, she suddenly stepped past Phil, heading toward Grandpa’s room.

“What are you doing?” Phil shouted.

Mom didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. I knew what she was up to.

Grandpa always said a weapon was only as good as the person holding it. He didn’t own a gun. He always said a determined criminal could overpower an honest man every time. A lethal weapon like a gun could be taken and used against you.

That didn’t mean we shouldn’t defend ourselves.

Nicky stepped past David and stood beside me, holding the large kitchen knife. For a second I thought he meant to pass it to me. After all, I was bigger and stronger.

When it came right down to it, though, he was probably tougher than I was. Squaring his shoulders, he prepared for battle.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Phil said. He looked at the knife in Nicky’s hand. Holding Dale in front of him, he said, “I could snap your brother’s neck like a twig. Is that what you want?”

“Nicky,” I said, “give me the knife.”

Reluctantly Nicky stepped back, handing me the weapon.

“That’s more like it,” Phil said. “Now, you boys get on the floor. Face down, side by side.”

Nicky and I stood together, neither of us moving. I could hear David whimpering behind us, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Phil long enough to check on him.

Nicky saw Mom come out of Grandpa’s bedroobedroom. When he realized what she meant to do, I could feel his energy change.

She had the advantage of surprise. With Phil focused on Nicky, me and the knife, she was able to bring up the rear.

She moved swiftly, leaving no chance for Phil to react.

In her hands was the only weapon Grandpa would allow in his house – the 1938 Louisville Slugger, the very one his father had given him. The same one he used when he taught me and Nicky to play ball on those long sun-filled days at his cottage, when he would be the father we never had, laughing and playing until we’d used up the last of his youthful vigour.

Phil never saw it coming.

One strike and he was out.

I ran for Dale, lifting him out of reach of the man we now knew to be a monster.

Phil groaned softly, stirring on the floor.

“Damn,” Mom said.

“I can tie him up,” I said.

“To hell with that.”

She raised the bat once more, with steady surety, pausing for only an instant before bringing down the fatal blow.

Spent, she fell onto the couch. I think she was in shock. Her robe hung loosely, and she shivered. Her face was deadly white.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

Nicky brought a blanket from our room and covered her. I lifted her feet onto the couch.

“I’ll be OK,” she said. “Just give me a moment.”

“We have to get him out of here,” Nicky said, nodding at the bleeding mass that had been Phil.

I tried to take control of the situation, assuming my best television persona.

“I’ll check his pulse,” I said.

“Don’t bother,” Mom said, sitting up. “He’s finished.”

I thought she was probably right. His eyes were open, glazed over, staring blindly at the overhead fan.

“Give me the bat,” Nicky said. “I’ll clean it up.”

“Good thinking,” I said.

“I’ll get dressed,” Mom said.

“Me too. We can take him down to the dock.”

“We have to take him further than that,” she said. “We can use Grandpa’s boat.”

“I’ll get the plastic tarp from the shed.” My grandfather kept a couple of tarps, the kind you can tie to four trees to make an awning. We liked to sit under them when it rained, listening to the drops above our heads, all the while cheating nature by remaining outdoors and dry.

“There are rubber boots in the basement. Bring a pair for both of us.”

“OK.”

She headed for the master bedroom to get changed.

On my way to the stairs, I peeked into the bathroom. Nicky was doing a good job of cleaning the bat.

“I’m going to help Mom get rid of him,” I said.

Nicky nodded.

“We’ll leave Fanny with you and the boys. Can you clean the floor while we’re gone?”

He nodded again.

“We can’t leave any blood stains on the wood.”

He knew what I meant. We both watched a lot of television.

“I’ll move the furniture and make sure I get it all.”

“Good. You’d better throw Mom’s nightgown and robe into the washer. Dale and Fanny might need cleaning up, too. We’ll try not to be too long.”

“There’s a deep spot over near where Mr. Branson likes to fish,” Nicky said. “No one swims out that way.”

“I know the spot.”

“And John,” he said, still scouring the bat, “make sure he stays down.”

“I’ll make sure.”

In Grandpa’s shed I found the wheelbarrow, some yellow nylon rope, a good, strong tarp and a cement block that had been broken in half.

I carried the tarp into the house. Nicky helped me roll Phil onto it. The floor under his head was still warm and slick. Then Nicky and Mom took one end of the tarp and I took the other, and together we carried him out to the yard.

We got both parts of the broken cement block into the tarp with Phil, then sealed it firmly with the heavy duty yellow rope before tipping the wheel barrow and rolling what was left of Phil into it. In the dark, we couldn’t be sure we hadn’t allowed any blood to escape, but we had no immediate neighbours. In the morning I’d come out and water the area, making sure to clean the wheel barrow.

“Boys, you mind Nicky while we’re gone,” Mom said to the twins. “Don’t go into your room till you’re clean.”

They nodded.

I pushed the wheel barrow down to the dock. Phil was heavy, especially with the added weight of the cement block.

“That was good thinking,” Mom said.

          “Thanks.”

          She helped me get him into Grandpa’s boat.

          “I’ll row,” she said.

I was already bigger than she was, but I could tell her nerves were shot, so I didn’t argue. Rowing gave her something to do.

We didn’t talk much, at least not that I recall. When we were about half way to Branson’s fishing spot, she paused in her rowing and looked up at the sky.

“Nearly a full moon,” she said, taking care not to raise her voice. Sound carries easily on the water.

I looked to where she was pointing.

“I think it’s supposed to be tomorrow night,” I said.

“Johnny, tell me the truth. Was Phil molesting Dale?”

I looked away, studying the black water.

“I think so,” I said.

“Me, too.”

We found the spot, or near enough to it, and taking care not to tip the boat, we managed to roll him up and over the ledge.

He made a loud splash. It was over in a second. There aren’t many people up that way, and even if anyone was awake, a splashing sound isn’t unusual when you live near a lake.

“Well, that’s that,” Mom said.

“He’ll stay down,” I said.

“Would you mind rowing back? I’m kind of tired.”

She traded spots with me and closed her eyes, turning her pale face up to the moonlight. I’d always thought of her as beautiful, and she was only thirty-one, but in that moment I could see the onset of age – the roots of tiredness spreading in tiny lines around her eyes.

Her blonde hair shone a ghostly silver, and I imagined: This is how she’ll look as an old woman. This is how she’ll be in those last years before she dies.

The thought made me sad.

I got us back as quickly as I could. Nicky was a tough bugger, but I knew the twins would be inconsolable, needing their mother.

I don’t remember the rest of the weekend really. Mom called Grandpa on Saturday morning, spilling the whole story. He reminded her to go over everything with bleach, and he talked to me and the boys, telling us to stay calm.

“Don’t panic,” he said. “Cool heads will always prevail. Make sure you get rid of his belongings.”

We stayed till Sunday night. Mom didn’t want to raise suspicion by heading home early. We didn’t do much – stayed in the cottage, close to Mom.

The drive back was long and quiet. We didn’t make any stops.

We were all different somehow after that night. We went about our business in the usual way, keeping our routines. But a secret like that wears you down. We looked at each other with more knowing eyes.

Grandpa died a few years later. I don’t know how I would’ve endured my teens without him – what kind of man I’d have become without his steady influence.

Nicky was, if possible, even more sullen in the years that followed, although he was a big help to Mom and me with the twins. He didn’t like to leave them on their own – ever vigilant, I suppose – so he stayed close to home in the evenings, especially after I started dating.

Mom reported that a new salesperson from the drug manufacturing company had started calling on the pharmacy where she worked. A chatty young woman by the name of Selina. She and Mom became friends.

According to Selina, the previous salesperson, Phil, had up and disappeared, leaving the company without notice.

When police came around to speak to his co-workers, it was revealed Phil had a questionable history. He’d been accused on two separate occasions of impropriety towards children. In both cases, the victims and their single mothers had recanted. Charges were dropped.

Most likely, he’d been able to silence his previous victims with threats.

Phil met the wrong single mother the day he hooked up with Bessie Fender.

And now, more than twenty years later, I look out over the gathered congregation. Nicky isn’t there. He joined the forces after high school and, like my father, never came back.

Dale and David remained bachelors. They have a house not far from Mom’s. Today they’re sitting in the front pew, together as always, near my wife, Samantha, and our daughter Bessie.

“My mother,” I began, “believed in the irrepressible power of love.”

My eyes sting. I’m not sure I can finish the eulogy.

But I know I must, and so I reach down deep inside myself for the courage to say goodbye…

…to the strongest, most loving person I will ever know.