It was time for bed. Mac found his aunt going through the bills. He knew she was worried about money.
“Any mail for me today?” he asked.
She stopped and looked up, smiling. “No, sweetheart, not today. But soon I bet. I’ve contacted everyone I can to get a message to your dad. I’m sure he’ll surface soon.”
He nodded. “Yeah. I know he will. He might be in the Antarctic or under the ocean.
Never know with him.”
She smiled and took his hand.
“I know; I miss him, too. Did you know that your dad and I dated before he met your mom? A long time ago…”
“No way.”
She laughed. “I was crazy about him. We went everywhere together…had so much fun.
And then he met your mom. He didn’t know she was my sister and well…the rest is history I guess. I was the flighty one. The artist. Your mom was practical, sensible. They were a good pair.” She looked away and he realized that she really liked his dad.
“Night, Mac. Sleep well.”
“Night.”
Mac’s room was a make-shift combination of his aunt’s art supplies, half-finished sculptures, and endless boxes of beads, glue, buttons and paints which had all been pushed aside to make room for him.
Mac pulled a box from under the bed and sat on the floor next to it. He found the wrinkled picture of his dad. Smoothing it over and over he stared at it for a long time.
“Think about me tonight, Dad. Remember me. Mom…she’s gone. It was so
fast…pneumonia. Just…gone. I miss you, Dad. So much.”
He slid the box back under the bed, placing the picture under his pillow. But he waited to cry until he turned out the light.
William, hiding in the bushes outside Mac’s window sighed.
“I must make my calls. I must call in the troops,” he whispered to the hushed, sad night.