He was still in the mud room and in the middle of getting his boots off when a voice piped up behind him. “Dad?” “Shh!” Jeff quickly got off his other boot and turned to see Scott and John standing behind him. How on Earth they’d slipped up so quietly, he’d never know. “Is your Mom home?” “No, why?” John asked. “I’ve got a little surprise for her. I’ve gotta hide it somewhere she won’t find it,” Jeff told them with a wry half smile. Hiding anything from Lucy was a mission in and of itself. “Wanna see?” “Yes!” both boys chorused and came closer. Jeff sat down on the step between the mudroom and the hallway, the boys draping themselves over his shoulders, and he pulled the bag out from inside his jacket. Delving into it, he pulled out a jeweller’s box and cracked it open to show them what lay inside: an oval green-gold gemstone pendant about a quarter the length of his thumb, slung on a golden chain. “Whadda ya think?” Jeff grinned. “Pretty. What is it?” John had his eyes fixed on the stone, fascinated by the play of light on the cut facets. “Olivine, and specifically, it’s pallasite meteorite olivine,” Jeff told them, well pleased by the ‘oooh’ from his eldest sons. “Think she’ll like it?” “Mom’s gonna love it!” Scott grinned. “Great, now, howsabout you two help me figure out where to hide it until her birthday?” “Yes!” They chorused, then scampered off to look for good hiding spots.

The engine of Lee’s little Piper PA-28 fixed wing roared into life and little Scotty, all of four years old, squealed in alarm and clapped his hands over his ears. Jeff, standing well back at the hangar, scooped Scott up and held him close until the plane had taxied over to the runway.  “Y’know, planes aren’t that scary,” he fondly said as soon as the plane was far enough away. “It’s just noise, nothing to be afraid of.”  “‘S not?” Scott asked, big eyes looking up at his father as he peeled his hands away from the sides of his head.  “Nope.” Jeff smiled. “Besides, we need the noise to fly, and that’s what we’re here to do, right?”  “Right.” Scott nodded, his little face so serious it made him go all gooey on the inside at the sight.  “So,” Jeff affected a serious mein (Lucy always called it his ‘Top Gun’ face), pulled his aviators out from where he’d hooked them on his shirt and put them on his nose. “Let’s saddle up, kiddo.”  Scott immediately put on his kiddie sized aviators (and Jeff went even gooier on the inside) and announced “Let’s saddle up!”  “Attaboy!” Jeff beamed as he walked over to his plane.

“Scott, and I’m one-hundred percent serious about this, do you want me to come down there and make you some pasta?”

Lucy bit her lip as she looked down on the sleeping form of John tightly wrapped around Scott.  It was a rare role reversal for the two boys, and one she cherished as such. Normally Scott would be the one doing the comforting, but those men had badly scared her five-year-old, and three-year-old John had immediately curled around Scott once she'd settled him on her bed.

Bedtime stories were their Mom's thing, first. Then Dad's, after. Then they all started, one by one, to grow out of being read to. Nowadays, even Scott's youngest brothers are more likely to reach for an audiobook as background noise - or, classically for Gordon, whale noises. The littlest boys haven't consistently needed their Dad's stories for a while, so when Dad... disappears, Scott's not exactly anticipating the role to pass to him.

Scott’s run had lasted just over 90 minutes and, according to EOS, he had achieved three new personal bests over some of the trickier segments of the Island’s trails. His pulse thundered in his head as, predictably, the brother he least wanted to see right now joined the trail just ahead of him and ran alongside. “Scott, slow down. Please?”

Scott’s run had lasted just over 90 minutes and, according to EOS, he had achieved three new personal bests over some of the trickier segments of the Island’s trails. His pulse thundered in his head as, predictably, the brother he least wanted to see right now joined the trail just ahead of him and ran alongside. “Scott, slow down. Please?”

“Do I look okay?” John had frozen with his fingers tucked into his hair, a curl wound around his index. He twisted it on repeat, the only flicker of movement that remained, along with the dart of his eyes to Scott, around the room and then to the stars beyond. Would he pass their father's inspection? That’s the question John was really asking. Scott reached out. “May I?” John gave a short, sharp nod, eyes going back to the floor. His uniform hat hung loosely from his other hand, dancing on the borderline of keeping enough tension not to drop it.

This year, it was just after two in the morning when Virgil rolled out of bed and went looking for Scott. He’d been roused from a restless sleep when, informed by some subconscious awareness or instinct, he’d sensed Scott leaving his room. Padding quietly through the dimly lit house on bare feet, Virgil found the eldest on the mezzanine floor above the lounge, his tall frame curled up and wearing the old university tee shirt and sweatpants he usually slept in. Scott didn’t look up as Virgil approached, his eyes fixed on his watch and scarcely daring to blink as the numbers ticked over, a large open bottle of something dark in his other hand. Not even Virgil crouching beside the chair got a reaction. “Scott?” Virgil asked carefully, already planning how to get the bottle off his eldest brother. This was not a coping mechanism that he wanted to chance becoming a habit. “...I’m officially older than Mom,” was the reply, and Virgil felt his gut twist at the utter heartbreak in the words.