At Jessica’s apartment, there was no courtyard for the children to play in. At my loft, there was nothing but bars and restaurants surrounding the building. The yard that the children were able to play in was a decorative concrete area in front of the movie theatre.

Being deprived of one of life’s luxuries that most children take for granted, Landon looked forward to visiting my parents on Sundays. Regardless of the weather, he spent the majority of his time in the large backyard, looking for any living creature. Often, he’d bring bugs in the house and ask my father what they were.

Predicting the late winter weather in southern Kansas was impossible. One day it might be seventy-five degrees. The next it may snow. We’d been fortunate for a few days, having temperatures in the seventies.

The car came to a stop. Landon unbuckled the seatbelt, hopped from his car seat, and struggled to get the door opened.

“Excited, Bud?” I asked.

“I’m going to find a butterfly,” he said. “A big one.”

“A bit early in the season for that, but it’s okay to look,” I said.

Jess got out and opened his door. Landon bolted down the sidewalk and up the front porch steps. While waiting at the front door, my mother opened the door.

“Good afternoon, Honey.”

Landon looked at her and grinned. Then, he rushed past her.

I shook my head. “He’s excited to go bug hunting.”

She cupped her hand to her ear. “What?”

“Nothing, Mother!” I shouted.

When we walked in the house, my father was explaining something to Landon. Listening eagerly while holding something in his hands, Landon nodded a few times. Then, he took off running for the back door.

“What was that about?” I asked.

“I gave him a bug catching kit.”

“A what?”

“A net, a magnifying glass, and a little bug cage to keep them in.”

“Now he’s going to want to keep them,” I complained. “I’ll have a houseful of bugs.”

“Better than a houseful of god damned snakes,” he said.

As a child, I was fascinated with snakes. I’d trek through the neighborhood, rural areas, and fields, looking for them in their usual hiding places. Under scraps of wood, rocks, and in thick brush. It wasn’t uncommon for me to return after an afternoon of searching with two or three specimens. Despite my father’s demands that they be left outside, I’d often kept them in my room, as pets.

“I hate snakes,” Jess said. “They’re gross.”

My father laughed. “This goofball used to have dozens of them in his bedroom.”

She shot me a look. “Why?”

“I liked them. Snakes and lizards. In California, I’d go lizard hunting. They were everywhere.”

“That’s gross.”

I shrugged. “I think it’s a boy thing.”

The back door opened and then closed. Landon rushed into the living room, clutching the bug jail in his hands. He thrust it in my father’s face.

“What’s this?”

My father took the cage, looked it over, and handed it back to Landon. “It’s a cricket.”

“What’s a cricket?” Landon asked.

“It’s a member of the Gryllidae family of insects. They have cylindrical bodies, round heads and long antennas.”

Landon eyes thinned. “What’s cylin…cylindra…”

“Cylindrical,” my father said, slowly. “It means the body is round and shaped like this.” He held his hands parallel with one another. “Not this.” He formed a ‘V’ with his hands.

Landon gave a nod and turned toward the back door.

“Landon,” my father said, raising his index finger.

Landon hesitated and then turned around.

“Find me a Caelifera.”

“What do they look like?” Landon asked.

“A grasshopper.”

Landon took off in a dead run toward the door. “Okay.”

My father had spent a lifetime reading. Consequently, it seemed he knew everything. His IQ was genius level as a child, and he’d done nothing but feed himself with information for his entire life.

It didn’t matter what the question was, it seemed he could answer it. Before the internet was available, he was my Google. I’d often call him to settle arguments with the fellas, knowing he’d have the answer for whatever question I’d toss at him.

Lily and my mother went into the kitchen to eat cookies together. Jess and I stayed in the living room with my father.

“You know where the silverware is, don’t you?” my father asked.

“What silverware?”

“The fucking silverware,” he snapped back. “The silverware.”

My family had passed hand-made silverware down through the generations from the oldest son to the oldest son. For three hundred and fifty years, the passing of the silverware hadn’t missed a generation.

Somehow, each man who was born the eldest son raised a son of his own. As my father was the eldest son, and I was his eldest son, the tradition would continue with my inheritance of the silverware upon my father’s passing.

“I know where it is, why?”

“I’m going to die one of these days. You need to know where it is,” he said. “I was just checking.”

I knew one day that my father would die but couldn’t imagine living life without him. He was in his mid-seventies and wasn’t in the best of health, but he was the toughest man I knew. The thought of his life ending made no sense to me. In my eyes, he was simply to mean to die.

“You’re not planning on croaking, are you?”

“Not yet,” he said. “But I’ll keep you posted.”

I rolled my eyes.

“So, I’ve got a question,” he said, his tone serious.

“Okay.”

He raised his hand to his chin. After studying Jess for a moment, he studied me. “Are you Erik and she’s Kelli?”

“God damn it, Pop,” I snarled. “I told you not to read that.”

“I got tired of waiting for you to write another book,” he said. “I see you put Teddy’s dumb ass in there.”

While Jess fidgeted nervously, I blew out a long breath. “I can’t believe you read it.”

“It was interesting,” he said. “Fascinating, really. I laughed a few times, teared up a few times, and was enlightened on a few things.”

“I’m glad I could entertain you,” I said in a sarcastic tone.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said.

To satisfy his ornery prying, I gave a quick response.

“Yes.”

With his hand still raised to his chin, he nodded a few times. He then picked up his Kindle and began to read. A few moments later, he lowered it.

“Be sure and take care of her,” he said. “Just like in the book.”

“I will.”

“I mean it,” he said, his tone harsh.

I made eye contact and gave a crisp nod. “Yes, Sir.”

He looked at Jess and grinned. Then, he went back to reading.

“I can’t believe he knows,” Jess whispered.

“He’s not stupid,” I said under my breath.

He lowered his Kindle. “No, he’s certainly not.”

My mother walked into the living room. “What are you talking about?”

“Rice,” my father said.

“What?”

“Rice!”

“What about it?” she asked.

“The rising prices,” he said. “It’s skyrocketing in China.”

“Oh,” she said. “It’s pretty much the same every time I go to Dillon’s.”

“Give it time,” he said.

My mother and father’s relationship was an interesting one. Filled with humor, teasing, and my father simply being cantankerous for entertainment’s sake, they’d managed to stay married for over fifty-five years.

He attributed their marriage’s success to their weekly Scrabble game. On Fridays – every Friday – they played a game of Scrabble. On Sundays, I always asked who won. When my father was the victor, he proudly claimed it, divulging the score of the game. When my mother won, he’d often say he couldn’t remember who the winner was.

Funny, coming from a man with a photographic memory.

“Who won on Friday?” I asked.

“We didn’t play,” my father said.

Jess turned toward my mother. “Who won the Scrabble game on Friday!”

“Oh,” my mother said. “I did. Seven oh two to six eighty-eight.”

“Every dog has his day,” my father said. “It must have been hers.”

My mother looked at Jess. “What did he say?”

“He said you cheated.”

“He’s full of beans,” my mother said. “He always has been. I beat him fair and square.”

“Who won last week?” Jess asked.

“I did,” my father exclaimed. “Six ninety-four to six sixty.”

Jess glanced in his direction. “You can remember that, but you can’t remember two days ago?”

“Selective memory loss,” he said. “You stick around him long enough, and you’ll develop it. It comes in handy.”

Landon returned throughout the afternoon with several specimens, each of which my father promptly identified. When it was time for us to leave, we all shared a hug. Our weekly visits had Jess looking forward to the ritual, not dreading it.

“See you next week, sweetheart,” my father said.

Jess smiled. “Okay.”

He pointed at Landon, who was clutching his bug cage like it was filled with jewels. “See you next week, Bud.”

“Okay,” Landon said with a smile.

“Bye, Lily.”

Lily grinned her usual grin, and then waved. “Bye.”

The ride home was uneventful. Lily fell asleep while Landon admired his day’s findings. When Jess pulled up to the intersection across from my building, she came to a stop. After checking cross traffic, she looked at me and smiled.

“Here you go,” she said.

“This is dumb,” I said, referring to her having to drive me everywhere.

“Pay your ticket,” she said with a laugh.

I kissed her and then pushed my door open. “See you tomorrow.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Baby.”

I walked around the car and stepped onto the sidewalk. Jess turned the corner, and then stopped.

“Scott!” Jess shouted.

I looked up. Her window was down, and she was leaning out of it. “Landon said he wants to talk to you.”

She lowered his window.

I leaned against the top of the car and peered inside. “What’s up, Bud?”

With his bug cage held firmly in his hands, he looked up at me. The late afternoon sun hit him in the face. He closed one eye. With the other wide open, he looked right at me.

“Will you be my dad?” he asked.

My throat constricted. My eyes welled with tears. I knew if I spoke that I’d make a fool of myself.

I clenched my fist, extended it through the window, and held it over him.

He grinned and then pounded his knuckles into mine.

I swallowed heavily and stepped away from the car.

Jess looked at me. She must have seen the emotion that was running through my veins. “Is everything okay?” she asked.

“He asked me…he uhhm…he wants…he wanted to know if I’d be his dad,” I whispered.

Her lips quivered. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Her lips parted slightly but said absolutely nothing. She, just like me, was at a loss for words.

I clenched my fist and extended my arm.

She pounded her knuckles against mine.

Filled with emotion, I turned away. When I got upstairs, I went through the ritual of weighing myself. I’d gained a pound since we left. I stared at the scale, recalling exactly what I ate, and wondering where the additional weight came from.

Then, it came to me.

I was carrying a child’s future – and his trust – on my shoulders.