Chapter One

He worked late into the night, hunched over an old roll top, fretting over unpaid bills, worrying about the future, while his young family slept in the cool darkness.

I cannot pay them, he thought miserably. Not half of them. And then, What kind of husband am I, who cannot even feed his family? He rested his weary head in his hands and closed his tired eyes. I’m a failure. A poor husband, a poor—

"Daddy?"

He raised his head. In the doorway, silhouetted in the yellow hall nightlight, stood his four year-old son.

"Daddy, are you there?" said the small boy around his thumb, his blanket clutched to his chest, his eyes wide with lingering fear from a bad dream.

He crossed the room and scooped the boy into his arms, holding him against his chest, the crisp smell of soap from his son’s evening bath still on his hair.

The boy whimpered into his neck. A bad dream. Of monsters and black depths, and his own smallness, looking up into the face of terror. The boy sobbed into his father’s shirt. "Daddy," he wept. "You were gone."

"No," he said, gently stroking the boy’s hair. "I’m right here."

Chapter Two

First day of kindergarten and the boy was concerned. New people; an unfamiliar school. He stood on the porch, holding his lunch box tightly to his chest, his hair neatly combed, but his thoughts wild and fearful.

Children crossed the street in front of the house, laughing and chasing each other. He turned back, looking into the open doorway and down the long, empty hall.

"Daddy? Are you there?"

His dad appeared, tying his tie, striding down the hall, smiling. He knelt down before the boy. "I’m right here."

They heard shouting and turned. Out on the street, a boy playfully punched his friend on the shoulder. The boys laughed, but it scared the little boy. He turned to his dad apprehensively.

His dad winked and playfully punched him on the arm. "Ready, big guy?"

The boy smiled, feeling stronger. "Yeah. Ready."

Chapter Five

"Dad, are you there?"

He stepped into his parent’s entry. The tux felt strange and so did he. Was he supposed to be this jittery? He hadn’t known her that long, but she was beautiful, smart, and he loved her. So why was he scared?

When they were looking at dresses, they stood between two facing mirrors. As they talked, he saw himself reflected over her shoulder not once, but a million times, in ever-decreasing size, into eternity.

Is that marriage? Reduced in size, squeezed into a frame, connected forever to another person? The same people, repeating, over and over again, forever?

He walked down the hall and heard his parent’s voices. They were laughing. He looked in their bedroom and could just see them in the master bath. She was tying his bow tie, and he was tickling her. Their laugh was easy, comfortable, and warm.

He leaned against the door jamb. His jitters disappeared. Forever, he thought, sounds like a nice place to be.

Chapter  Eight

A cold vortex of silence surrounding him, he once again leaned over his father and asked quietly, "Dad, are you there?"

No answer.

He leaned closer, vaguely aware of many sets of eyes on him in the stillness of the mortuary. He whispered the question again, and tilted his head slightly, half—but only half—expecting an answer.

He straightened and placed his hands on the coffin edge, studying his father’s face. Eyes shut. Hair carefully combed. Composed. His father’s face had never been so composed. His was an active visage; forever moving, in vibrant transit between emotions: happiness, anger, joy, disappointment, relief, weariness, and love.

"Dad?"

And for the first time in his life, no answer.