I’m sitting quietly, looking out of my window. The rain has subsided, I think to myself. The sun is shining some light, before it sets again. My mind races back to our discussion; why did it have to happen?

* * * * * * * * * *

“George Lucas Downey. We have to talk.” She storms into the room, and I am forced to pause my music, save my work, and turn around.

“What’s the matter, Susannah?” I rise from my chair, stepping closer to her, but she shakes her head, and withdraws from my touch.

“George...” She steadies her voice, closing her eyes for a second, before staring right at me, her resolve pinning me to the spot. “We’re through.”

“What?!” My mind starts racing, and I desperately try to remember what I forgot to do this time. Did I miss date night? No, that is on Wednesday...Tomorrow. Did I forget to fix something?! No...My list is all checked off. What is it, woman?! Speak to me!!!

She turns around, and starts walking away. I rush forward, grabbing her arm and spinning her around to face me.

“Why, Susie? Why are we through? What happened?” My voice breaks, and for a moment her eyes soften.

“Oh, Georgie...” Pursuing her lips, she glances away, her eyes catching my “memory” wall. She folds her arms around herself and looks at me again, her face hardening to stone. “You and I are not meant to be. That’s why. I found somebody for me. Somebody who isn’t so caught up in his fantasy worlds. Somebody who cares more about me than his latest heroine. Somebody who loves me, for me. Even if I don’t understand his work. Even if I ask a million questions about his work. Because, I want to understand!” Her voice hitches, and she pushes past me, but I still catch a glimpse of the tears starting to stream down her cheeks.

“Susannah...I’m...sorry....”

* * * * * * * * * *

She was right. I didn’t care enough about her. I was more concerned about my latest heroine. About my latest writing project. About getting all the grammar right. About getting the suspense in. About saving the love of my life...Well, the literary love of my life.

I look down at the notebook in front of me. I cannot help but smile as my eyes catch her name...Don’t worry, sweetheart. You and I are alone now...I have nobody else to think about for now, but you...Oh...well, and calling my mother once a week. But, it’s not going to keep me from working alongside you. This pain will pass.

I look out of the window again, a faint smile on my face as I see the rays starting to disappear behind the mountain. Tomorrow, the sun will rise again. Maybe it will rain again. But, behind those clouds, the sun will be waiting. And it will shine again. The sun will shine on me again...The sun will shine on us again...

If I’m loving life...Then why don’t I want to live? Then why don’t I want to carry on? Why don’t I want to get up in the morning? Why don’t I want to work? Why don’t I want to go on trying?

Susannah drives the serrated knife through the crusted bread. It has been a whole week since she was fired. Unfortunately, the town she lived in didn’t really allow for a large number of workers. The supermarket was all she ever knew.

Why did I tell him that I’m loving life? Why did I lie to him, and to myself?

As if her life wasn’t chaotic enough, she got dumped by her boyfriend only three days ago. He met someone else. His new secretary. And he had the guts to ask her if she’s okay with it. If she will be okay. How she feels. All that junk that was just born out of his guilt. Her mind flies back to George. Oh, George...

Pushing him out of her thoughts, she takes the dry slice, throws the egg on top of it, and squirts some ketchup over. Enjoy it, Susannah. Your ketchup is coming to its end. So is your bread and eggs...

Plumping herself down on the sofa, she dives into her meal. Her eye catches the newspaper. Guiltily, she picks it up. She cannot afford a paper anymore. I wonder if my neighbour is missing his...Hopefully I can return it before he gets home.

Stealing really wasn’t in her nature. But, she saw it lying on the floor, and she just felt like taking a peek at the job section. Her eyes scan over the three options.

Mechanic...Nope, I have no expertise in that area...It’s also a very shabby pay compared to what Steven gets...

Babysitter for three. Holy smokes, no way! Kids and I...The pay is good, though...It will be better than nothing...

Janitor for Callie’s Café...Yech. I am allergic to Callie...And her muffins...Definite no.

Sighing, she finishes her meal and picks up the paper to return it to her neighbour’s door. Well then...Babysitter duty it is...If I get it...

William’s signature ‘left eyebrow rise’ comes into effect as he sees his neighbour’s door opening. She emerges, trying to roll up a newspaper. She suddenly notices him and freezes, her whole facing turning white. He is even sure he heard her say something that should never be heard from a lady. Chuckling, he approaches her.

“Excuse me, miss. Is that my paper?” He extends his hand, and blushing she lays the item in his hand.

“I’m sorry...I wasn’t trying to steal it...Just borrow it...” He gives another chuckle.

“It’s fine. I’ve got nothing against borrowing.” He winks. “May I ask why you needed to borrow my paper, though?”

“Uh...I was just...just checking...” Her voice drops to a whisper. “The job section...”

“Ah!” He nods his head sympathetically. “You worked at the supermarket, right?” She nods, and drops her gaze to the ground. They stand in silence. Furrowing his brows, William quickly works through his plan. It’s a good plan...I think.

“Well, I better go...” She offers blushing.

“Wait! What’s your name?”

“Susannah...” He thrusts out his hand to shake hers.

”Enchanté, Susannah. I am William.” She blushes again, but accepts his handshake. “I was actually thinking...What is your specialty?”

“My specialty...?” She asks confused.

“Yes, what are you good at?”

“Well...I’m good at planning and organizing...” He breaks into a smile, his hand clasping hers more firmly.

“Susannah...Could I offer you a job? It’s terrible pay, for the most part, but you can work from your own apartment block, and when I make it big, I can always give you a raise...”

“What...” She stares at him, though a faint smile takes a hold of her lips and hope starts to shine in her eyes again. “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m an artist. Painting, drawing, sculpting; those are my areas of specialty. I’m terrible at organizing my time, my portfolios are always lying everywhere and is in complete disarray, and I am currently losing track of everything that has to get done, since all my reminder notes are disappearing under other junk...In short...I’m a man in desperate need of assistance...”

Susannah looks up from her filing. What’s he doing now? The hammering stops and she returns her attention to her work.

It’s been three months since she started working for William. The pay has truly been terrible, since he himself is a struggling artist. But, she has fallen in love with her job...Among other things.

Here...I can be myself...And I can forget about depression, worry, fears, and troubles...Because William is there to catch me. Her attention is once again interrupted, this time by the devil of a man himself.

“Are you busy?” He asks excitedly, rubbing the paint on his fingers off onto a rag.

“Almost done. Why?”

“Come check out my latest. It’s specifically made for you.”

“Really?!” She rises excitedly and joins him. “Where is it?”

“Follow me.” He leads her to his studio. “Do you remember that we were talking about loving life?”

“Yeessss...”

“Well...Ta-da!” Her ecstatic cry brings a bright smile to his lips.

“It’s beautiful! Simply magnificent.”

“Remember the words, darling. Keep it in your heart, even when I’m not near...Keep it in your mind, even when troubles appear...”

If I’m loving life,

Then why don’t I always appreciate it?

If I’m loving life,

Then why don’t I always try to make the best of it?

If I’m loving life,

Shouldn’t I be spending time with my loved ones?

If I’m loving life,

Shouldn’t I be smiling even when trouble comes?

If I’m loving life,

Trying times are just challenges that have to be conquered.

If I’m loving life,

There’s not much to it but to keep on doing what I’m doing.

If I’m loving life,

I hope that I’ll be smart enough to always love you.

If I’m loving life,

I hope that I will never be as stupid to depart from you.

If I’m loving life,

Then you are the song that I sing to say, “Thank you.”

And if I’m loving life, in conclusion, I’d like to say,

I hope to smile at every day, accepting the troubles, with you by my side.

“Phew...Today was such a long day.” Amalie chirps, following Steven to the sink. He nods and starts washing his hands. “Hey...Are you okay?”

“Not really...“He looks up and smiles sadly. “You notice the last car that came in?”

“The one that got totaled...guy lost control over his car and drove over a cliff, right?” He nods and moves out of the way.

“Yes...That guy was my sister’s ex-husband...” She freezes and turns around to face him.

“Oh, Steven, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know...” He shakes his head, and hooks his jacket off from behind the door.

“It’s fine, Amalie. We didn’t really get along that well, but still...He was family, even if it was just for five years.” He shrugs on the tattered jacket, and turns to smile at her again. “Until tomorrow!”

Steven drops the keys down on the table, shrugs off his jacket, and enters the living room. Five big steps are taken, and then he finally falls down into his chair. Finally...Home at last. His wife shuffles into the room.

“You’re late...again...” She mutters the last bit under her breath.

“I know...I’m sorry, sweetheart...We had a rough day. It feels like everybody’s car either needed to be fixed today, or they just decided that it was time to scrap it and get a new one. I still don’t know why old Mr. Brown decided to become an auto dealer and open a scrap yard. The man is far too old for this nonsense.” He eases into the chair more comfortably, placing his feet on the coffee table. “Honey, could you please bring me a beer? I just need to sit in peace for a bit...”

“Certainly...” She sighs and shuffles out again, her arm slipping around her abdomen as she leaves the room. She almost thought that he would never get home tonight. But, it would have fit her perfectly.

Returning to the living room with the beer, she finds her husband seemingly having nodded off in his hair. But, her hope is crushed when he suddenly speaks up.

“George is dead...” The bottle slips out of her hand and crashes to the ground. For a moment, they just stare at each other. He then lifts himself out of the chair. “I’ll get a new beer.” She drops down to the ground, shakingly picking up the pieces. George is dead...He’s not going to help me...I have to change my plans; NOW!

Steven enters the living room again, pulling the bottle from his lips. He frowns at the spot on the carpet; Pauline didn’t clean it. What on earth is the matter with her lately? He places the bottle on the coffee table, and marches to their bedroom. Hearing a splash of water from the bathroom connected to their room, he steps inside the room, but comes to a halt at the spectacle on their bed.

Pauline’s suitcase is lying wide open, with a few articles of clothing already folded and placed inside. Around the suitcase, other pieces of clothing, shoes, jewelry, and noteworthy items are lying, waiting to be packed.

“What the hell?” The bathroom door opens, but she freezes at the sight of him. He points to the mess. “What is this supposed to mean, Pauline?! Tell me!!” His voice thunders through the room, and she visibly recoils.

“I...I...I am...” She shuts her mouth and just stares at him.

“You’re leaving?!!!” A small nod from her confirms his fear. Something breaks inside of him, and the next moment he has reached her and has kneeled at her feet. “Please, Pauline! I need you!”

“No, Steven. You just need some woman. Not specifically me.” She steadies her voice and continues bravely. “I’m just there to clean up the mess, cook the meals, and make sure that you have somebody to talk to when you are feeling low. If I’m gone, the next woman will do just fine, like that Amalie of yours.”

“Amalie means nothing to me!” He protests.

“Perhaps...But you always speak of her. You praise her so much...I feel like stuffing my bread knife down your throat every time I hear the conversation turning in that direction.”

“Pauline!” She shakes her head and steps past him.

“It’s the truth. I’ve considered asking her over for tea, a million times over. Each time I considered how I could get rid of her.” She picks up a dress and starts folding it. “Don’t look at me like that, Steven. Yes, I am jealous. I am jealous, because I’m your wife. But, I don’t feel like I am. I am the maid. Good for your use every now and then. But never am I praised or thanked properly. Sure, you praise and thank me, but you offer me hollow words. You never mean it!”

“Pauline...” He rises from the ground, stretching out his hands to her.

“Please don’t interrupt me...I can’t be the second fiddle, Steven. A wife and husband should be one. ONE.” She sternly stares at him for a second, before continuing with her packing. “We are never one. You are the boss, you are important, and I am just the sidekick. I know all about your dreams, your fears, your problems, your successes, your stresses, et cetera. But, do you know about mine?”

“Uhhh...” He uncomfortably pulls his hand through his hair.

“No, you don’t. And I cannot live like this. I have to be heard. I have to be loved. I have to be comforted, praised, motivated, and listened to. A marriage is a give-and-take relationship. And not the one gives and the other takes. It’s an equal giving and taking from both sides.” She shuts the suitcase.

“Pauline...Can we not try? Please? I don’t want us to turn out like George and Susannah...” He reaches out for her, but she steps back again.

“I’m not divorcing you, Steven...” Her voice breaks. “I’m just leaving. I’m reconsidering my life. If I don’t find a new purpose for myself, I’ll come back. But...I think I have already found a new purpose for myself.”

“Pauline...”

“Stop with your ‘Pauline’. No matter how many times you say my name, I will not stay. I may come back, but for now I am leaving. It’s final, okay?!” She lifts the suitcase from the bed and starts for the door. He desperately tries one more time.

“What if I don’t permit you to leave? What then, Pauline?” She turns and pins him with her eyes again.

“You, Steven Smith, don’t have any power over me. I can do what the hell I want to, okay? I’m not breaking any law right now, so keep your almighty ‘Master of the House’ attitude for when you are actually alone and free to play the Master role.”

She trudges out of the room, struggling with her suitcase. Well...It’s done...It’s over...But, I...I’ll be coming back...She sighs. To the future...The future of returning to the man I love. To the future of being the willing slave...The future of being the shadow in his life...To the future, Pauline, you idiot, to the future...

“Why did you have to open the auto dealer and the scrap yard, Grandpa? For crying out loud, you are already eighty-three.” Dennis Brown peeks over his newspaper, a small smile hiding behind the paper.

“Really, Anthony? It’s not as if I had retired and then decided to go back to work.” His grandson slams the pot on the table.

“That’s the problem, Grandpa! You are old! It’s time for you to retire! Not time to start up new businesses!” Sighing, the old man lies down the paper, folds his worn hands over each other, and commands Anthony to a standstill with a quick cough.

“For twenty long years, I worked my fingers to the bone to provide for your grandmother and your father. I always had to consider both of them. And then, I finally was able to start my own business. When your grandmother got sick, I had to throw everything away in order to pay for her medication. And then she left me alone on this earth. Your father and mother followed her shortly after.” He picks up his cup and takes a sip, licking his lips afterwards.

“Gramps, I know the story.” The young man sighs, taking a seat at the table.

“Please don’t interrupt me...When I brought you here, I had to throw my dreams out of the door again. I had to consider raising you, your education, and any money you would need for your future. Now, you -”

“Grandpa, please stop! Listen to me, you are too old for this nonsense! Two new businesses! That’s like asking for a heart attack!”

"You interrupted me once again." Dennis Brown struggles to his feet. "You are thirty years old, boy. I have taken you as far as I could. It's time for you to march alone now."

"What does that have to do with you, Gramps?"

"Me? Well, I am free from obligations now. I am free to follow my dreams." He starts shuffling to the door.

"But, Gramps! You're too old for this!" Anthony scrapes his chair back and stands up. "You're eighty-three!! It's too late for you to do this!" His grandfather stops at the kitchen door, takes his hat from the hook, grabs his cane, and then faces his grandon again.

"Son, it's never too late. Never! I'm old, yes; thank you for reminding me about it throughout the whole of this conversation. But, I'm not dead yet. And until you place me in that cold, dark hole, I'm going to keep on working. I don't want to retire; I want to work. And for as long as I live, I want to follow my dream. This is my dream, Anthony." He shuffles out the door, gingerly closing it behind him.

"That grumpy, stubborn, old soul." The young man mumbles underneath his breath. He then smiles. You gotta give it to Gramps; he never gives up. It's the best thing about him...

Amalie smiles brightly as Mr. Brown enters the office. His whole face breaks into wrinkles as he smiles back at her.

"And how's my favorite employer doing today?" She chirps, rushing to the coffee machine.

"You're favorite? And here I thought I was the only one." He chuckles, but then ends up coughing. She glances at him, a frown taking place on her usually smiling face. He finishes his couging fit and then grins at Amalie again. "I'm fine, kiddo. Just old. As my grandson plainly told me this morning, I'm 'too old for this'." He takes place behind his desk. She giggles and quickly places the cup down for him.

"Well, I hope you put him back in his place, Mr. Brown. You are very spry for your age, and I think you are at the perfect time in your life for being the owner of three businesses." She winks at him and starts out the door. "Gotta fix Ms. Smith's car now! Oh, and..." She bites her lip, taking a step back. "Um, Steven has requested the late Mr. Downey's wreck." The old man sighs and waves her out of the room.

Well...another problem to fix. He lifts the cup to his lips, taking a sip. He starts choking and has to slam the cup down on the table. The coffee spews over his lips and out onto the paperwork. Wheezing, he leans over the table.

"Mr. Brown? You all right, sir?" Steven comes to a halt in the doorway. His employer can only nod as he tries to catch his breath.

"Fine." He wheezes out. "Come in."

Hesitantly, Steven enters and takes place on the edge of the desk. For a moment, the two just sit there quietly, Mr. Brown collecting himself and Steven getting lost in his thoughts again.

"Amalie told me you want to keep George's wreck. Why?" Steven shifts uncomfortably.

"Just...I just thought that I would like to try and fix it..." Mr. Brown sighs and leans back in the chair.

"We can't live with the dead and the lost, Steven. I really am sorry about your wife, but you are not going to get her back with this attitude of yours."

"What do you want me to do?! She literally walked out of my life and house. She broke all contact with me. She said she won't divorce me, but that always follows a broken marriage! I allowed my marriage to crumble, and now it's too late! I didn't realize what I had, until it was leaving me!" Sympathetically, the old man nods. "I don't know why I am telling you this...You never had these kinds of problems. You and your wife had thirty years of a happy marriage. Not a problem; you glided through that stage in your life."

"That is not true, Steven." He interrupts. "Please, sit down in that chair. I don't want to talk to your back." Steven obeys his boss, and finally they are looking at each other face to face. "I almost lost my wife once, Steven. She wanted to walk out on me and our son. Why? Because I was trying hard to get my own business, and Samuel was a difficult kid that brought me and her many troubles."

"But...You always looked so happy! I remember seeing you two together. I was still a kid back then. It was before the two of you even knew about her sickness. You two were always so close! And forgive me for saying this, but even...lovey-dovey...for your age..." The old man sighs and closes his eyes, while a small smile takes a hold of his lips.

"Yes, son. We were...When she wanted to walk out, I was willing to put myself aside to be there for her. You see, it's never too late. It wasn't for me...Because I didn't allow it to be." He coughs briefly, before continuing.

"Find what speaks to the heart of your wife, and...speak to her heart. And never stop speaking. A woman is fragile. No matter how strong she really might be, she just wants someone that she can go to, and there she can be weak. Frail. Delicate. A piece of porcelain, and not an iron bar having to force her way through life." Another coughing fit takes a hold of the aged man. A drop of blood splatters. As soon as he spots it, he folds his hand into a fist, and hides it underneath the table.

"Thanks, Mr. Brown..." Steven slowly rises. "I'll think about what you said...It's never too late...Well, you have a point, I guess! We're not divorced yet!" He adds with a smile, before rushing out the door, his mind whirling with ideas.

"Exactly! You're not divorced yet..." The old man smiles and closes his eyes.

Anthony dunks the pan under the water. He allows it to soak for a few seconds, before he vigorously starts attacking it with the sponge. His strong hands makes a quick work of all the dishes, and soon he is busy setting the table.

The chicken pie is taken out of the oven and placed in the middle of the table. The whiskey glass finds its place to the right top of one of the plates. A beer is placed at the other plate.

“Well, not bad.” Anthony stands back and smiles faintly. “We’ve got everything...Except for the grumpy old soul.”

Hopefully this makes up for my rant this morning...He felt really bad about arguing with his grandfather this morning. Especially since it was his grandfather’s birthday, and he completely forgot...And I kept on saying he’s eighty-three...Eighty-four...Man, I’m blessed to still have Gramps.

A quick rap is thrown onto the back door, before a young woman bursts in. She grabs Anthony and starts pulling him after her.

“Hey! What are you doing, you crazy woman?” She chokes, but words fail her. The tears are streaming down her face. She’s really upset about something! He realizes.

“Okay, calm down! I’m coming. Let go of my arm. Just lead the way.”

Steven worriedly glances up, relieved to see Amalie rushing through the door. Anthony follows her shortly after. It takes only one look, and suddenly Anthony is whizzing over the length of the room, but is stopped by Steven.

“Take it slow, man. You can do nothing for him. We’re waiting for the ambulance.” Slowly, Steven drops his arm and frees Anthony to continue.

“What happened?” Anthony chokes out, dropping down to the ground. He slowly intertwines his fingers with the old man’s.

“We were drinking a cup of coffee, discussing business. He just suddenly went pale, and then he fell. Amalie called the hospital, and I tried CPR. Turns out he’s still breathing. His heart is still beating. He’s just...out...” Steven says softly.

“Oh, Grandpa...Why?” The young man starts sobbing, bringing his grandfather’s hands to his cheek. “Please don’t leave me alone...” He whispers.

Amalie takes the seat next to Anthony, silently handing him the coffee and muffin. He takes it, but then places it on the ground, once again folding his hands, while he stares down at the ground.

“Mr. Brown...I know that you are in pain...But you have to eat and drink something. It’s not good to take bad news on an empty stomach.” She quickly realizes what she said, and hastens to fix her blunder. “I mean, it’s not necessarily bad news! I’m just saying...” She sighs. “You will be able to take this more easily with something in your stomach...”

He ‘hmmphs’, but leaves the snack and drink standing on the ground. They sit in silence, each busy with their own thoughts. Amalie takes a sip, a tear slipping down her cheek. Sniffing, she decides to focus her attention on something else.

Noticing the radio on the other side of the room, she rises and makes her way over to it, switching it on. She doesn’t recognize the song that is busy coming to an end, but as she sits down again, one of her favorites comes starts playing. Michael Bublé’s voice fills the room, his song Hold On bringing fresh tears to her cheeks.

Anthony suddenly starts sobbing. He buries his face into his hands. After a little while, he takes his hands away again. He leans back and rests his head against the wall. His lips moving, but producing no sound, he sings along to the end of the song.

“Do you feel better now?” She asks timidly. He smiles faintly, and then bends over to pick up the coffee and muffin.

“Thanks...Amalie, right?” She nods. He smiles again, before taking a bite of his muffin. It disappears quickly, and the coffee follows shortly after.

“There...Don’t you feel much better now?” She smiles, her eyes lighting up again.

“Indeed...Much better...” He sits back again, closing his eyes. “That’s my grandfather’s favourite song...Hold On...Always drove me crazy...I remember listening to it and wanting to smash the CD player to smithereens...It’s deep though...Beautiful...”

“Yes. It is.” She takes another sip, and smiles up at him again.

“What do I do if I lose Gramps? He’s all I have left...I need him...I’m still a kid in here...In my heart...I want to trust that he will help me...I want to believe that he will always be there...It’s selfish to hope he’ll always stay here for me, I know...But...” He sighs. “What if he dies today? And I never get to talk to him again? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself...I still have so much to ask forgiveness for...”

“I understand.” She places her small hand onto his. Mesmerized, he stares down at it. “Unfortunately...If it happens...It will happen. I guess that’s why we have to be careful with what we say to people...We never know when we are having our last conversation with them...” She suddenly blushes, and hastily removes her hand from his. “Sorry...” She then mumbles.

“It’s fine...Amalie...How do you deal with this...fear? This fear of losing him? The fear of what the doctor is going to say when he comes in here?”

“You hope for the best. You pray for the good news. And when you don’t get it, you keep on moving forward.” She looks up and into his eyes. “You have to hope, Anthony. It’s never too late for miracles.”

“Sounds like something he would say...” He mumbles a little grumpily. She giggles.

“It’s never too late?” He nods. She giggles again. “Well, it’s very true. It’s never too late. Never too late to pray, hope, and believe.” She smiles and then stands up. “I have to go now. Will you be okay?”

“Sure...Thanks Amalie...”

“Anytime.” She bends down and squeezes his hand. With a wink, she then leaves the room. He sits there quietly, patiently waiting. Finally, he cannot hold it anymore, and he bends over again, folding his hands to pray.

I don’t have faith in You...But I want to believe that You exist, if You will just give him back to me...I hope...I hope...Oh, grandpa, I HOPE you will be fine...

His head shoots up at somebody’s cough. Surprised, he stares at Amalie. She blushes and then takes her seat next to him again.

“You know...I once watched a movie...The Rescuers, I think...There was a quote that really struck me...Faith is a bluebird we see from far. It’s as real and as sure as the first evening star. You can’t touch it or buy it or wrap it up tight...but it’s there just the same, making things turn out right.” She grins up at him. “Powerful, right?”

“Yes...I remember that movie...What are you doing back here?”

“Oh well...” She leans back, resting her head against the wall as well. “I couldn’t leave you to yourself, now could I? It’s terrible having to go through these things by yourself. So, I decided that I will be here for you.” She grins again, and then closes her eyes. “I might doze off, though...Just warning you.”

“Thanks, Amalie...”

“You have got to be kidding me.” The man snarls, but then pulls out his wallet. “What does a woman know of an engine anyways? Where’s Steven? I want a second opinion here, Missy.”

“Steven has taken the day off, sir. He’ll be back tomorrow.” Amalie shoots the man a glaring grin. “But trust me, my analysis is accurate. I know what I’m doing, and I know what’s wrong with your car.”

“Know what you are doing...” The man mumbles as he stomps out of the room. A woman knows what is wrong with my car! What nonsense!

She takes a deep breath, allowing her face to relax for a moment, before freely smiling again. Oh, men! Don't think a woman can actually, yes, do some things that they do.

She actually had nothing against men telling her that she shouldn't be a mechanic. Not everybody understood her passion. And so, she never cared when people tried to break her down. Her daddy said she could be one if she wanted to be...And she did.

She walks into the office, smiling as her eyes fall on Anthony. His head is rested on his arms, as he sleeps peacefully. Poor fellow...So much responsibility that he feels he should be taking on now.

She couldn't believe that it has been a week since Mr. Brown collapsed. It felt just like yesterday. Quite frankly, it felt like a bad dream. It felt as if he would walk in anytime now, and she would just make him his coffee. They would sit and chat for a bit, and she would tell him...Everything.

"Hey! Why didn't you wake me?" Anthony asks as he enters the workshop, a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Oh, I thought you must be tired. Besides, I made you coffee. If the smell of that coffee wouldn't wake you up, I don't know what would've." She replies, her head still under the hood.

Anthony chuckles and takes a sip. Man...She's a blessing! I would have never considered a girl to be a good mechanic...But, more than that, Amalie still has a gentle soul and an optimistic personality. She just doesn't allow life to beat her down, and her job to roughen her up.

"There we go!" She emerges, her hair statically hanging in the air around her. He chuckles again. "What?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all." Smiling, he follows her as she goes to wash up. She quickly fixes her hair, and he frowns as he notices this.

Something has been off with Amalie. He has just come to realize it. She's still smiling and everything, yes...But she's just not her usual self. She's been keeping her hair in mint condition lately. Her eyes have been smiling less the past few days, even though her mouth hasn't. She hasn't been chirping as much; well, talking, singing, and laughing.

"So, how's Mr. Brown doing?" She asks, drying her hands on the stained towel again. She faces him, her eyes clouded with worry.

"The same...Still haven't woken up from the coma." Anthony frowns into his cup, and then glances up at her. "Amalie, what's wrong with you?" She swings around and stares at him, open-mouthed.

"What are you talking about?" He places the cup down and folds his arms.

"Everything. You haven't been your usual self the past...three days. You don't laugh as much, talk as much, sing as much...And you are continually fixing your hair. It drives me crazy." Self-consciously, she glides her hand down her ponytail.

"Is there something wrong with fixing my hair?" He sighs and comes to stand in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"No...There isn't...But it's annoying. You never cared about your hair before. And I liked that. A girl who was happy with who she is and how she looked. She realized what the job called for, and she didn't care if she couldn't titivate herself. So, what's going on?" She sighs, and steps out from under his hands. "Amalie?"

"Can we talk about this over some coffee?"

Anthony sits down on the edge of the desk, allowing Amalie to have the chair. She drops into the chair, which results in some coffee spilling over onto her overalls.

"Okay, let's hear it..."

"Well...Do you know my story, Anthony?" She asks softly. He shakes his head 'no', and she continues, "My parents were people of two different opinions. Mom was a dainty lady who fell in love with a mechanic. My dad. They tried for years to have kids. I was the only one they ever had. Dad raised me as a son and daughter. He taught me how to dance, but also how to fix a car. He encouraged me to be gentle, but to live with passion. He encouraged me to run as if nobody is around, but to have grace when the situation required it." She takes a sip.

"Mom was different. She believed that I should be a lady, and only a lady. She and Dad had many arguments about the matter...She then filed for a divorce and sole custody. She got her divorce...but Dad got the custody. I will never forget Mom's fury...Her words...She cut herself off, and I never heard from her again..."

"Go on..." He encourages her softly. She suddenly looks up at him and smiles wearily.

"Dad died last year...It was very hard on me...But, I went on...And then, Mom called me three days ago...She wants to meet up with me..."

"But, that's wonderful news! Why are you sad about it?" He asks, placing his cup on the table and reaching for her hand.

"Because I told Mom what I had done with my life, and she was silent on the other side..." She gives him her hand and he squeezes it. "She said she wanted to come visit me...She didn't say when...And I want her to be proud of me!" A tear trickles down her cheek. "Even if I'm something that she never wanted me to be!"

"Oh, Amalie..." Still holding her hand, he drops down to his knees next to the chair. "Look at me, girl." She slowly turns her head, and her sad eyes gaze into his sympathetic ones. "You are worth being proud of! Your father has raised you well, and there are millions of parents out there who would be proud to call you their daughter. But...they don't have that right. Only your Mom has. And I'm sure that when she comes here, she will be very proud of you. Especially," he reaches out his free hand and pats her hair, "if you are yourself. Don't fix yourself, be yourself." He winks, drops her hand, and rises to his full height. "There we go. One messy-haired, stained-hands, blossoming girl. A lady in heart and a treasure for her employer." She giggles.

"Who, you or Mr. Brown?" She quickly wipes the tears away with the back of her hand as she stands up.

"Well...I'm just taking care of things until Gramps comes back. But, you're still a treasure for me as well! As long as," and he jokingly glares at her, "you are yourself! No one else! And don't you dare fix your hair now. Or you, Miss Du Bois, will be without a job."

"Anthony!"

He slams the door shut behind him, and smacks his keys onto the table. If ever there had been a worse day for him...

“Rikkert! Are you home, boy?” He yells out as he enters the kitchen. His eyes fall on the dirty dishes in the sink, and he groans. Honestly, life isn’t easy without a woman in the house.

“What’s the prob, Dad?” The young seventeen-year-old steps into the room. He pushes his hand through the messy, black hair that has fallen over his eyes again. His face speaks of a mischievous, young man. Indubitably, his grin has left many a young woman with weak knees. His shirt spans tightly around him, perfectly accentuating his abs and muscles. Any smart mother or father would have immediately termed him ’the bad boy', if they had been looking at him at this exact moment.

“What are you doing?” Richard barks out, as he opens the fridge.

“Homework.” The boy answers innocently.

“Homework, huh? Why are you so dressed up then?” His father asks, as he steps back and slams the fridge door close. The lad glances down, but then answers smoothly.

“Well, I was just finishing up my homework. I was actually thinking about heading out after dinner. Kenneth and I was thinking about getting some more practice in, before the season begins, you know.”

“More practice? It’s evening, boy. You can’t do sports in the dark.” Richard eyes his son suspiciously. One thing he has come to realize by now is that the stories floating around town might be true. His son might be a bad influence...or be busy with the wrong things.

He wasn't religious, like his late wife. But, he did have certain principles that he lived according to. Alcoholicism, drugs, and pre-marital sex was a big 'no' for him. Of course...he only believed all this, since he lost his first child to it. Drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, and sex broke his little Rosanna. It turned his blossoming rose into a broken and dying one.

And that was when Rosalee fell apart. Her daughter...The one that she raised so solemnly and religiously. The moment that Rosanna's sinful actions were brought to light, his wife's life and faith was shattered. She fell into despair. And when Rosanna died...she preceded her mother to the grave by merely a week.

He sighs and glances at his son again. Goodness, has it already been six months since their deaths? And...Rikkert is now seventeen...A handsome, young man with lots of prospects. But, if he is anything like me, he'll be messed up with girls and late nights very soon.

"Dad? Dad?!" His son's voice pulls him back to reality.

"Huh? What did you say?"

"I was asking if I could leave now," Rikkert rolls his eyes. "I think Kenneth and I will grab a few pizzas later on, so I'll be set for dinner."

"Anybody else joining you?"

"Nah...Well, Katiya might join us. Perhaps..." His eyes glaze over, and for a moment he zones out.

"Katiya?" Richard worriedly steps closer to his son. "Who's she?" Rikkert's attention is immediately brought back to reality, and he gapes like a fish, cursing himself mentally for mentioning her.

"Katiya? Oh...Just Ken's twin sister. She and Rosanna were friends for a bit..." He replies, his voice vague and distant.

"Oh! That Katiya!"

"Dad, do we know any other Katiya? Are there any other Katiya's in town?" Rikkert rolls his eyes.

"Uh...Well, I don't know...Isn't Katiya a common name?" He asks lamely. His son's chuckle and shake of the head confirms that he just asked a stupid question. Of course Katiya isn't a common name; at least, not in their town.

"Okay, I'm going. Can I borrow the car for tonight?" Rikkert walks toward the door, quickly looking over his shoulder.

"Mmm? Oh! No! That girl at Brown's told me that my car is a major hazard to society. I left the car there and hitched a ride with my colleague." His son's eyes widen as he halts and turns around.

"You hitched a ride?! You? Ol' proud Richard Kane?" His son then laughs, as his father's face turns a red shade.

"Ol' proud Richard Kane? Is that what I'm known as?" He then mutters, and shuffles past his son through the door. "Be careful out there, Rikkert. I don't like you walking the streets at night." He warns over his shoulder as he reaches the staircase.

"Oh, come on, Dad! We've got one of the safest towns in the whole country! Nothing's going to happen to me out there!" Rikkert protests laughingly.

"Perhaps...But things are happening in our little town, and it is worrying...I heard that Officer Goodwin has arrested ten people this past week. Drugs..." He eyes his son, noticing how his face turns pale. "You wouldn't know anything about it, right?" He probes.

"Huh? Oh. No!! Not at all! I haven't heard anything about. I mean. Drugs? Doesn't happen in my circles." Rikkert laughs nervously and starts inching his way to the door. "After all, I'm an athlete. If Coach found drugs on us, he would make us dig our graves on the field, then he'll slaughter us with excessive training, and finally he'll bury us in our self-dug graves, making sure to get rid of any evidence. Detective Gill wouldn't be able to find our corpses; not even if she teamed up with Goodwin." He babbles nervously.

"Uh-huh..." His father replies absent-mindedly. "Just remember, boy. There's always time to confess." Rikkert's face turns ghostly-white, and then he swings around and flies out of the house.

Worn and tired, Richard falls to his knees. He folds his hands, and firmly settles his elbows on the bed. His eyes find those of his wife's portrait on the opposite wall.

Rosalee...I messed up...Forgive me...I don't believe the way you do...But tonight...God, if you exist...Hold my boy in Your hands, until I have another chance to speak to him.

Sighing, he drops his head onto his arms, and he closes his eyes. Who am I actually praying to? My wife or the God that I don't believe in?

There's always time to confess...His words return to his mind. It plagues him as he rises and goes to the bathroom. Deep down, something just feels wrong tonight.

As the water pours down his body and hits the shower floor, he ponders his statement. Finally, when he slides under the covers, he agitatedly realizes that he still hasn't stopped thinking about his statement.

Okay, come on. Why would I think about that? He asks himself angrily. He lies quietly, allowing himself to calm down before he contemplates the question. There's always time to confess...Is there? If I sleep now, will I wake up tomorrow and be able to tell my boy I love him? That I'm proud of him? Especially if we don't consider his secret doings...Will I be able to talk to him about the concerns in my heart? Will I be able to talk to him tomorrow?

Is there always time? Is there time for me and Rikkert to grow close again? We get along well, yes, but our bond has been severely shaken since then...And I miss that...The camps, the sports practiced on the front lawn, the open conversations...Is there time for me to fix our relationship?

He sighs and shifts from his back over to his left side, staring at his wife again. Is there always time, my Rosalee...? I didn't have one more opportunity to tell you that I love you. And I really wanted to...It was swirling in my mind the whole time as I was driving home. I would've taken you into my arms, rested my head on your shoulder, and I would've whispered it in your ear. I would've comforted you...But I came home and you were on the kitchen floor...I was too late. There wasn't time...Did I waste my time and miss my opportunities to spend time with Rikkert and to grow close to him again?

The blue eyes stare down at him reprovingly, and he quickly turns to his other side, staring out the open door. Usually, he slept with a closed door. But, he wanted to hear when his son got home tonight.

His thoughts continue haunting him, and finally he just jumps from bed. I can't sleep. I need to find Rikkert now. Because there is not always time...Not for all of us, anyways. He and I will be discussing this matter tonight! Heck, within the next hour, if I have my way!

The phone downstairs suddenly starts ringing. Richard tenses up. No...

“What are we going to do?” Kenneth asks, furrowing his eyebrows. He looks down, focusing on throwing the ball from one hand to the other. The two of them are sitting legs-crossed on the grass, trying to come up with a plan.

“I don’t know...But our dads are going to kill us...” Rikkert admits tiredly. Kenneth nods slowly, but keeps his eyes on the ball.

“Rick, we have to make a plan. We have to get the dope away from us. You know...Get rid of the evidence.”

“Yep...Man, how are we going to do that?” He sighs and uncrosses his legs, stretching it out in front of him. He then falls onto his back, staring at the clouded sky above them. “How are we going to get out of this mess, man?”

“Perhaps,” Kenneth stops his game and joins his best friend, “we should just step away? You know...Distance ourselves.”

“What the hell, man?!”

“It’s just...Stepping away should be the easiest way out, right? My dad already arrested ten kids this week. Next...he’s going to get me. You know my dad. He can sniff out any crook. And it will be much more easier for him to sniff out his own kid.” He shifts uncomfortably. “I already think my dad has an idea that I’m involved...He’s been looking at me real funny lately...” Both sigh simultaneously. “We’re in some pretty deep shit, Rick...We should get out before we’re also behind bars...I mean, we still have time, right?”

“Hmm...Watch your language.” He then adds absent-mindedly. Kenneth ignores his reprimand and continues.

“There’s always time to pull out, buddy.” Rikkert’s heart jumps into his throat. Dad said the same thing...There’s always time...Is there?

“Is there?” He voices his question shakily, sweat breaking out on his forehead as dread starts filling his whole body. A car suddenly screeches around the corner and brakes at the edge of the field. Both bolt upwards into a sitting position. “Oh! Hey, Katiya’s here.” His frown dissipates into thin air and he smiles brightly as he rises to his feet. His friend frowns, before rising as well. He takes a firm hold of Rikkert’s shoulder and turns him around.

“Ken? What are you doing?” Rikkert protests, slightly wincing at the pain starting to radiate through his shoulder. Dropping the ball, Kenneth frees his left hand and wags a finger in front of Rikkert’s face.

“Look, buddy. I like you. You’re my brother, man...” His face hardens. “But you keep your hands off of my sister, you hear? No funny business. Because the day that you mess with Katiya, I’m going to mess you up so much that nobody in this whole town would recognize you. Do you hear me, Rick?”

“Ouch...” He tries to free himself from the grasp, but the free hand falls onto his other shoulder and the two strong hands keep him grounded. “Yes! Yes, I hear you, Ken. Now, let me go, please!”

“Good.” Kenneth drops his hands. “Let’s go then. We should ask Katiya to stop at Polly’s Pizza Place for us. I’m starving now!” He grins, picks up his ball and then starts racing towards the car. “Come on, slowpoke! Last one to the car pays for the pizza.”

“Hey! You cheat!”

“Thanks, Kat.” Ken grins as he digs into his pizza. “You really are a sport, sis.” She rolls her eyes, and pulls out of the drive-through.

“Yeah, right. But you owe me.” She glances into the rearview mirror. “You too, Rikkert. You two better pay up by next week.” She blushes as he answers with a radiant smile.

“Sure thing, Katiya. You want interest on it as well?” She giggles and mumbles something.

As the two young men dig into their dinner, she swerves onto the main road. Her eyes nervously flick from side to side. Wish I remembered my contacts...She glances back into the rearview mirror, and then notices the ball next to Rikkert. Her foot lodges onto the brake, sending the two passengers flying forward.

“Kenneth Goodwin, you better explain to me why that ball is in my car, and you better explain quickly.” She explodes. He pulls his pizza from the window and frowns as his cheese stays behind.

“Really, sis? Was that necessary?” Suddenly, a steel hand grabs his neck. His sister’s eyes spew out green fury as she hisses her warning to his face.

“Ken, you better talk, and you better talk now.”

“Geez, relax. I can barely breath.”

“Ken...” She warns him softly.

“Okay, okay...” He gulps. “I couldn’t leave it there on the field. And you said you’d give us a ride. So, I thought, you wouldn’t mind carrying my stuff in your ride, you know.”

“Are you bloody well crazy?!” She screams, releasing her death grip on him. Her hands clench around the steering wall and she continues her seething. “If Dad finds that thing in my car, I’m as much under arrest as you are. You want to know what will be the difference between me and you, though?” He opens his mouth to answer, but she interrupts him. “The difference between us is that you are guilty and I’m clean.”

“Katiya, I’ll vouch for your innocence.” Rikkert’s voice pipes from the backseat. He receives a glare, and decides that it would be wiser to keep his mouth shut.

“You, Ken, are in for a world full of pain. Mark my words!” She spits out, and starts the car again. They pull away at a break-necking speed.

“Katiya, careful. Dad will kill you if he finds you breaking the speed limit again.” Kenneth warns his sister.

“Oh, shut up.”

They fly past the police station. Detective Gill shakes her head as she exits the building, her arms overflowing with dossiers. The car flies over the crossing, ignoring the red stoplight. Suddenly, another car hastily reverses from a parking lot into the street.

Katiya slams her foot onto the brake, but it is too late. Her car crashes into the other and then flips over, rolling a few times, before stopping, slowly swinging from side to side as it lays on its roof. She hears a car door being thrown shut and the rushing footsteps of a person.

The blood spilling from her neck flows over her cheeks and past her eyes. Some spills into her mouth and up her nose. She wants to choke, but it’s as if she lost complete control over herself. Sounds start fading, the world starts spinning, and then everything goes dark.

Pauline wrings her hands together as she walks to the opposite side of the waiting room. She reaches the other side and untangles her fingers. Her arms slip protectively around her abdomen. She slips into a chair, the tears starting to stream down her cheeks again.

Somebody rushes into the room and she glances up. With a cry of joy, she leaps out of the chair and rushes into his arms.

“Oh, Steven! You came!” She bursts out crying and buries her face in his neck. “It was ho-horr-rible.” She sobs out. Protectively, his arms close around her and he rests his head on hers.

“It’s okay, dear. You’re safe. You’re fine. I’m here.”

“But-but...what a-a-about them?” She pulls away and stares teary-eyed up at him.

“They’ll be fine. Trust me.” He reassures her softly.

With her hand locked in William’s, Susannah rushes into the waiting room.

“Oh, Pauline!” She yells. Both women let go of their men and rushes into each other’s arms. “Oh, my dear Pauline. I’m so sorry. So terribly sorry.” She whispers as she clings to her.

Steven and William nod into each other’s direction and then return their attention to their women. Susannah softly leads her sister-in-law to the chairs, and they sit down.

Peace falls over the room, though a soft whimpering still spills over Pauline's lips every now and then.

Detective Gill joins the group, making herself comfortable on one of the chairs. She calmly pages through her dossiers, stopping every now and then to fill her notebook with observations, questions, or relevant remarks.

The time ticks by in silence.

Richard Kane bursts into the room, his finger shakily pointed at Pauline. Slowly, Pauline rises.

"You...You! Couldn't you watch where you were going?!" He yells, his voice breaking. Steven shoots to his feet and grabs on to Richard's finger.

"Don't you dare point your finger at my wife! She's the most careful driver in this here town! If you want to find fault, look to your son and his friends! My wife could have been dead today!" He yells furiously. "Who was behind that wheel, huh? Your son, no doubt. That daredevil will one day throw all of us into terrible danger."

The fist finds its place on Steven's right eye. He staggers to the ground. The nurse that just entered the room screams and rushes out again. Susannah pulls Pauline away as Steven rushes to his feet and attacks Richard. Fists swing and magazines fly as the two charges at each other, at times falling over the furniture.

Calmly, Detective Gill looks up from her work. Her hand slips down to her holster. Richard jumps back, avoiding Steven's swing. Suddenly, a bullet whizzes over their heads and into the ceiling. Their eyes wide, they turn to look at the detective.

"What the bloody hell is going on here?!" Doctor Smith thunders as he enters the room, his accompanying nurse hiding behind his big frame. "Who's shooting?!"

"That would be me, Doctor." The detective replies calmly.

"Miss Gill, I suggest you put that gun away. And report for therapy. Only the insane will shoot in a hospital." She shrugs. "Don't you dare shrug at me, Martha. You have missed your last two sessions, and whether you like it or not, that 'accident' did affect your brain." He turns back to the others and sighs. "I'm so sorry about that...Now...why did I come in here again?"

Mrs. Goodwin glides her hand over her son's arm. Another tear trickles down the path on her cheeks. She lifts her eyes and stares at the other patient in the room. Mesmerized, she stares as his chest rises up and down.

"Hey, you okay?" Keaton Goodwin bends over and wraps his arms around his wife's middle.

"Fine..." She sniffs out, raising her one hand to place it on her husband's arm. "How's Katiya?"

"She's fine. Real fine." He lies smoothly. His wife turns and stares up at him.

"How is Rikkert doing? Did you check on him as well?" Keaton gulps and nods stiffly.

"I did check on him, yes...Darling...You gotta be strong...It's really not pretty, okay? And Richard Kane is such a difficult man..."

"Keaton?" She looks up at him alarmed. Suddenly, a shot rings out from the floor above them. They pull apart and he reaches for his gun.

"Stay here."

"That is the facts...I'm really sorry, Mr. Kane." The doctor looks to the crying Pauline. "I'm really sorry." He repeats.

Slowly, Richard sinks to the floor, burying his face into his hands. A bitter cry spills from his lips and his shoulders shake as he breaks down and cries like a child.

Martha Gill sighs and rises to her feet. She takes her long strides, and then drops to the ground next to him.

"Rikkert wasn't driving, Mr. Kane." She starts slowly. "I hope it's of some comfort to you..." She pauses, staring down at her hands. "Y'know, it's really not all that bad. I know, I know, this is terrible. Your son, that handsome, cheating, Casanova, stuck to a bed. Perhaps for life."

"Martha..." The doctor warns, stepping closer. She shoos him away.

"But, there are so many good things that can come from this. For one, the two of you can spend more time together. Two, your son will be able to get rid of all his bad friends." She ticks the items off of her fingers. "Three, Rikkert will get to know which of his 'friends' really are true friends. Four, he will be able to look at his life in retrospect. He might even finally decide what he really wants to do with his life."

Richard lifts his head, his red eyes staring accusingly into her clear gray ones.

"You think this is a good thing?!"

"No. No, it's not a 'good' thing. But it can be." She crosses her legs. "It's important to accentuate the positive, right?" She pins down Steven with her gaze. "You! What happened positively for you because of this?" He shuffles his feet and stands closer to his wife.

"Exactly! You and Pauline kissed and made up. Figuratively speaking, of course. I have yet to actually see you two kiss." Her gaze shifts to Keaton, who just entered the room. "And you!"

"What?" He asks confused, forgetting his question to his colleague. He glances to the other people, but they avoid his questioning look.

"We're accentuating the positive." She states matter-of-factly. "Because of this accident, you're coming to realize how important your family really is to you. I can almost bet that when they get out of here, you will be taking off more time from work, just so that you can spend it with them."

"I guess?" He quickly retreats out of the room. Yep, she shot. He shakes his head and quickly puts some distance between the waiting room and himself. That woman is one crazy person.

"See? We're accentuating the positive. And don't you just feel better already?"

"Amen. I know I do." Anthony slips around the corner and into the room. He smiles sympathetically at the others.

"Anthony? What are you doing here?" Steven asks confused.

"Staying positive. I'm coming to visit my grandfather." He smiles at Martha. "Thanks to my grandfather's coma, I'm getting plenty of exercise." He teases. The nurse gasps.

"Mr. Brown!" She glares at him accusingly.

"Oh, come on, Nurse. I'm joking."

"This is a place of seriousness, Mr. Brown. There will be no joking about such serious matters." She reprimands him sternly.

"In that case, I better get Gramps out of here. He hates people being more serious about a matter than being accepting of it." He replies, trying his best to wipe the smile from his face.

"So...We'll be able to have one less patient to worry about?" The doctor asks smiling, ignoring his nurse's gasp. "What? We are accentuating the positive, aren't we?" A giggling breaks out under the woman.

"Ah, I knew you could take a joke, Doc!" Martha replies happily, and rises back to her feet.

"Indeed...But, now I have to be serious again." He turns to Anthony. "Come, I'll accompany you to your grandfather."

"Do you know what?" Richard whispers softly. Martha glances over at him.

"What?"

"You are right...This is a terrible thing that happened. But, thankfully...Rikkert and I have another chance...We are not done yet. And we still have time to fix our problems." She smiles brightly back at home.

"Now you are getting into the spirit of things."

"Hmmph." He replies and she bursts out into laughter.

"Don't you worry, Richard Kane. Your son and his friends will be just fine."

"How do you know, Detective Gill?"

"Oh," she grins at him mysteriously, "I have a way of predicting things."

Anthony sighs. His hand wraps around Dennis Brown’s aged one. Two weeks...Gramps, if this goes on for another week, Doc might have to consider signing me up for therapy.

He glances over to the other patient. A faint smile tugs at his lips as he listens to the tales of Kenneth Goodwin. He is sitting upright, his hands everywhere as he gestures. His mother is sitting on a chair next to his bed, crying and laughing at the same time.

Pain grips at Anthony’s heart. Kids aren’t supposed to go before their parents or grandparents...Luckily, that mother was spared the torture of burying her own children. She is blessed to have her child, both her kids, still in her life. Is it selfish of me to still want my grandfather in mine, even if he has lived a long and happy life so far?

He quickly rises from the chair, slowly releasing his grandfather’s hand. Until tonight...

He starts taking the stairs two by two. He’s completely left Amalie by herself today. He actually feels very guilty about it. First, he gave Steven permission to take two weeks off. So, Amalie is doing all the work alone. He would help, but what he knows about a car’s engine is enough to make his grandfather ashamed. And Dennis Brown is seldom ashamed of something or someone.

His second mistake is to come visit his grandfather for a whole hour, just in case. Even though the hospital can and will call him if something happened. And yet Amalie, with all her stresses lately, has been supporting him immensely. Even if it means having to handle three businesses by herself for an hour or so each time. I think I owe that girl lunch. Yep, I’ll surprise her with lunch.

“Amalie?” He calls out as he enters the office. The chatter of two women reaches his ears from the garage. He frowns and strides in that direction. Upon entering the garage, he almost drops the two hot dogs.

Amalie is busy under the car, only her feet sticking out. Close to her feet, a woman is sitting on the office chair. She looks like the mirror image of his dear friend. He actually would have thought it to be Amalie, if it wasn’t for the signs of age on the woman’s face. She is dressed very formally, but seems comfortable among all the grease and oil.

“If that’s hot dogs I smell, it better be you, Anthony!” Amalie suddenly pipes up and slides out from under the car. The woman finally notices him and stares at him surprised.

“Uh...What?” He mumbles. Amalie wipes her hands on her overalls and then points to his load.

“Hot dogs?” She smiles and then faces the woman.

“Mom, this is my friend and employer’s grandson, Anthony.” She then walks up to Anthony, taking the one hot dog from him. “Thanks, Anthony.” He hands her the other one as well, nodding in the other woman's direction.

“Pleasure to meet you, Ma'am. Here, Amalie. I’ll go buy myself a new one.” He winks and turns around but then turns and faces her again. “I’m so happy for you, Amalie. Things are coming together, right? Faith and hope, huh?” She grins widely and nods.

“And then, be yourself.”

He steps into the warmth of the hospital, and then retrieves his hands from his pockets. Man, why does winter have to be coming so early this year.

He nods to the receptionist and then starts up the stairs. He reaches the third floor, and follows his regular path. First trying to find the doctor, and then heading back to the second floor to see his grandfather.

His search ends up being fruitless, and he starts heading back to the staircase. As he passes the waiting room, he smiles vaguely.

He has barely set foot on the second floor, when he notices the nurse running towards him.

“Oh, Mr. Brown! Come quickly!” She grabs his hand and starts pulling him after her, ignoring the stares of her colleagues. Violating the rules of her workplace, she weaves through people and continues dragging him behind her as she runs to reach her destination quickly.

“Nurse Higgins, what’s going on?” He huffs out, barely missing the wall. Dread fills his heart the closer they get to his grandfather.

“Just come with me!”

They storm into the room. Kenneth's bed is empty. The only life in the room is at the other side. His grandfather and Doctor Smith. The doctor looks up at their abrupt entrance. His eyebrows raise as he stares at the nurse. She blushes and mumbles an apology. He then grins and walks toward them.

"It's all good, Nurse Higgins. I will forgive you this time." He then turns to Anthony and places his hand on the young man's shoulder. "It takes time. Sometimes time rewards us for our patience. Other times it doesn't."

"Thanks, Doc." The young man mutters, his eyes still glued on the occupied bed. The doctor and nurse exits the room, leaving him alone.

"Well? Don't just stand there. Come say 'hello' to your old grandfather!" The old man coughs out.

"Gramps..." His legs come into motion and floats him over to the bedside. He grabs the old man's hand firmly in his. "Oh, I thought you were gone for! And there was so much that I still wanted to say and apologize for. And there has been so much that has been happening lately and I couldn't tell it to anybody because you were gone and I really just wanted to speak to you. Even if we argue a lot, I had missed you oh-so-terribly." The words flow over his lips, as he barely pauses to catch his breath in between each sentence.

"My goodness!" The old man chuckles, a tear trickling down his cheek. "Anthony, my dear boy. I have missed you." He frees his hand and points to the chair beside the bed. "Sit. Tell me everything that I have missed."

"And, now Steven and Pauline are together again. Amalie and her mother have been reunited. The Goodwins are happy to have each other still. And the Kanes are going to get through everything just fine, I think." Anthony finishes. He takes a sip of the coffee that the nurse has offered him ten minutes ago. He shudders as the cold liquid glides down his throat, but he then downs the rest in three gulps.

"Well, I am happy to hear all of that. With time comes healing." Dennis coughs. "And with time comes answers."

"Oh dear, Gramps. You barely joined us again, and you are getting all wisdom-like again." Anthony chuckles.

"Nah, not really. I'm merely telling you what my grandfather taught me years ago." He folds his hands together and pins his grandson down with his gaze. "Remember that, Anthony. With time anything is possible. We can never be sure what will happen, because we don't know what the future holds. But time can bring healing and answers. You should never forget that, boy."

"I will not...But, time also brings death...I'd hate to lose you, Gramps." He clears his throat. "Don't you think that you want to reconsider retirement now?"

"Anthony!" He exclaims, replicating a look of being offended. "I'm eighty-four, boy. I'm in the best part of my life right now. I've got the whole future ahead of me! Why, I'm planning to get to a hundred-twenty. That's over thirty more years. I've got my whole life ahead of me. Why would I retire now?"

"Oh, Gramps." He chuckles and shakes his head. "Well, then. Consider yourself having a right hand now."

"What are you saying, boy?"

"I've employed myself, Gramps. From now on I'll be working with you."

"So you can keep an eye on me, huh?" Dennis grumbles.

"Well, partially." He laughs. "But I do want to learn some more about the business. And, there is a certain lil' lady that I want to keep an eye on."

"A-ha." The old man starts laughing. "The moment I saw her, I knew that the two of you were perfect for each other. I'm glad that even in my age I can still be a matchmaker."

"Gramps!" He turns red. For a moment he is quiet, just listening to his grandfather's laughter. Then, he sits back and says, "I suppose that you would've been able to pick out the perfect girl for me, huh...You know me well, and you are wise enough to know what works and what doesn't. After all," and he smiles brightly, "with time comes wisdom, right?"

"Indubitably, my dear boy."