1992.

"It was a girl!" Toby announced.

Owen smiled.

"I hope everyone in this house is ready, mommies and sons included, because it's time for...Tickle War! Rrrraaarrrr Rrrraaarrrr!"

"Can I get one?" Garrett asked, eyeing the puppies in the cages at the pet store.

"Maybe when you're six," Toby said.

"That's forever!"

"You say that now. It goes fast."

1993.

"Look what came in the mail today!" said Sarah, waving the envelope.

Toby took it from her. "Wow. I didn't think there were any still circulating. It's even my old address."

"Open it."

"What is it, Daddy?" Garrett set down his tentacled alien action figure and hurried over to join the excitement.

"Nothing. It's just Daddy's dreams being crushed."

"Don't talk that way around him," Sarah said.

"I'm just kidding."

"He doesn't know that."

Toby tore open the envelope and handed the letter to Garrett. "Do you want to read it?"

Garrett enthusiastically grabbed the letter. He looked at the words and frowned.

"Sound it out," Sarah said.

"We re...reg-ret..."

Toby sighed. "Let's give him some Dr. Seuss."

"Guess who got a gold star today?" Toby asked Owen.

Owen reached for the drawing, but Toby put it behind his back. "Sarah will kill me if you rip it. I just wanted you to see it. Look at that. He's pretty good, don't you think?"

Yes.

"You're not just saying that, are you? I'm biased and all, but let me tell you, I was at the open house and I saw what the other kids had up on the wall, and there was some shit. shit. Look at that hand. How many six-year-olds do you know who draw knuckles? I didn't have any talent chromosomes to pass on, so I don't know where he got it, but this kid's a freakin' Rembrandt. Gold star. Right there, baby." Look at that hand. How many six-year-olds do you know who draw knuckles? I didn't have any talent chromosomes to pass on, so I don't know where he got it, but this kid's a freakin' Rembrandt. Gold star. Right there, baby."

He held the paper behind his back again. "No, seriously, Owen, you can't touch it. But it's impressive, right? It's not just me? I need you to provide a neutral opinion because Sarah and I are flipping out over it. Of course, he did also wet his pants during recess, but when you have immense talent you can't always focus on bladder control."

1994.

"Oh."

"You have more to say than 'oh,' right?"

"It just took me by surprise, that's all. The way you said it. No buildup."

"Like they say in the newspaper business, don't bury the lead, right?" Sarah was practically bouncing with excitement.

It was, to be fair, outstanding news. A children's television show wanted her to join the staff and write new songs each week. An incredible opportunity. She could go from being a waitress with a few songs that occasionally got radio play on local stations to a full-time songwriter.

"But it's in Chicago."

"Well, yeah."

"I'd have to quit my job."

"Yes, you would. You don't have any great love for that job. You never have."

"We'd have to pull Garrett out of school."

"Yeah, and he'd go to school in Chicago."

"He'd have to make new friends."

"He's six. He hasn't formed lifelong friendships yet." Sarah stared at him in disbelief. "Why are you giving me crap about this?"

"I just don't want to move."

"Why? What ties do you have to Orange Leaf?"

"I've lived here my whole life."

"And...?"

"That's not enough?"

"Of course it's not enough! This is a dream come true. I realize it doesn't pay that much, but I'd get to write songs for a living. That's what I'd do instead of bringing people ketchup and extra napkins. I thought that you'd want to grab the suitcases out of the garage and start packing."

"Well, I don't."

She looked at him with such hurt that Toby wanted to fall to the floor, clawing his eyes out in a fit of self-loathing.

"Are you jealous?" she quietly asked.

"No."

"Then why?"

"I don't have a job there."

"You'd find one. That's not an answer. It's not like we're moving to Antarctica-it's Chicago. It's two states away."

"I can't leave Orange Leaf. It's my home."

"Your home is with Garrett, Hannah, and me, wherever we are."

"We can't leave."

They didn't speak for a few moments, as her shoulders began to quiver and tears streamed down her face. "You're really going to take this away from me?"

Toby couldn't answer her.

She called and declined the offer.

CHAPTER T TWENTY-FIVE.

1995. Age 50.

Everything hurt.

His feet hurt, his back hurt, his brain brain hurt...the people who'd said that getting old was a bitch knew of what they spoke. Forty was "over the hill," midlife-crisis time, but regardless of his family history, Toby had plans to live well past eighty. Past one hundred? That was pushing it. It could happen, but more likely than not, Toby had passed the halfway mark. More years behind him than ahead of him. hurt...the people who'd said that getting old was a bitch knew of what they spoke. Forty was "over the hill," midlife-crisis time, but regardless of his family history, Toby had plans to live well past eighty. Past one hundred? That was pushing it. It could happen, but more likely than not, Toby had passed the halfway mark. More years behind him than ahead of him.

What did he have to show for a half century?

It wasn't too bad, he supposed. Two great kids. A beautiful wife whom he loved dearly, even if she resented him. And the friendship of a monster whose talons had turned from ivory to yellow without him really noticing the transition, and whose teeth were starting to fall out. Owen had held up the tooth in dismay, as if asking, "What the hell is happening to my body?"

Pretty soon, the flesh-eater might be on a liquid diet.

Mr. Zack had died a couple of weeks ago. "Natural causes." That's where Toby was headed. Natural causes: "Yeah, he died, but that's what was supposed supposed to happen." to happen."

The big five-oh had not been a happy birthday, even though Garrett got him a copy of Close Encounters of the Third Kind Close Encounters of the Third Kind on VHS (which he'd already had, but which Garrett had painted all over with nail polish a couple of years earlier) and Hannah made a portrait of him out of jelly beans glued to construction paper. Fifty was just too old. He wanted a rewind button. on VHS (which he'd already had, but which Garrett had painted all over with nail polish a couple of years earlier) and Hannah made a portrait of him out of jelly beans glued to construction paper. Fifty was just too old. He wanted a rewind button.

No, not rewind. Reset.

Jesus. What a whiny baby he was being. He might clean up some past messes, given the chance, but he certainly wouldn't wish away the path of his life. He was best friends with a monster. Who else in the world got to say that? Probably nobody. His life was cool. cool.

He wished Garrett were with him right now. They took lots of walks in the forest together and had a great time, but, of course, when he went to visit Owen his son had to stay at home.

A pity. Garrett would love Owen.

Owen would love Garrett.

Toby had been eight years old when he first saw Owen. Admittedly, his reaction had been to scream and run home crying to Mom, but there hadn't been anybody there to reassure him, to show him that Owen was nice. If Dad had been there to hold his hand, Toby would have been filled with awe, not terror.

Not that Toby was considering bringing Garrett to meet the monster. Not a chance.

Owen wasn't there when Toby arrived at the shack, but he showed up soon after, a half-eaten dead rabbit in his claw. He took a great big nasty bite out of it, then held out the dangling remains, offering them to Toby.

It was polite of him to do so, though Toby had never once accepted his offer. Toby waved it away and Owen resumed dining.