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Possibilities
by vega rin

Rate: PG-13
Disclaimer: Everwood and its characters are of course not mine. Yadda.
Summary: "Ephram never had to think about his father taking an interest in another woman in his life. But now, the possibilities. It was quite frightening."
Note: It was something intended to be a short fluff, mostly for self-entertainment, but the story became a little longer, and here it is. :)

[ * ]

***
Who is the third who walks always beside you?
When I count, there are only you and I together
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whether a man or a woman
-But who is that on the other side of you?
"The Wasted Land", T. S. Eliot.
***

It was a morning like any other morning in Everwood, where surprises were never surprises and novel sentiments of any kind were reaching extinction.

Ephram went through his usual morning rituals--beating the alarm clock to death several times, battling with his hair that seemed to take joy in sticking out everywhere, and dealing with his father who seemed to get irritatingly cheerful every morning for whatever reasons that Ephram had no wish to know or acknowledge--without actually opening his eyes, and he was congratulating himself on that truly remarkable skill when his sister Delia pulled him aside on her way to school and dropped a bomb on him in a spectacular fashion.

"Ephram, Dad likes Nina!"

His sister had a truly joyful look on her face and Ephram, in all his not as much awake-ness, forced himself to conjure up patience. A bout of it. "Wait, what are you talking about?"

"Dad likes Nina!"

Patience. Virtue. Yes, he thought. "Delia, we all like Nina."

Delia waved her arms excitedly like a bird trying to fly for the first time. "No, not in that way. You know, the way boys like girls? I think Dad likes Nina in that way."

All right, he was awake now, and it was a big brother counsel time. "Okay, so I don't know how and why you reached that conclusion, but I think you made a few giant leaps to reach it."

"When she came by just earlier with pancakes, Dad had that look on his face."

"What look?"

"You know, the look that Dad has when he likes something."

"I didn't know he had that look."

"That's 'cause you don't pay attention to Dad."

That was a little pointed, and may go as far as Delia's commentary on him and Dad, but Ephram decided to ignore it for the time being. "Delia, Nina's married, and we *all* know this. Where do you think Sam's come from?"

"But her husband is never around."

Delia looked all innocent, and Ephram thought scolding was in order. "Which does not mean she's not married, now is it? Okay, what's this about?"

"But wouldn't you like it if Dad meets somebody?"

Whoa. So was *this* what it was all about? Meeting her eyes, he kneeled in front of her and put his hands on her tiny shoulders. "Delia, is that really what you want? Dad meeting another...person?"

"...No," she said, her voice small. "But Dad seems lonely, sometimes. And I want him to be happy again."

He took her hand. Not for the first time, and definitely not for the last time, he wished his mom were here and could say the exactly right thing. "Delia, you make him happy. You're the one possible thing that can make him happy all the time. Trust me."

She sniffled, "Really?"

"Yes. Never doubt that." Forcing a smile, Ephram kissed her forehead and pulled her up. "Now, you better get ready for school."

She trotted away, her ponytail tossing against her shoulder, and Ephram let out a relieved sigh. This big brother business was getting progressively difficult, not to mention...

Dad and Nina?

Dad with *anyone*?

Even though Ephram could blame his dad for every single thing that was wrong about this world, he couldn't for not loving his wife enough. If nothing else, Andy Brown loved Julia Brown. Wholeheartedly. Even Ephram couldn't deny his dad that much credit. So he never had to think about his father taking an interest in another woman in his life. But now, the possibilities. It was quite frightening. So much in fact that the possibilities could potentially keep him awake at night.

Putting aside the fact that his dad shouldn't have become a father to any human being (which, to Ephram's annoyance, was seemingly changing), he was a decent doctor, and supposedly a quite decent guy as well. And if the looks every middle-aged lady in his whacked up town was throwing at him was any evidence, he wasn't bad-looking either.

So, it wouldn't be such a far-off possibility now, would it?

He was truly awake now. Aw, dammit.

***

It was a good morning, Andy thought. A very good morning that he didn't have to worry about anything but the truly burned toast that was making the kitchen smell like a bacon factory that had been blown up overnight and left many casualties. He had woken up on time, shaving was finished without a hitch, and he felt control over his kitchen, which he rarely had. Delia had left with an unusually tight and affectionate hug, leaving him all happy and glowy. In conclusion, he felt rosy.

And he swore to himself to keep that attitude intact when his son stepped down slowly. Ephram didn't look that rosy, but his son never really was a morning person, the fact that he'd come to learn recently by trying to be a father. A real one.

"Breakfast? Doesn't look as bad as it tastes," Andy said cheerfully as a greeting, proud of his fairly lame puns and jokes that he had conjured up so early in the morning.

Instead of the expected groan, Ephram dropped the temperature of the dining room with his cutting, "No."

Ooookay. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed. His son's chilly reception wouldn't have been entirely unexpected a few months ago, when they'd lived in an extra-strength freezer instead of a house, but Andy was certain he hadn't done anything to piss his son off for a while. That was, not in the last twenty-four hours. "C'mon, play with me, Ephram. I didn't actually burn a thing. Much, that is. Did I mention breakfast makes a very important meal of day--"

"No," was the answer as Ephram went on casually ignoring him and walked through the kitchen toward the backdoor.

"And there're pancakes. Nina brought them. Very much edible in comparison, I should think."

"No."

"Ephram--"

"I said no."

Andy felt his mood dropping very quickly accordingly, but no, gotta keep the upbeat attitude. The world was rosy. He felt rosy. Nothing could possibly go wrong. Nothing. "How about just a bit of toast?"

"No."

"Bacon? Eggs? Cookie? Disgusting sugary thing disguised as food?"

His son shot him a look that did the impossible--decreasing the temperature of the kitchen even more. "No, no, no, no."

He loved his son. Really. Of course he wasn't extremely compelled to hit him on the head, as bluntly as possible, when he got like this.

Right.

"You're having breakfast or you're not going anywhere," Andy declared, feeling a thin thread of patience snapping like rubber elastic.

That, of course, was a mistake. As to prove that point, Ephram immediately dropped his backpack, making a thud against the floor. "Fine."

Note to self--don't ever threaten your kid with the promise of not going to school. Andy sighed. "Look, Ephram, at least take the lunch."

Ephram watched him, his expression inscrutable. After a long moment, his son picked up the lunch, packed the backpack, and left without a word.

Andy was left alone in the kitchen, all by himself.

Such was how everyday began for Andy Brown. He sank on the chair and chewed the burnt toast, wondering what had gotten to his son *now*.

***

Shakespeare was being particularly fickle today. Oh, fortune, fickle, fickle.

The cafeteria practically roamed with shouting, laughing voices that should've belonged to a rock concert and not to any vicinity of school. Instead of opening a brown lunch bag lying innocently in front of him, Ephram was attacking Shakespeare texts with vengeance for his entire lunch hour.

Men had to eat. That was how they were created. Which explained the sound his stomach was making.

But, still, no. He didn't dare to throw out the lunch, but he felt teeny-tiny (and yes, unreasonably) pissed off at Dad, for standing there so innocently offering breakfast when Ephram had been ready to rash at him. For no explicable reason.

So, okay, there was a reason, but it was a ridiculous one at that, and he didn't feel like admitting it to himself.

His concentration was slowly waning, so he stretched in the chair, looking up. When he wished he could just jump out from this place and never come back, he was almost startled out of his chair by the voice he came to know like his own.

"Shakespeare, huh?"

Amy Abbott appeared behind him, her long blond hair cascading and her smile unwavering. As always, her appearance was met by his heart racing faster than usual and his body slightly stiffening. It was an irritation of a kind that he learned to live with. "Hey," he said casually, trying hard not to stare at her openly.

She looked over his shoulder and took a look at the text he was studying. "'Oh, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?' Feeling romantic today?"

He scoffed, "More like, 'Lead on, MacDuff'."

"What, are you disillusioned about your ambition?"

"I'm a poster child for the disillusioned." At her questioning look, he simply shook his head. "Nothing. Me and thinking."

"Yes, a dangerous combination." She always smiled when she teased him, and he briefly thought he would do just about anything to see her smile.

"Ah, well," he said, "Pot. Kettle. Hello."

She did that cute half-smiling thing with her nose and took a seat beside him. The giant chemistry textbook landed beside his Shakespeare, and the table squeaked in protest. "Shakespeare's never been a problem for me, but chem's killing me."

"Hey, you're smart."

"So are you."

And that was a comment to ponder upon. "Do you need some help?" Ephram asked after letting a few seconds to pass, weighing his question carefully and trying not to hope for too much.

Amy froze, as if surprised that she had actually led the conversation into this, as if she hadn't known what she was asking for. When she turned to him, her expression was hesitant, unsure. "Would you mind?"

"Of course not," he said, not because it was true (oh, chemistry really wasn't his thing), but because there was absolutely nothing else he could say. Because, if he said anything else, he might accidentally remind her of the forbidden name 'Colin' that hung in every conversation they had, in every smile they shared. And that was the last thing he wanted.

She nodded slowly. A casual observer might even think she was nervous. "Tonight, then?"

"Sure. Where?"

She didn't have to think much about that. It wasn't like Ephram was welcome at her place, with Bright hovering over at every step. "Your place."

Ephram would agree to a slaughterhouse if she were coming. "All right."

She smiled at him tentatively, and he smiled back.

Of course they had no idea what they were getting themselves into. But yes, slaughterhouse, he thought.

After she left, after he'd stared at her disappearing shape long enough, Ephram stared at the brown bag again. A moment later, with courage or whatever he had gathered, he opened it. He carefully examined the content of the bag, trying not to smile. His dad might know his way through the most complicated and sensitive part of human anatomy, but operating a toaster was an elusive mystery never to be solved.

That was his dad, imperfect, but trying. No matter what Ephram said to himself and anyone else, he loved his Dad. And that was the problem. Unreasonable, but there it was.

He wasn't sure if he could forgive his father if, or when, he decided to take a chance with another woman that wasn't his mother. And his mother was gone.

***

"Your son's here," Edna announced as she proceeded to drop off a patient file on his desk in brisk steps that were reminiscent of her soldier years.

Andy looked up, surprised. Ephram didn't, or, at least not officially, approve of his doctor business and his visiting hour was rare if not never. "Really? Why?"

Edna made a dismissive hand wave. "How should I know? He's your son. Anyhow, you better see him now. He's repelling the patients with his scowl."

Andy almost grinned. "That bad, huh? Let him in."

A few seconds later, his son appeared at the doorway and promptly closed the door. He walked in breathlessly and stopped abruptly when he saw Andy.

Ephram suddenly had a look of a person dropped into the busiest street of New York for the first time, as if he couldn't believe he found himself in his father's office.

This didn't seem like a good thing to Andy. "Ephram, for what do I owe this pleasure?" Of course, he could not be here to apologize for the little temper flare thing in the morning, so?

Silence.

"Uh, Ephram?"

His son continued to stare (which actually meant glaring), contemplating something and saying nothing.

And Andy had thought he was getting a better handle on his son's every expression by working really hard on this being father thing the last year, but apparently, today was out to prove him wrong. "Ephram, what is it? Are you feeling unwell?" Was that it? Was his son actually getting sick? That was why he was in a doctor's office?

Seemingly noticing the panicked look on his face, Ephram snapped sharply, "No, I'm fine. It's just..."

"What?" Andy probed, beyond puzzlement.

"Well, I..." he then stopped, almost shaking head at himself. "You know what? A friend of mine is coming over tonight. Do try to act civilized."

Somehow, Andy had a sneaking suspicion that wasn't what his son had been trying so pathetically to tell him. "And you came all this way to warn me? A friend who?"

Ephram was already looking sorry that he had mentioned it at all. "Why does that matter?"

"Because of the father privilege, which is why you came in and told me? Because I own the house? And I will know anyhow when this person steps into my house? And I can possibly, really, embarrass you in front of this said friend by bringing about your baby pictures that you think you've successfully hidden but really haven't? Take your pick." The less than thrilled look on Ephram's face became progressively less and less as Andy sprouted out each sentence. Andy, in triumph, asked, "So, who?"

Ephram shot him a dirty look, but relented soon enough. His son, smartly, knew how to pick his battles. "Amy," he mumbled.

Andy arched his eyebrow. "Amy as in the offspring of Dr. Abbott's?"

"Is there any other Amy that we know?"

"Just checking. So, anything special you're planning?"

"We're studying chemistry."

"Oh, *really*? Chemistry. Good subject. Burning anything?"

"A word of advice? Don't play on innuendo with your sixteen-year-old son, because that can never end well."

Feigned casualness was what Andy was angling for when he asked, "So, do you like her?"

"I'm not even dignifying that with an answer."

A pause, then: "So, do you like her?"

"You're obnoxious."

"You know me well enough to know I'll take that as compliment."

"Yeah, why does that scare me?"

"I can imagine why it can get quite frightening. So?"

"Please stay being oblivious like usual. Please."

Ephram did look quite tortured, and Andy smiled brightly. That was enough fun for today. And maybe, he *would* stay oblivious. But of course only for a bit. "Rest assured. I'll make you proud tonight."

Just after giving him the last pointed glare and turning away, Ephram called out again, "Dad?"

"Yes?"

Ephram's expression was rather odd this time, like the one from the morning, and for the life of him Andy couldn't figure out what it meant. Ephram turned away again, throwing him a barely audible, "Nothing."

Oh well, Andy thought, watching his son walk out. At least this was a progress compared to this morning. Ephram would tell him, one way or the other, soon enough.

Andy proceeded to whistle. Now, where were those baby pictures?

***

"So, now, NaCl combined with...Ephram?"

Chewing off the ball pen caps had its limit, since he had only a few working pens as they were, and he was tired of staring at the periodic table as if it would give him the answer that he didn't have.

"Ephram, are you okay?"

He looked into Amy's concerned eyes and gathered himself up. This had to go away, and Amy, if anything, was a good listener. "Amy, can I ask you something?"

Amy sat up straight, obviously recognizing that his mind wasn't on figuring out what salt was made of and that he needed to talk. "Of course you can," she reassured him gently.

"It's kind of...personal."

The grin on her face shook just a tiniest bit. "Ask me, then I'll see if I can answer."

"Were you very close to your grandfather?"

Amy quickly hid the look of relief on her face. The question turned to be not the one she had been bracing herself for. Ephram could easily guess what had been on her mind, but he wasn't going to go there. "Yes, I was," her voice was wistful, all the evidence he needed to believe her words. "Bright was never really for grandparents, but even he adored Grandpa."

"And," Ephram swallowed, "were you okay when Edna and Irv..."

An understanding immediately dawned on her expression. Amy shifted a little closer beside him. Whether it was to give or receive comfort, he wasn't sure.

"It would be a lie if I said I didn't feel surprised, or a little hurt, even. But Grandma has every right to be happy, and Irv is a good man. So I tried to be happy for her. Soon, I didn't have to just try, because I was. Happy for her, I mean," her voice was low and quiet, but it was truthful enough.

"I see."

Ephram tried to digest the information. Delia had said almost the same thing, about wanting Dad to be happy. Was Dad lonely? Of course he was, but who wasn't? But it didn't mean everyone had to have someone all the time, right? It wasn't like all the people in the world wanted someone special in their life.

He then saw Amy, her cascading hair, and her soft, concerned look.

He thought, Oh. Oh.

Amy was oblivious to his thoughts. Her eyes were on him when she asked carefully, "Ephram, has your dad...?"

"What? No, no," he shook his head, realizing how he must have sounded like, "No, it's not that. The possibility never occurred to me before, and today... Well, it's just unnerving, even just thinking about a mere possibility."

Amy paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. When she spoke again, her voice was gentle yet strong, "I can't imagine any of my parents with someone else. But I can't imagine them without each other, either. If that were ever to happen, the hole my mom or dad would feel...I can't begin to imagine, but I think they'd hurt more from losing each other than I would ever feel about getting any of my parents replaced. If anything or anyone can fill that hole, I will try to be happy for them. Won't be easy, but that would be the least I can do for my parents. Now, I really don't think that moment will come for you and your Dad in any near future, but if that ever happens, I know you'll do what's right."

"How do you know?"

"Because you always do, Ephram."

For a second, he stopped breathing. Then he shook his head, ruefully. "I don't think you know me well enough."

"I know enough." She looked a little pale, but her eyes didn't leave his.

It was impossible not to lean close to her, just to stare back into her eyes. "I think it's grossly unfair that you always know what to say to make me feel better."

A moment passed, and she looked away with an embarrassed smile. "I'm kind of glad. You're usually the one to help out and give smart advice in our relationship."

"We have a...relationship?"

That stopped both of them dead, and Ephram kicked himself. This was a dangerous territory, the one better left avoided. He only wanted the moments shared with her to last a second longer. Was that too much to ask? At this point, he couldn't want anything else.

Amy stared at her hands, her fingers and nails, and looked up. "We are friends, aren't we?"

Friends. Of course. "That we are," he said, wondering why his voice was shaking.

She smiled at him tentatively, and he smiled back.

Of course this was never going to end well.

***

"Nina, do you like my dad?"

Oh, for crying out loud, Ephram groaned inwardly. To his annoyance, the dinner included not only Amy, but Nina, Sam and Nina's pot roast and mashed potatoes. He had no complaint against the food and Sam and even Nina herself, but Delia asking that question at the dinner table was a little too problematic.

Nina looked sufficiently puzzled, but she answered with patience that Ephram thought was remarkable, "Of course I do, sweetie. Why, did your dad get a crazy idea everyone in this town hates him?" She gave Ephram and Amy a sidelong, amused glance and turned back her attention to Delia again.

Dad, walking in from the kitchen with a bottle of wine (for adults only, he had said), overheard just a bit of the conversation. "Of course I'm certifiable," he said, exchanging that adult-only look with Nina in all smile, "Who's the doubting Thomas here?"

"No one," Ephram said a little loudly, earning curious looks from the all corners of the table. He didn't care. As long as the conversation didn't involve his dad getting involved with the lady-next-door who was very much married and with a kid, they could drill holes onto his face with all the looks.

"So, Amy," his dad began, chopping his share of pot roast with eager appetite and just eager attitude, and just as effectively changing the topic, "I'm surprised your dad let you come here. Didn't Dr. Abbott bar the door or something?"

Amy smiled good-naturedly. "I'm always in possession of emergency ladders ready for use."

"Resourceful," complimented Dad.

"Why, thank you."

Ephram had indeed been worried, but Dad was behaving a little too well, and Amy seemed to be having fun. Should I consider this as a good thing? he wondered. And Nina. He stole a glance at the lady-next-door as she tried and succeeded, rather magically, in getting Sam to have some more carrot bits. From the looks of it, she was coaxing him in all manners and with promises just for this daily vitamin intake. The scene had been a familiar one to Ephram not so long ago. Now... Nina caught his eyes and gave him a smile. He looked away, sheepishly.

He missed his mom terribly. Acceptance of her death didn't mean that he didn't feel her absence in every bone of his body.

He wondered if the day would come when he wouldn't feel this void, this hollow feeling near his heart whenever he opened his eyes and realized that she wasn't here any more. He wondered if Dad ever would, or if he already had let her go.

That wasn't true. That could never be.

"--baby pictures?" Dad's voice spoke cheerfully.

Ephram immediately snapped out from his reverie and sat up straight. This didn't bode well. "What?"

"Oh, your dad's going to show me your baby pictures," Amy said happily. "I bet you were extremely adorable."

"I--"

"Oh, he was," Nina said, a trace of smile on her face, "And I adored the one where he's in this mini-suit and--"

Okay, now, *this* really didn't bode well. Ephram blurted out in panic, "Wait, Nina, you saw them?"

"Of course I did. One of the first things your dad showed me."

"I can't wait to see them," Amy said, her smile resembling Nina's.

"Excellent," Dad had an irritatingly broad smile on his face as he rubbed his hands together, "Then our after dinner activity is decided. Ephram, do you mind putting on some water for coffee while I go get our album?"

"I--"

"Thanks, Ephram," Amy said with all of her beautiful smile, as she followed Dad out.

This was a conspiracy, Ephram decided, sitting alone in the table as Nina led Sam and Delia away after chuckling for a good bit.

Analyzing the situation in all angles and coming up with no solution to avoid the baby picture session, Ephram vowed revenge and stood up. He had no choice but to make coffee right now, but his dad better watch his steps, or morning coffee, or his laundry, or any possible creative object Ephram could come up as booby trap elements.

At the kitchen, however, a conversation was being carried out. Ephram didn't really plan to overhear (of course he was too cool for eavesdropping) but once he put his feet down at the corner of the entrance, he froze.

"Delia, what's on your mind?" Nina was asking his sister, her soft voice almost exactly like how he remembered his mother's.

No answer from Delia. She was looking down at her feet as if she had never seen them before in her life.

"Are you worried that your dad might find someone...special again?"

A gingerly nod.

"Oh, Delia," Nina sighed, her voice aching with understanding. "You know your mom can never be replaced and will never be."

"But how do you know?" Delia's voice was almost inaudible.

"You're right, I can never really know. But do you want to know what I think?"

There was another nod, and Nina leaned closer to her, almost conspiratorially.

"I think your father doesn't know how to love anyone else other than your mother."

"Really?"

"At least in a long, long while. And when the time comes, you'll be all grown up, and you'll be talking to your dad, and he'll listen to you. I know that."

Nina smiled and Delia, obviously glad and relieved, hugged her tightly. For all of wanting her father to be happy phase, Delia was still a girl needing to know that Mom was irreplaceable in Dad's life.

Ephram, however, was less glad, less happy. Because there were things that even precocious nine-year-old girls couldn't catch.

Because it had now occurred to him that Nina was a little too much like his mother. Kind, smart, witty, pretty, and with this uncanny ability to read minds that only the female of the species was allowed to possess. His dad and Delia might not have realized it, but they would have surely *felt* it in the guts, in their hearts.

The rest of the evening, Ephram spent the hours watching Amy smiling and laughing at his pictures, chemistry definitely forgotten, Delia happily making a mess of everything alongside Sam, and Dad and Nina sharing laughs.

He remembered it had been a long while since anyone else shared any kind of pleasant emotion with Dad.

***

Ephram inhaled deeply. This was getting petty and odd and selfish, and he didn't want to partake on any of those feelings. He had to admit it that even he welcomed this rare truce of a sort that he had developed with his father, and he didn't want to lose it. He wasn't going to.

Delia had settled on her bed and Dad was on his favorite chair, so a few good hours after he had walked Amy home, Ephram attacked the issue headfirst.

"Do you have feelings for her?"

His dad, nursing a cup of coffee, looked up, not understanding. He actually looked disturbed. "I'm sorry? Do I have feelings for...*Amy*?"

"Nina."

Ephram found it interesting that the man who was seemingly unflappable in all matters that did not involve his dead wife could look so truly, wholly, shocked at this moment. "Wow, geez, where did *that* come from?"

"Do you like her?"

"She's a good neighbor," Dad conceded.

"Do you like her?"

"Of course I do. She's a good friend."

"Do you like her?"

Dad put down the coffee mug, exasperated. "Ephram."

"I already feel ridiculous and idiotic for even talking about this. Please, just humor me. I need to hear it."

The exasperated look on Andy's face disappeared. He turned solemn, as if he understood why Ephram needed this. "Nina is a good friend, and I have to admit, it's rare to find a person to talk to in this town. She helps me through things, and that's even rarer. So I like her. But that doesn't mean I like-like her. She's married. Did I mention she's married? And I lost my wife, your mother, just last year."

"People get remarried quicker than that. Look at Edna--"

"Ephram, can I finish?" Ephram nodded, half sheepish and half begrudging, and Andy continued gently, "She's a friend and nothing more, and I hope you trust my judgment enough to believe that I won't do anything to jeopardize this family *and* other family. Now," he leaned toward him, his expression growing serious, "tell me what this is about."

Ephram shuffled his feet. Then stared at the floor. Then some more. "Delia fell in love with that idea."

Andy gaped for a second, then stood up. Seconds later, he started pacing. "I didn't think I was pushing the mother role into Nina. I should've known this. Do you think Delia needs a mother? Of course she does, but is that why she's jumping into the idea with Nina? Do you think--do you think we should be more, I don't know, motherly? What should we--"

Ephram felt a panic attack coming if Dad continued pacing. He stood up as well and gestured to him to sit down, "Dad, no, you're doing okay as you are. At least for now, that is. I don't know what's going to happen when she gets bigger, but now, you're doing fine."

"We."

Ephram blinked. "What?"

"You mean *we* are doing okay as we are, not just me. You know I could've never done any of this without you."

Well, it was true and all, but it didn't mean Ephram was totally immune to gratitude and compliment, not even when it was coming from his dad. But, typically, Ephram said nothing to indicate this.

Dad didn't sit down. In fact, he seemed to be getting more agitated by every passing second. "I mean, I've never *not* thought about it. When she grows up, she might need someone, someone who knows things about perfumes and pantyhose and lipsticks and those sparkly things they put on."

Ephram nodded. "Someone who speaks the girl language."

"The girl language?"

"You know, their code when they discuss boyfriends and stuff."

"Oh god, yes. That, too."

They were silent, both imagining ten years, or even five years, into the future, when Delia wouldn't be wearing her ever-present baseball cap and begin to throw out stuffed animals for something else entirely.

"See," Dad started to speak again, sufficiently horrified, "but that doesn't mean I should just go out and get someone to become your new mother. Not only you would hate me and try to kill me for that, I just can't. I can't see into the future, but I just don't see it happening. I-I, well, I love your mother, Ephram."

So here it comes, Ephram thought. He had been preparing this all the way back from Amy's, but it was still difficult. He took a deep breath. "And she's gone, Dad. As much as it pains me to say it, one day, you might want to, you know, move on. It can happen, and there's nothing wrong with that. It's just that...if that day comes, you can tell us. You *have* to tell us."

"What, so you can cut off my visiting hours and fight for Delia's guardianship?" Andy Brown looked weary.

"No, because we, Delia and I, will need time to prepare ourselves. Because we would like to know if someone...special comes into your life again. You don't need to put your life on hold because of us. We shouldn't be the reason you give up a chance for happiness."

To Ephram's surprise, Dad shook his head. "No, you guys should precisely be the reason. See, laugh all you like, but you're the reason I can be happy. If you're not happy, I don't think I can be happy."

Ephram suddenly had this thought that his father might never again think of his own happiness, not after what happened to his mom. In his mind, Ephram could draw a picture of a man searching for redemption through his children, through this little town, through the life he decided to abandon. His life as a surgeon had been the first to go, New York the second, and now...

For some reason, Ephram felt something tightening around his chest. He decided to ignore it. "I hope you trust *us* enough to believe that we'll at least try to be happy together. And...she would want you to be happy. You know that. We all know that. So. There it is."

There, he said it.

His dad, slowly, sank on his chair again, looking confused and touched and tired at the same time.

So it was.

Ephram looked outside the window, the streets and the town in the dark. Tomorrow was another day, and the possibilities might not keep him awake at night after all.

He had explored too much of his father's psyche than he had ever wanted, and this was pretty much enough. So he said, half-jokingly, "Of course, this does not mean you have a permission to have all kinds of gross affairs with anyone that comes to your way."

Slowly, a small smile began to form on his dad's wearied face. "Ah, the possibilities are endless."

"Here we go again."

Dad put up his hands in surrender. "All right, all right. I solemnly swear. Now," he sat back against the chair, comfortably and in his story time posture, "let's talk about Amy."

Ephram groaned and Andy chuckled. The father and the son sat together, sharing small smiles. And for now, that was enough.

Ephram went to bed that night and slept very well.

***

Epilogue:


Nina doesn't drop by for a week, and Andy is thinking about possibilities.

Precisely a week later, she comes over with baked goods and a smile, Sam trotting along at the side as a safety net. Their safety net for sanity. She is met by Delia who gladly takes the pie off from her hands and Ephram who is slightly reserved but still glad to be in the hands of someone who can cook without burning the egg sunny-side-ups.

And he, Andy Brown, gives her the same broad smile and never crosses the line. The Line.

"You gave it all away to your wife. I think I understand what it's like," Nina tells him, in a fleeting moment, like she really understands.

He's loved his wife for all his life. That is the only decent thing he can say for himself, not as a surgeon but as a human being. He has loved one woman in his life and it's going to stay that way.

And that is why he is standing in the veranda of his house, catching fresh air as an excuse, listening to the sound of laughter and piano from inside. His son plays beautifully, Delia and Sam work on a 3-D puzzle together, and Nina brings glasses of milk and cookies to the living room, commenting on their progress. Andy loves watching. Outside, looking in. He can pretend he has everything, that this whole thing is his again. A perfect family. Like this, he doesn't have to feel anger at himself for being so frail, being so human. Because, like this, he doesn't have to do anything to ruin this, this precious thing he has now, finally.

Like this, he doesn't have to pretend that he won't feel the tingly regret when she finally returns to her house at the end of the night after the shared goodbye kisses on the cheeks like good friendly neighbors.

Like this, he doesn't have to realize that his friendly neighbor, telling him he doesn't know how to love anyone else, might be just wrong.

Just possibilities, Andy tells himself.

THE END
(10/01/03)

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