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Show 7fe "Do you love people, Grandpa?" she asked in her tiny voice. I was discomfitted by the s t r e s s of her words, holding subtle meanings. How could she know what we a l l wondered? Could her baby eyes see his singularity, divine an eternal, godlike q u a l i t y in his being? He nodded and nuzzled her cheek. "I love you, dajirling." "But do you love people?" "Of course he does," Aunt Helga laughed. My f a t h e r ' s face grew serious. "What do you mean? Yes - Grandpa loves people." "Then love my daddy - h e ' s people too." My mouth f e l l open. Brian's grin strained. My f a t h e r kissed him. "You see, I do love your daddy. And I love your mama, and your s i s t e r . And I love you." He kissed her, then handed her to me and took Brian's hand in both of h i s , squeezing gently. "Hello, dear son." My father did not have to prove the strength of his grip. "Hello Dad." The crowd blurred as I turned away. Dad. Son. Had Brian found his niche with mine, here where people attached themselves in the name of Christ, calling my father their father or husband or brother? Most of the evening passed with a similar quality of light and space to that which had surrounded us in the years before we left the white house. I imagined that Melissa had married just to provide us with this wonderful reason to be together, all of us married in a sense, feasting on companionship and love beneath the tender auspices of |
