We'll Have A 'rest Of Our Lives'

That Porch Is A Happy-looking Place, And My Father - Burdened, Stoop-shouldered, Cadaverously Thin - Doesn't Seem To Belong On It.

Unlike My Mother, My Father Does Not Cry Quietly. His Wails Roll Out Like A Wave Of Pain, And I Scramble To Roll Up My Window. My Mother Cannot Hear That. I Cannot Bear To Hear It Myself. I Am Not Used To My Father's Crying. I've Had No Time To Harden My Heart Against Him.

A Thousand Times Today I've Started To Open My Mouth, Started To Squeak Out, "can You Tell Me...? But Then I'd Look Into The Front Seat, At My Mother's Silent Shaking, My Father's Grim Profile, The Mournful Bags Under His Eyes, And All The Questions I Might Ask Seemed Abusive. Assault And Battery, A Question Mark Used Like A Club. My Parents Are Old And Fragile. I'd Have To Heartless To Want To Hurt Them.

And Nedley Started Saying,'shut Up!quit That! And I Knew It Really Meant Something To Him. So I Asked For His Help,"mark Said. "don't Tell The Story Like That," Nedley Laughed. "what He Said Was 'quit Pretendin You're A Bad Guy I Need Your Help, And I Need It Now!

I Don't Know What You Two Are Up To," Hobart Said. "but You Be Careful Now, You Hear? Don't Do Anything I Wouldn't Do." "well Now, That Doesn't Restrict Us Very Much, Does It?" Mark Teased Back.