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"Where is it?" he finally had the courage to ask. |
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Theodore had turned up his collar to ward off the chill. He pulled a hand out of his jacket pocket and pointed at a small tidy patch of mowed grass on the crest of the hill overlooking the harbor. "There," he said, "right next to Grandpa Cleveland." |
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Charlie had partially regained his equilibrium, and he forced himself to start up the small rise to where the swell of the land entombed the two men. The markers were plain, the epitaphs proclaiming only that they lived and not what they had been nor what they had done. The first and obviously older stone read simply, "Cleveland Jasper Frazier." The second was that of his son, Malcolm Cross Frazier. There were no flowers, no shrubs, no evidence that somehow had come to mourn their passing. Charlie decided that was appropriate. |
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He turned and looked at his brother, suddenly aware of how intently his sibling was watching him. |
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"You're a strange one, Charlie. Anybody ever tell you that?" |
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The question was a giveaway. He knew now he was winning his brother over. Theodore was lowering his defenses. Charlie decided it was time for a small challenge. "Why, Ted? Because I don't think like you? Or share your |
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