pairs of arms rose and pointed at him then at a corner of the old shoe shop where he had sought counsel in his youth.
What are those long boxes on the floor, Corrado?
The tall Italian doctor who had mentored Berto slowly wheeled the amputee-shoemaker over to the boxes.
Each man reached for and lifted a rough-hewn, wooden lid.
Galen fell to his knees and touched the faces within.
Mama! Papa!
Two sets of eyes stared up at him.
Avete abbandonato noi non abbiamo nessun figlio.
We faced the Dark Angel alone.
As one, they condemned him, his father’s voice ringing out the last words he had heard before leaving home.
Non ho, figlio!
I have no son.
He turned and saw the two lavender-eyed women who filled his life with the only joy he had known.
Leni, Cathy, you won’t leave me. Promise you won’t leave me!
Two softly accusing voices pierced him.
You could have saved us. We didn’t have to die.
They didn’t have to die, Tio.
Tonio?
Die, old man.
Tonio, no, no, not you!
“Don’t die, Tio!”
“Huh? Wha…?”
“Tio Galen!”
He felt his shoulders being shaken and a young man’s voice echoing in his ears.
Galen had sat up most of the night in the living room, staring out the window at the moonlit mountain vista, his only companions the ghosts of his past.
When did I doze off?
The old man blinked as the image of his ward Antonio Hidalgo came into focus. Ever since his heart attack, Tonio was more solicitous than ever. The young are always shocked by the mortality of the old.
“Yes, Tonio, I’m still ticking. What time is it?”
He knelt by Galen’s chair.
“It’s 5 a.m., Tio.”
“I guess you didn’t sleep either, eh, boy?”
“No, Tio. I still can’t believe I’m going to medical school today!”
Galen couldn’t believe it either. He shook his head, still seeing Tonio as the 3-year-old orphan he had found on Bald Head Island almost 20 years before.
“Are you sure this is what you want, boy?”
The young man turned away, pretending to stretch, and turned back.
“Yes, Tio.”
“Okay, have you packed everything you want in the RV?”
He looked at his ward, the energy of youth flashing from his dark-brown Latino eyes. Nothing was impossible. The world was his to conquer.
Tonio gazed at his tio and saw how the world fought back.
“Yes, Tio, just about…”
Galen tried to rise from his armchair but joint stiffness caught him off guard.
Tonio quickly stood up, his 6-feet, 2-inch frame towering over his guardian.
“Let me help you, Tio.”
A grumbled “I don’t need help” was ignored. Tonio saw the hidden gratitude as he easily pulled the old man upright.
They moved down the hall to Tonio’s room. Galen sat on the edge of the bed. The young man’s belongings were storm-tossed by the winds of change.
Galen rose slowly and turned his head halfway to face his ward. It was a gesture he had inherited from his papa, the body language of father to son.
Then he stopped.
No, old man, no deep philosophical words now. This is neither the time nor the place.
Flashes of that hellish dream brought him up short.
Berto, you are not your father.
“Go clean up, Tonio. Your tia has breakfast waiting.”
He returned to his own room where he quickly washed, shaved, and changed into fresh clothes before heading to the dining room.
They sat quietly at the large, handmade oak table Edison had crafted years before, when the children and their friends had made its size a necessity. Now only four sat at the table. Soon it would be three. It had been that way in the beginning, when Safehaven was just a dream.
There was no turning back for the young man who had become Galen’s surrogate son.
“Have we got the itinerary, guys?” Nancy asked.
Edison looked at her. The retired couple—he a former electronics engineer and she a former banker—could see the impending empty-nest syndrome in their friend.
“After we finish here,” Edison answered, “we’ll head on down the road. I think it shouldn’t take more than seven to eight hours to reach Richmond.
“As usual we’ve got two choices once we get to Harrisburg. We either head down Route 15 through Thurmont and Frederick, or we take I-83 through Towson and around Baltimore. Either way, we wind up on that damned Beltway and ultimately connect to I-95 south. Take your pick.”
Galen looked at his old friend. “How about the road less traveled?”
Nancy’s eyes twinkled. “Mr. Frost was a wise man.”
“Thurmont it is,” Edison agreed.
Edison turned to Tonio, his thick glasses and double hearing aids wobbling.
“Once we hit Richmond we’ll get you settled in your dorm room then bed down for the night at a local motel. I’m sure sourpuss here would like to revisit the city of his youthful escapades. I hope the State of Virginia has taken down all the wanted posters.”
Galen couldn’t help it. His face took on its customary scowl.
“No, no mad or sad face today, big brother. Come on, Pagliacci, play the clown.”
He cleared his throat and smiled—quite a rarity twice in one day—and shot a glance at Edison.
“Tonio, I believe what your more feeble-minded tio is trying to say is that I’d
