Page 10 of Ethan

Damian's hotdog came apart, his wiener dropping onto the plate among the potato salad. Sarah rescued the situation, scrapping the potatoes and mayonnaise off the meat before putting it in a new bun and redressing the refreshed hotdog. "Damian got in trouble at school last week."

"Not my fault," Damian muttered.

"You played a significant part." Sarah stabbed at a chunk of potato salad. "Schoolyard bullying. Damian and another boy ganged up on one of the sweetest children in that school."

I scowled at my grandson. "Damian."

"Garrett did it," Damian retorted. "I was just standing beside him."

"We've talked about you hanging out with Garrett," I replied.

Damian sighed. "Why does Brandon have long hair? Boys don't have long hair."

"We've been through this already," Sarah said. "He likes his hair long."

"He looks like a girl."

"Boys can have long hair too."

"That's not what Garrett says."

We'd had this discussion with him many times. Garrett wasn't a good influence. Damian had other friends. Sarah was arranging more play dates with them to try to intervene.

"Throughout indigenous history," I said, "long hair on men was considered a symbol of masculinity … being a strong man. They only cut it if they were sad about someone dying."

"Brandon's a descendant of the Songhees Nation," Sarah said. "His long hair is traditional."

Another sigh from Damian. "He's nice. I like him."

"Then maybe you should spend your time becoming his friend instead of bullying him."

Damian nodded. "Okay. I'll be nice to him."

I ruffled my grandson's hair. "That's what I like to hear."

These were the moments that were important to me. Spending time with my family. Helping my children shape the next generation into becoming empathetic, kind, and thoughtful humans.

Unlike my upbringing which had felt more like a fight for survival.

My thoughts wandered to Ethan. He possessed all those good qualities I strived for. I could sense it in him. He was the type of man who would fit well into my family.

But did I dare? I would hate to upset the loving balance that Delores and I had created many years ago. A balance that our children and grandchildren continued to thrive in.

I placed my hand in my pocket, touching the wrapped croissant.

Seeing Ethan again today … my soul ached for him.

Chapter Three | Ethan

Saturday was one of my favourite nights of the week. After a long day at the coffee shop, I looked forward to our relaxing weekly tradition. Owen and I had started hanging out to watch a movie every Saturday night years back. The movie didn't matter as much as the opportunity to connect.

Owen was my best friend. Had been since high school. We had been the art geeks of our four-man group. Didn't matter what medium we used. Paints, stencils, clay … we loved them all. In my office, I still had some of the wonky ceramic bowls I made when I was sixteen.

As adults, occasionally, we would take part in a paint-and-sip class. Combining painting and drinking far too much wine was a fun way to unwind with him.

But I liked movie night better.

I went into the kitchen. There were times every few months when Saturday nights with Owen felt like a lifeline. My bubbly personality had a dark underside that sometimes made an appearance.

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