I woke up early the next morning. As I made my way downstairs the sun once again had thrown rainbows on the walls. Mrs. Young sat at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee. Her head was down, face serious, eyes focused on the knots in the wood. Her hair was tangled and I could feel the sleep radiate off her. I wasn't sure if I should sit down with her and face my consequence, or explain to her what really happened. I wanted to get to know her more, and since Angus was still asleep, this gave me the perfect chance to chat with her.

Mrs. Young looked up for a moment when I pulled the chair out. In a second her eyes glanced down again. "Good morning," she said as she sipped her coffee.

"Good morning." I blushed as my morning voice cracked. I sat down and she stood up.

"I have breakfast on the stove if ya' want some," she offered. "I made enough for all of us but it seems we're short one."

"That's Angus for you," I smiled. She gave a tiny one back, but it disappeared like the steam from the pan. Within seconds the food was split and she resumed her place at the table.

"He's a nutty one." My leg wouldn't stop bouncing under the table as I watched the woman eat. Slowly but surely the food vanished and deciding not to aggravate her more with my rudeness, I copied her. Not a word was spoken the entire meal. Perhaps the hesitation was meant for me to initiate conversation. Not having any decent way with words, I wracked my brain for something-anything to talk about. Then we could discuss last night later. Mrs. Young saved me the trouble by cutting to the chase. "You two have fun last night?"

I just knew my face was crimson. Whether or not she saw us, she knew something had happened that wasn't sleep. My palms wiped themselves on my jeans. "Yeah, dancing is...fun I suppose."

"I'll bet." I perked my head up. "It's good to be close to someone. Feel that you're loved and safe." A silence settled over us again. Her lack of surprise led me to believe she had indeed picked up on our actions. Thank God too. "You know I-couldn't help but smile a part when I saw you. Oh sure ya' get a little protective, but I noticed the way he held you. I've got nothin' to worry about." My heart rate declined and my breathing paced. A long finger pointed at me. "You don't either. He's a good boy." I sighed in relief.

"Yeah. He is." I was thankful to be on good terms with her. She stood up for the living room, specifically to a polished yet chipped bookshelf. Her hand brushed along the spine of each text, looking for one in particular.

"I know it's around here...somewhere..." A thick, black book was chosen from the many and brought to the table. Dust blew in clouds as it crashed against the wood. Mrs. Young presented the first page to me; yellow photographs snug in cheap plastic. Children of all ages smiled at me as I studied each one. "This one is Angus' class picture when he was nine. That one is him and George in the sandbox." I grinned at them, these kids were such cuties! Mrs. Young chuckled as I turned the page. "There's Malcolm deciding he didn't need diapers anymore." I laughed at the toddler running free as a bird through the sprinklers. My laughter grew when I saw Angus and Malcolm in the tub together. Angus was standing up in full view trying to climb out the side.

"Whatcha showin' her Mum?"

"Oh, jus' some old photos, nothin' really." I held up the album so Angus could see.

"Look at you, you're a cutie patootie!" I laughed. Angus stepped closer and squinted at the open book. An irritated look brushed his face.

"Aw, Mum!" he pouted. He stomped to the fridge where his morning milk was. "Don't show her that!" Mrs. Young pointed a finger at him.

"I know what you do on your tours, it's not like she hasn't seen it before," she reminded him. I put my head down on the table hiding my laughter from Angus as he begrudgingly slammed a cup on the counter. "I think it's a fine picture...oh that one is too."

"Did you show her Malcolm's cereal picture?"

"No, not yet."

"Figures," Angus mumbled. He returned to us with a yawn and looked down at the album, skimming each page. A finger pressed down on a small one. "There." The photo expressed Malcolm donning a bowl of cereal on his head and a mess on the floor. Angus' eyes lit up at the memory. "Saw him do it, thought it was funny..."

"So you tried it yourself," Mrs. Young finished as she gave him a look. "Needless to say I was not happy."

"A-and you made Margaret clean it up," Angus laughed.

"I was busy packin' lunches, I didn't have enough hands to catch you monkeys." Angus came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my neck, resting his head on mine. "You always copied your brother, if he'd jump off the couch an' break a neck, you wanted to as well."

"Hey, I was never as bad as him," Angus defended. "Remember when he kicked the soccer ball over the fence an' he climbed over to get it?"

"Yep," Mrs. Young sighed. "Landed right in the rose bush."

"See?" Angus sipped his drink. "Ain't nothin' like him."

"Do you want your breakfast, son?"

"Sure, let's have it." The three of us spent the rest of the morning looking through the album. Stories I never dreamed of were shared in that kitchen. It was good to laugh and think about the old days, and I wouldn't have traded it for anything.

she's dead...