FOR THE WIDOWS IN PARADISE — private au

[MYERS]

[align=center][div style="text-align:justify;width:55%;font-family:verdana;"]Ahab used to wonder, shamefully, what life would be like if things were different. Watching the ceiling fan on sleepless nights, he'd try hard to imagine the weight of - a wife? a husband? - at his side. He'd try to fabricate a reality in which he was the first to see his daughter's smile, hear her laughter before anyone else could take it away. A life where she was his own flesh and blood, and they didn't have to spend years on rocky footing before he'd found her. He knew Roxanne had suffered. He'd held her when she cried, when she lashed out, when memories overwhelmed her just as they could overwhelm him. Footage of the tsunami and newspaper clippings about the death tolls had made him feel sick. The occasional, uncomfortable reference to her biological family only served to fuel a burning rage that had simmered inside of him for years.

The illusion of the nuclear family seemed tantalizingly picturesque, sometimes, enough to have him fooled for the first few years. This false idea that the past was avoidable, it lured him. His daughter deserved better than another deadbeat, another dysfunctional home; berating himself for being a sub par choice of a father was instinctive when all he felt was low. But the longer she stayed, the stronger their little family could grow, and when it finally stood on stable legs he could accept that this was enough. He was enough. Everything was okay, just as it was.

And now, things could only get better.

"There's my little guy! C'mere," When Roan scoots forward Ahab stoops down to catch him in his tracks, sweeping him up in a one-armed hug and swinging him around for good measure. Roan hugs his leg once he's back on the ground again, giving Ahab just enough time to muss up his hair. "Come on in. It's chilly out, you shouldn't have walked - call me next time and I'll come pick you up, okay?"

DD is an endlessly patient dog, but in his retirement it was easy to forget the house rules - the dog scratches at the front door, whining excitedly at the sound of familiar voices. As Ahab lets them in, the mutt gives an excited bark to Roxanne and her son, and takes off. A bad hip had done a number on the old dog, but he was never too sore for a quick zoom when his person had company over.

The bungalow itself was a two-story, but seemed to sit squat among the tropical trees. A mudroom, a kitchen, a small sunken den, only two bedrooms - it wasn't much, but he was proud to call it his own. There was an effort made to keep the place tidy, but it had the air of a busy family home. Rows upon rows of photos adorned every surface: each moment of Roxanne's new life had been documented in birthday parties, camping trips, and holiday mornings aligned on the wall. And now, Roan was popping up alongside them, his best drawings framed on the fireplace (and the rest smothering the fridge). Shoes at the door were muddied, and yesterday's paper was spread out on the kitchen table. DD's toys were scattered among the vague attempts at organizing Roan's belongings; Ahab kicks a bone out of the way as they linger by the front door. "Y'Want anything? I can make, uh - sandwiches, if you're hungry."