I watch Timmy fall asleep and it's almost as if I was teleported ten years ago. He was barely eighteen. Crashing at my place. Jobless, running from home, trying to figure out what that smart, smart boy was going to do with his life. I'm the one that put in the good word for him to Horatio and Megan. I clear his bed and take the sheets and blankets and pillowcases to my house and throw them in the washing machine. I'm going to have to wash these multiple times over. God! I hope they were careful. I start making him a meal or two. I'm about halfway through preparing the food when I have to start the washing machine again. Henry walks in with Jamie and little Bryan in his arms.
"Hey, honey," he says, kissing my cheek. "Whatcha making?"
"Food."
"For who?"
"Timmy." He nods. He's been there this whole time. He's seen everything I've done for him and everything he's done for everyone else. About six hours later, I return to Timmy's house and make his bed, place the food in the fridge, and kiss his forehead once more. "You're a good man, Timmy," I whisper. "A very good man."
