Chapter ThreeBig Daddy was, in many ways, as ignorant as the slaves of the past which he fished from their cauldron of purgatory and redeemed. He toyed with the controls of the computer. He blinked his eyes and put his finger on his face. The Chief had not appeared. It was up to him to choose the past which could be redeemed and changed.
“The Kennedys?”
There was John Jr. standing by his father's funeral procession, saluting as a small child. Whose idea had that been? Not the small boy's, surely. But an image he had lived with for life.
“The sea. Anaheim. Martha's Vineyard. The Atlantic.”
No, don't go there.
“The Second World War. Joseph Kennedy…”
How far could he go back? Could he pull the boy from the dark sea? Could he cancel the Dallas visit? The son of Joseph Kennedy, the father
