Ben
The doorbell rang, and it was Mom bringing Jacob home. It was good to see him on a Saturday when there was no work at the camp. Things were running well, and now things were ticking over nice and sweetly.
We stood at the top of the driveway and watched Mom as she reversed back to the street and headed off for her groceries. “No rest for the wicked, hey Jacob,” I said.
He looked up with a face that held a confused expression; he was still a bit too young to understand my sarcasm. We turned and made our way into the house. I asked if Jacob wanted breakfast, he didn’t though, because he’d already eaten “fruity loops” with Nana. He ran off to his toy box and lifted the lid while I made a coffee.
“Dada,” he yelled while he was bent down, leaning in his box and rummaging for his soldier'
