“Well, I don’t know. That isn’t important, really. She met a prince charming one day at a ball…for the painters. These people were picture-painting painters.” I can remember thinking that I was just taking a writer’s license, using an autobiographical basis.

“What kind of pictures they paint, Mama?”

“Oh, of people and the countryside and such things.”

It was dark, except for the moon, and I could see the outline of Tucker sitting up in bed. Dewey’s covers were up to his chin.

“Well, the princess fell in love with prince charming and pretty soon they got married.”

“Mama, is that the end, al-ready?” Dewey was disappointed.

“No, dear, there’s more to it. This is a story that goes on after the ending.” That’s when I realized what I was doing. But I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

“How come?” Dewey didn’t understand.

Tucker shifted a bit, and the moonlight caught his tiny glasses. “Dewey, listen at the story and she’ll tell you how come.”

“But how can a story go on past the end?”

“It’s your mama’s story. She can tell it like she wants it.”

“Oh,” Dewey said.

I went on. “Pretty soon they got married and the prince took her to the nicest castle you ever saw, high on a hill. They were very happy for a while until one day the prince went out to a war and came back hurt very badly.”

Dewey started to breathe heavily then and I knew he was falling off to sleep. But Tucker was still interested. And even if he had fallen asleep, I think I would’ve continued, just to be able to say these things out loud, even this way.