Fred owns a small metal fabricating plant and loves it. I think he was hoping that one of our sons, Freddie or Alan, would join him in the business. Instead, both of them live in Atlanta where Alan works with a utility company and Freddie solves problems in a “think tank.” Lord only knows what kind of problems he solves, but he makes a lot of money doing it. Our daughter, Haley, calls him “the thinker.” Haley, at thirty-four, is our youngest. She’s a surgeon’s assistant in an open heart unit. She was widowed a couple of years ago when her husband, Tom Buchanan, was killed by a drunk driver, but has recently been seeing someone seriously. Freddie’s still “thinking” about getting married, and Alan has a wonderful wife, Lisa, and two boys.

And all of this because of the man who had just come in the kitchen, the man who was hugging me and asking, “Is that cobbler?” Damn! Forty years and that hug still gets to me.

“Fresh peaches.” I snuggled against him.

“My cup would runneth over if I had a couple of aspirin and a beer.”

I leaned back quickly. “What’s the matter?”

“Just a headache. The damn air conditioning broke down in the office again today. I’ll grab a shower and I’ll be fine.” He reached in the refrigerator for a Lite. “Did you and Mary Alice go to the movie?”

“Yes. Get your shower and I’ll tell you about it.”

“I’ve got something to tell you, too.” The serious expression on his face scared me. This was totally unlike the Fred who has spent forty years allaying my fears.

“Oh, God,” I whispered. I could feel the blood draining from my face. He had a brain tumor, inoperable.

“A man called on me today from Universal Metals in Atlanta. Jake Rice, nice fellow. He offered me an interesting deal, one we need to talk about. I’ll tell you about it as soon as I get cleaned up.” Fred disappeared down the hall.

I pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down weakly. Damn it! All Fred had said was he had something to tell me, and I had him dead and buried. This would not do.