'That's enough!' Thomas shouted, hitting the table. Everything jumped, cereal bowls, cutlery, and children alike.

Scared witless, Frankie began to cry. Ripley glared.

Thomas shook his head and grabbed a cloth to wipe up the spilled milk and Cheerios.

'Sorry guys. Sorry-sorry. Your dad's just a little stressed, that's all.' At some point, he told himself, all this madness would end. He would invoice it, wrap it with flattering rationalizations, then store it in the Do Not Scrutinize section of his brain. He knelt before Frankie, who leapt like a little monkey into his arms. 'Shush, sweetheart. I'm not mad at you.'

'Are you mad at Ripley?' Frankie sniffled.

'He's mad at Uncle Cass,' Ripley said. 'Aren't you, Daddy?'

Thomas turned to his daughter and caressed her cheek. Good God, she was going to be an extraordinary woman. How could he be part of such a miracle?

'Yes,' he admitted. 'I'm mad at Uncle Cass. I thought he was my friend. I thought that he loved me, you, and Frankie—'

'And Mom?' Frankie asked.

Thomas swallowed. The little buggers never made it easy, that was for sure.

'And Mom,' he added. 'I thought he loved all of us, but he didn't. Listen to me, both of you. This is very important. You have to promise me that if you ever see Uncle Cass, you—'

Just then Sam marched to her purse on the counter. She looked at them quizzically. 'Jeez, you guys, I was only in the other room.'

'We missed you, babeeeee,' Frankie chortled. Thomas tickled him, and he squealed with laughter. He let go his father's neck and danced backward, his hands out in warding, his elbows pressed against his tummy.

'Gotta go?' Thomas asked Sam.

'Yeah, that was Shelley. Duty calls.'

Moments later they were all congregated by the door, Thomas scratching his scalp, Frankie and Ripley acting like darling little hams. Sam seemed flustered by all the attention. She hitched a leg up, then leaned to pull on her left shoe. She glanced at Thomas, her eyebrows arched.

'Hey, Sam?' Frankie asked.

'Yes, honey?'

'Where's your underwear?'

Sam paused for a moment.

'Frankie!' Thomas coughed.

'The kid's short,' Sam muttered to herself. 'How could I forget that the kid's short?'

'Where did they go?' Frankie persisted.

'Good question.' Pained smile. 'Ask your Daddy, honey…'

'Me?' Thomas exclaimed. He almost asked her if she'd checked the cushions, but thought better of it.

Then it came to him. 'Bart,' he said, red-faced.

'Mmm, nice,' Sam said. 'Tell ol' Bart he can keep 'em.'

'I'll walk you to your car,' Thomas said. 'You two mouthpieces finish your breakfast.'