Pulling away as he caught the sound of his father’s footsteps downstairs, Derek left the room to the balustrade in the hallway. “Hey, Dad.”

Gordon emerged from the kitchen and looked up. “Oh, hi, son. Didn’t know you were here. I was out back.”

“Yeah, I saw you taking a nap.” Derek went downstairs and joined his father.

“Coffee?” Gordon offered.

“Sure. Thanks.”

They sat at the center counter in the kitchen and talked about this and that, but Derek was preoccupied with what he had just seen. “So, Dad,” he began when a pause in the conversation gave him the chance, “when I came in, I went upstairs looking for you, and that Widowers Facebook page was open on your computer.”

“Oh, yeah,” Gordon said. “Forgot to close it. What about it?”

“Look, what’s on there is your business, and you know I don’t make it a habit to pry.”

“But on this occasion, you did?”

“Yeah,” Derek admitted. “On your Messenger—someone called Helena? Who’s that?”

“Just a Facebook friend,” Gordon said.

“Okay, but you’re sending money to her?”

“So, what, you went through my entire conversation with her?” Gordon said tersely.

“Not that I feel good about it,” Derek said, “but it’s done now, and I can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube. I mean, what’s the story with this Helena? Where is she located?”

“In Ghana.”

“In Ghana!” Derek exclaimed.

“Yeah—Accra.”

“But the money, Dad? What’s with that?”

“Listen, we’ve been talking for a couple months now, okay?” Gordon said, defensiveness creeping into his voice. “She’s a wonderful lady—understanding, gracious. I spend all my time helping people out on Facebook, but there’s no one there who listens to me when I want to pour my heart out. No one.”

“Dad,” Derek said, with a slight quiver in his voice, “you’ve got me. I don’t count?”

“Of course you do,” Gordon said, his voice softening. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m talking about the Facebook people and my role in the group. I’m like some big hero, but they gotta realize I’m made of flesh and blood too. So, sue me if there’s someone like Helena who not only shares feelings with me but allows me to vent.”

“But I asked you before if you ever felt overwhelmed with this Facebook mentoring you do and you made it sound like you were doing just fine.”

“I did,” Gordon conceded. “Bravado, I guess.”

“But back to the money,” Derek said. He’d allowed the discussion to veer off. “You’ve sent this Helena or whoever something like, what, a couple thousand dollars by now?”

“Her sister was in a car crash—got banged up pretty bad,” Gordon explained. “She can’t get surgery unless they produce cash up front. You know how it is in Ghana. We’ve been there, right?”

“What, she doesn’t have family? They can’t put some money together? What does Helena do for a living?”

“Assistant manager at a restaurant,” Gordon said, taking a sip of coffee. “I don’t know about the rest of her family, but Helena’s not earning the kind of money that she could access emergency funds. So, I offered to help. Look, it’s really tough for people out there.”