Casey and Emma had been married for thirty years. He was twenty-eight and she was twenty-five when they tied the knot, and it had lasted for all these years, through ups and downs, thick and thin.
They had a daughter who, from age seven on, had been a handful. They’d never been able to control her. At the age of eighteen she had run away from home with a thirty-four-year-old man. That hadn’t lasted long, but she didn’t return home.
They knew she was in what is known as the sex trade, or perhaps industry. They didn’t know if she was a “porn star” or a high-priced call-girl. Or perhaps she turned tricks in some sleazy bar for drug money. They didn’t know, and they didn’t want to know. They’d written her off and never mentioned her, so that many of their acquaintances didn’t even know of her existence.
Six years after she was born Emma had given birth to a son. Branch was very different from his sister. He was quiet and kept to himself. As a small child he seldom cried, but neither did he often laugh. He didn’t complain or beg for toys they couldn’t afford.
He seemed content with what he was given. That covered toys, games, food, clothes and praise. His mother found him to be an odd child and never lavished him with affection.
Casey loved his son unconditionally and took Branch with him wherever he went that a child could go. As Branch grew his dad taught him to do all the things a dad should teach his son. Whether it was riding bicycles or skating, catching a football or pitching a baseball, swimming or water skiing, fishing or hunting, they had done it all by the time Branch had reached what is considered legal age.
Casey didn’t drink. He’d never liked the taste of beer or liquor, or the after effect. He didn’t prevent Branch from drinking, but it was one thing he didn’t teach him how to do. However, Branch followed his dad’s example and stayed away from alcohol, partly because he didn’t go to places like bars and taverns.
For all of his adult life Casey had worked in construction. For the past eight years he’d been the supervisor of a construction crew and at fifty-eight he was looking forward to retiring in just a few more years.
He worked hard, and had the body to prove it. He was tall and had a thick build, like a tree trunk. He wished he could lose the ten pounds he’d picked up a few years ago and hadn’t been able to drop.
Branch was a couple inches shorter than his dad, but shared the same body type. Even though he’d never done the kind of work his dad had, he was muscular. Casey had thought Branch might go into construction, but accepted his son’s decision to follow a different career path.
Branch had found a job transporting patients for a small medical center. He had become adept at loading wheelchair-bound patients in and out of the service van. He appeared to have an ability to make contact and interact with children with autism, and his constant demeanor of calmness made him much appreciated by the staff of the center.
The kitchen was the center of Emma’s life and where she spent most of her waking hours. She loved both cooking and baking, and did so not only for her family, but also for bake sales, church charities and neighbors who weren’t in a position to cook for themselves.
She also was able to maintain a clean house, do laundry, manage the household finances and keep everything running on schedule. Because of these talents, if she no longer found it appealing to engage in sexual activities with her husband, he accepted that as a part of the price he must pay for a stable home life.
Casey still loved his wife, and showed that affection regularly. When he came home from work he always stopped in the kitchen and gently took her arms in his large hands and softly kissed her on the forehead or cheek. Her hands were usually covered in flour or grease, her mind on what was in the oven, or about to go in. She’d advise him that he had just enough time to take a shower and rest for half an hour before dinner would be ready.
This Tuesday was like all the other days of the work-week. Casey pulled his truck into the driveway and coasted to a stop just before the garage doors. He got out and went through the back door into the mud room. He hung his hard-hat and dayglow vest on pegs that were there for that purpose.
He sat down and took off his shoes which were always covered with cement dust or mud. In his stocking feet he went into the kitchen and gave Emma one of his semi-hugs and a quick kiss.
“I’m running a little late,” she said. “You have plenty of time to take your shower and a nap. Dinner’ll be on the table in forty-five minutes.”
“Where’s Branch?” Casey asked, as he usually did.
Emma gave the usual and expected answer. “He’s up in his room.”
Casey went upstairs and to their bedroom. He took off his clothes and put the dirty and smelly ones into the dirty clothes hamper. Naked, he walked down the hall to the bath room.
