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George brightened at the knock at the door. It was "Shave and a Haircut," the same knock he always gave. He still looked through the peephole but knew all along who it was.

"Trevor!" he exclaimed once the door was unchained.

Green eyes glinted in the dark, and strong arms balanced a bouquet of daffodils and a plate wrapped in plastic.

"I'd hug you, but then you'd be wearing these," Trevor explained. He entered and set everything down on the dining room table. "OK, now," he suggested, arms outstretched.

George embraced his son, but with lips pursed. Trevor took care not to hurt him.

"You know," George said, "it's a shame to wear such a nice suit with all that scruff on your face."

"It's fur, Dad," Trevor retorted.

The kitchen door opened, and a tall, thin woman of about forty approached with a bowl of potato salad.

"Tessie!" Trevor yelped, and ran across the room to nuzzle her before she could put the bowl down. She giggled, sounding significantly younger.

"Help with anything?" Trevor inquired.

Tess smiled and shook her head. "Dinner's ready. Just wash up if need be."

Trevor darted around the corner, and George transferred the daffodils to a tall vase. Tess peeled away the plastic on the plate to reveal deviled eggs.

"Why don't we do this every Sunday?" George asked his daughter, who just shrugged.

"Still no fire hydrant for me, Dad," Trevor pouted upon return.

George flushed. "We've been through this!"

"Kidding, Dad," Trevor assured him. "You're so easy to tease."

George collected himself, and the three sat down to dinner.

"I hope the daffodils are all right," Trevor said as he scooped up potato salad. "I know you hate to bring your work home with you."

"They're lovely," George replied. "Aren't they, Tessie?"

"Mmm."

The family ate in silence until George reached out for an egg.

"Trev, how many of those have you eaten?"

"Oops," Trevor said as he swallowed the last one.

"It's fine," Tess assured him. "The potato salad has almost the same vinegar flavor! Besides, Trev, didn't you have something you wanted to talk about?"

Trevor looked as though he did not, but eventually he spoke:

"Dad, this isn't a safe neighborhood."

George stiffened. "It's seen better days."

"Yeah, a long time ago. You need to get out."

George rose from the table. "Your mother and I bought this house in 1967. You came here straight from the hospital. So did your sister."

Silence.

"This is our house. There's nothing more to talk about. If you want to talk, let's talk about this phase of yours, the dog thing."

"Phase?" Trevor bristled. "Yeah, every month since the eighties! Go outside and talk to the moon, Dad, not me."

"Trev, I'm proud of you. Really I am. Your store puts mine to shame. But I want grandchildren. Here, in this house. Just because you can pass for twenty-five doesn't mean you are, you know."

Whatever Trevor was about to say was interrupted by the sound of breaking glass at the other end of the house.

"Don't panic," George instructed. "I'm prepared for this sort of thing."

Ignoring his father, Trevor hopped up and halfway across the room.

"Wait! Where are you going?" George called after him in a low voice, but Trevor was out of sight.

George fought tears, and Tess put her arm around him.

There was a single scream from the other end of the house. Five minutes later, Trevor returned without a crease in his suit.

"What happened?" demanded George, trembling.

"I took care of it," Trevor said, staring down at his plate. Nothing remained but a sprig of parsley, which he seized and chewed up with vigor.

There was butterscotch pie for dessert, but Trevor was the only one with any appetite.