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were no signs of him, just his mother's homey touch. The smell of bacon wafted under the door, and Tripp's stomach growled. Pans clattered, a mixer whirred. He didn't waste any time getting to the kitchen. “Man, something smells good.”
    “Blueberry waffles.” Spearing one, Aunt Ev added bacon to the plate and set it down. “Eat up,” she said smiling.
    “I'll get my own milk,” he said, just beating her to the refrigerator. Pouring a glass, he took a seat at the round oak table. “You're going to spoil me.”
    The kitchen was big and sunny with yellow wooden cabinets. Aunt Ev sat in the chair across from him, sipping coffee and watching a hummingbird drink red sugar-water from the feeder outside the window. A reddish brown cardinal landed at another feeder filled with sunflower seed. “That's the female,” she said, and when a second, brilliant red bird lit on the other side of the plastic tube, she added, “That's her mate.”
    Tripp didn't know much about birds but liked watching them over breakfast with Aunt Ev acting like a real aunt, or even a mother. At home, his mom and dad read the paper over cereal and juice, while listening to the news on a TV set on the kitchen counter.
    “What are your plans for today?” Aunt Evelyn asked.
    “I'm going to the hospital later, but I'm not on a time schedule. Is there something you'd like me to do?”
    She hesitated, pleating the tablecloth, then smoothing it out. “I have to do some shopping. O'Malia's Market is the finest in town, and I thought maybe you'd like to come with me. You could choose things you like to eat.”
    “Don't worry about me. I like everything,” he said, pouring more syrup on his waffle.
    “George used to go with me.” She poked at her waffle without taking a bite.
    “If you're saying you want company, I'll be glad to go.”
    Her face lit up. “Are you sure? Mark never would take the time.”
    “I have plenty of time.” Thanks to Mark, he thought, with a pang of guilt.
    “Thank you, dear.” Rising to get another waffle out of the iron, she placed it in front of him, then rested her elbows on the table, her face in her hands.
    “You need to eat, too.” Tripp nudged her plate closer. She hadn't touched her waffle.
    “You're as bad as George. He was always after me to eat.” Smiling, she took a bite. “I thought of calling you my nephew because of the similarity between your names, but you and Johnny don't look anything alike. I think I have a picture of him around here somewhere. Let me look.”
    She returned with a family album and laid it before him, open to a picture of a slender boy with light curls. He and a younger, dark-haired boy were standing by the rose trellis out back. “This one's Johnny, who's in college now, and the smaller boy is Mark.”
    “I hope you don't mind,” she said, and Tripp swallowed hard and shook his head.
    Smiling, she flipped back several pages. “This is Mark when he was born. And here's his first day of school. And this is the day he finished sixth grade.” Forgetting to look at the album, she began talking, and half an hour later, Tripp knew how old Mark was when he lost his first tooth and what he'd gotten for his last birthday. It was like someone wound his mother up and she couldn't stop remembering.
    A sudden fluttering of cardinal wings outside the window broke her spell. Turning back to the album, Evelyn smiled apologetically and flipped quickly forward. “This is my nephew Johnny's senior picture from high school.” His blond hair was even curlier and he wore an earring in one ear. “And a last photograph of Mark if you don't mind. It was taken last year when he was a sophomore.” She flipped the page.
    The grown-up Mark was good-looking with an impudent smile, narrow dark eyes, and thick brows. Dark hair grazed his shoulders, parted in the middle. In the photo, he wore a T-shirt with a denim vest, a peace sign necklace and a ring that matched.
    Last year, last picture. He'd been