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them, but she’d decided not to break the spell between them.
    David was definitely his father’s boy. Their relationship often seemed more like that of two playmates rather than a father and his son. Sometimes, just sometimes, deep inside, Ellen felt a pang of sadness that her relationship with David wasn’t more like George’s. It wasn’t jealousy, really—more like a kind of regret mixed, perhaps, with just a pinch of envy. She often thought, however, that maybe it was better that way. Sometimes it seemed that George and David were almost too close; perhaps there wasn’t enough distance for George to notice when something wasn’t right. Someone had to keep a level head, a watchful eye.
    Like last year when David was having those nightmares. Ellen had been worried for a while, thinking that perhaps she and George were doing something wrong, that they were somehow responsible for whatever was bothering David. She’d quickly changed her mind, however, after looking through all the comic books and magazines David read. They were filled with such horrible stories! They even made her—an adult who should know better—squirm. And the magazines contained stills from horror movies that looked more like photographs from a coroner’s files: spears through heads, throats slashed open, entrails dangling from sliced-open abdomens. She’d been appalled and had insisted he stop reading them. George had protested, though, saying he’d had similar tastes as a boy. So they compromised: Dr. Wycliffe. When it became apparent he wasn’t helping, David had stopped seeing him. Fortunately, the nightmares had gone away. But Ellen still wished he wouldn’t read that trash. And if the nightmares returned, she wouldn’t hesitate to be firm about changing David’s reading material. No matter what George said. Whatever happened to Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys?
    Oh well, she thought, he gets good grades, he’s bright and healthy. It could be worse.
    She watched with a smile as they marveled at an unusually bright meteorite, standing and pointing at it excitedly. She saw its light, but never took her eyes from them. The love between the two of them was far more spectacular than any meteor shower. When she thought of some of her friends—the problems they had with their children, the bitterness in their homes—she thanked God, or whatever was out there, for what she had. She wouldn’t change it, or let it be changed, for all the wealth and fame in the world.
    She pushed the screen door open and it screeched loudly, catching their attention. They turned to her and smiled. George waved and David began hopping excitedly from one foot to the other.
    “Mom!” he shouted. “You missed it!”
    “I saw it from the back door,” she said.
    George swept his fingers through his hair, shaking his head. “God, it was incredible, Ellen.”
    “Time to go to bed, David,” she said gently, knowing he wouldn’t like it.
    “But it just started, Mom!”
    “I know, but you have school tomorrow.”
    “So do you.”
    “That’s why,” she said, putting an arm around him, “we’re all going to bed.”
    George joined his hands behind his back and looked up at the sky. “Not me!” he said with conviction.
    David stood firmly next to his father. “Me neither!”
    Ellen laughed and took his hand. “We’ll see about that.”
    Mom pulled the covers up to David’s neck, tugging them over his shoulders a little, making him cozy and warm.
    “How do you think I’m ever gonna become an astronaut if you won’t let me stay up late?” David asked her, still put out at having to come inside and go to bed.
    “Astronauts need sleep just like everyone else,” she replied, leaning down and kissing him.
    Dad perched himself on the foot of the bed, a copy of Fantascene magazine open on his lap, his forehead tense as he read.
    “Did you finish all your homework?” Mom asked.
    “Did you finish yours?” David asked, squirming under the blankets.
    Mom