Rupert drags the ancient trunk into the basement while his wife, Eleanor, putters and mutters in the kitchen above. Tired from the exertion, he sits on the domed lid and mops his brow, then looks up at the spot where he imagines Eleanor his standing. “What the hell is your problem. I finally took an interest in your damn auctions, didn't I?”

Eleanor doesn't respond. He doesn't expect it. He would never curse if he thought she were within earshot.
​
Now refreshed, he stands and turns to examine his purchase. It's held shut by two rotted leather straps with brass buckles and a lock. The lock is only slightly more problematic to open. Rupert easily springs it with a screwdriver from his workbench. He opens the lid with the same trepidation as he might open the Ark of the Covenant as he thinks about the scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark when the flesh melts from the Nazis.

Jane Arnold sent five sons to war and prayed them all back home, safe again. Although two of her sons were still awaiting transportation from the European Theater of Operations, the family gatherings for Sunday dinner were again noisy, joyous affairs that filled her home. Eleven children, together with spouses and grandchildren stretched the seams of their modest dining room.

On one such Sunday in November, 1945, the dishes were cleared, washed and stacked away. Everyone agreed that it was Jane’s best roast and potatoes ever tasting of the love with which she cooked. Her husband Harry was dozing in the living room, and all but one son, Charles, had headed home. Charles’ wife went ahead because, somehow, she knew that he needed time with his mother.

I have long suspected that I'm a “Sugar Baby”. What does that mean? Well, let me tell you a story...

A cool breeze ruffled the surface of the bay, but it failed to stir the Stars 'n Stripes as they were lowered into the waiting hands of the sailors who stood at attention on the fantail of the aircraft carrier John F. Kennedy. A lone bugler played taps as it descended.

Another group of sailors from the Peoples Republic of China stood by holding their own flag, folded in readiness. Their band stood ready to play their national anthem when it was raised.
​
The ship's name and number had already been replaced. Within hours, it would depart San Francisco as The People's Revolution. It would be accompanied the same task force that had sailed with it since its launching, all similarly re-flagged, renamed, and crewed by Chinese sailors.

“Well, he's gone,” Joe said.

“Hank?”

“Yeah.”

“Where do you think he ended up?”

“Who knows?”

Eddy shrugged like a person who didn't know, wasn't supposed to know, never expected to know.

Joe paused in his labor to adjust his collar. “Damn starch,” he muttered. The reflex to unbutton it was frozen by the stare of the camera. He resumed his labor and the conversation. “Hank went back, right?”

“Yeah, the past. That's all he could talk about. No fingerprints. No DNA. The cops won't catch him again.”

“Yeah. That's what I'd choose.”

“You plan on gettin' back in the business when you get out?”

“What else? I don't know nuthin' 'bout nuthin' else.”

“If you get caught again, it'll be your third strike. The death sentence.”

“Or I can take the time machine.”

“You'd go back, like Hank?”

“Sure. Gimme the past. Same reason.”

Elly looked exhausted sitting alone at her husband Brad's beside in the ICU.

“No, I haven't eaten yet.”
​
I had left Elly the night before after Brad had been wheeled in from the OR

Imagine my surprise when, early in my sixth decade, I discovered that I had an aunt and twelve cousins of whom I had never even heard. I found a faded black and white photograph of two boys about seven or eight years of age, one who grew up to be a Nazi-sympathizer, my father. Before you condemn him, remember that he was in good company with people like Charles Lindbergh and Joseph Kennedy, father of President Kennedy. On the back of the photo someone had inscribed that the other boy was his nephew. I never really put it together that my father's nephew would be my cousin.  

Several years ago I was speaking with an aged aunt, my father's sister. “Speaking with” does not quite describe it. Conversations with Anna were more like being spoken to. Sometime during the telephone call she mentioned that she had been talking to her sister's daughter. It took me about fifteen minutes to stop her and guide her back to that point.

“Your sister's daughter? I didn't know you had a sister.”

“Of course,” she explained, obviously perplexed that I didn't know. “Your Aunt Mary.”

I had never heard of Mary.

When I asked my father, he merely flipped his hand dismissively and said, “Oh her, she married a drunk and we never talked about her.”
​
Being a Nazi-sympathizer was the least of my father's failings.

Julia cried out and tried to follow her grandfather but her mother held her back.

“Grandpa. Grandpa.”

“Grandpa's going to a new home, honey.”

“But I don't want him to go.”

Her mother searched but couldn't find an answer.

The man with the clipboard looked on, unmoved by the anguish in little Julia's cries.

“She seems very attached to her grandfather.”

Julia's mother smoothed her child's hair.

“Yes.”

When she glanced up she saw that the man was writing something on his clipboard.

“Well, not that attached.”

Too late.

“Is he...”

“Sleeping.”

Barbara relaxed at the word.

She pulled up a chair and sat at his bedside while the nurse finished her chores.

When she turned back to her husband she found him smiling at her.

“Is it morning?”

“Yes.”

“Thank God for another day.”

Barbara returned his smile and placed her hand on his. His felt cold.

“How are you feeling?”

“Ready.”

“Ready?”

“Ready for it to end.”

“What's wrong with grandpa?”

Helen looked over her shoulder at her husband sitting on the floor, playing Go Fish with the grandchildren whose computers had mysteriously lost their Internet connections.

Turning back to the sink she continued peeling potatoes and shrugged with a glance towards her daughter.

“Nothing. Why do you ask?”

“He hasn't said a word since we got here.”

“He just said 'Go Fish'.”

Helen's daughter Rachel studied her father and frowned.

“That's not really talking,” she responded with emphasis on “really”.

“I've noticed it too,” Helen's other daughter Kristy chimed in.

Helen bent her attention to the potatoes.

“Seriously, mom,” Rachel persisted. “He's going to ruin Thanksgiving.”