We never knew how Uncle Dan got his money, but he made sure we knew how he spent it.
You’d have thought my father would be jealous, but not him; he’d just smile, slip an arm round my mother’s waist and talk about blessings from heaven. I’d watch my mother’s face though, and understood, even then, that she didn’t feel altogether blessed.
In time, we learned that Uncle Dan took whatever he wanted, when he wanted.
And he just hadn’t wanted what my father had.
But then he did.
It was the last thing he ever took though.
A blessing, really.
Late to the party this week; my brain was as foggy as the surrounding countryside. Thanks to Rochelle, as always, for leading the Friday Fictioneers through the winter weather.