Just about the time I managed to pry Sofi's hands off the Krimpet box, Joey spotted the bakery display case. As much as I'd always banked on nurture playing a bigger role than nature when it came to kids, Joey was unmistakably his mother's son. The kid couldn't even talk yet, but he had a nose like a bloodhound. He could sniff out butter cream and chocolate from half a mile. His starfish hands started clenching and unclenching in ecstasy while he cut loose with a tumble of unintelligible syllables, frantically gesturing toward the glass display case in the bakery section. Resigned, I semi-steered Sofi between the rows of bread and muffins with my knees while I maneuvered the shopping cart haphazardly and reassured Joey that yes, his "Took-tee" would be coming soon. I shook my head. My son had a five word vocabulary, and one of them was "took-tee", which he used far more frequently than the other four words he'd mastered: Momma, Daddy, Bob and Ho-fee.

"Hey, Joe," a sultry voice breathed from behind the cookie counter.

Great. Lorraine Brodnik. Just how stupid had I been the year I was seventeen? Where Lorraine was concerned, pretty stupid. I vaguely remembered a quick encounter in Stumpy Freelik's basement closet after way too much beer after a football game, but Lorraine had been gunning for me ever since.

"Hi, Lorraine," I responded without a lot of enthusiasm.

"So you're a weekend Dad these days?" she asked hopefully.

"Sofi, don't sit on the bread, sweetie," I said without much conviction. Secretly, I really hoped Sofi squashed every loaf in Lorraine Brodnik's display. "Just doing the grocery shopping so my pregnant wife can rest, Lorraine," I explained, and if I put a little extra emphasis on the pregnant part, at least I was rewarded by Lorraine's crestfallen expression.

All business, I continued, "Can I get a couple of chocolate chip cookies, half a dozen bagels, and some hoagie rolls?" I could pick up some meatballs at the deli and the makings for Steph's favorite marinara sauce, and surprise her with meatball subs. By the time I managed to shepherd the kids through the store and pack everything home, if I knew my Cupcake she'd be ready for something spicy.

Lorraine set a new land-speed record for slow when it came time to bag up my order. Glaciers have moved faster. Or maybe it just seemed that way because Joey was still yammering for his took-tie and Sofi had started to poke holes in the tops of all the bread wrappers, intensely interested in seeing how deep her pointy finger would go before the plastic finally gave way. "Sofi, no hands," I said without much hope. "O-tay, Daddy," she replied happily. I knew the no-hands thing would be promptly forgotten, though, as soon as something else interesting, something touchablecame along.

"I can't imagine you married," cooed Lorraine as she made a huge production out of handing Joey a cookie. Joey didn't return her ubiquitous smile, but he quickly crammed as much of the cookie as he could manage into his gaping mouth, and started chewing furiously. I started to warn Lorraine about Joey's biting habit, but I was to late. She let out a sharp yelp as Joey worked his way through the crunch of the cookie and onto the tip of Lorraine's finger. In typical Joey style, he clamped down like a crocodile.

"He's teething," I explained apologetically as I helped her extract her finger, silently vowing to make sure Joey got a second cookie as a reward.

I nodded my thanks and took my bag from a now-sullen Lorraine just as I realized I'd lost Sofi. I looked around hurriedly, then relaxed as I heard her distinctive chirping from the next aisle.

"Sofi," I called as I shoved the reluctant cart around the corner, "You have to stay with Daddy."

"Poppa, Poppa!" Sofi called, and I frowned. Sofi was homed in on a man halfway down the aisle with gray hair and a worn brown corduroy jacket. His back was turned to us, but Sofi had started into a dead run.

"Sofi!" I called, but my daughter ignored me.

I picked up my pace as the old man turned and Sofi threw herself into his arms. "Poppa!" she exclaimed in triumph as he threw her high into the air and caught her close in a bear hug on the way back down. He cradled her gently, and the smile he turned on her upturned face was tender.

"How's my Sofi?" He asked quietly, and kissed the top of her head. She snuggled into his chest, content and happy.

"Pa!" crowed Joey, as he twisted eagerly in the front pack, holding his arms out toward the man in entreaty.

I was rooted to the floor, totally paralyzed as he turned away from Sofi and raised his eyes to meet mine.

Eyes like Sofi's.

Eyes like mine.

"Hello, son," he said.

I was ready to wake up now. Really. Anytime would be okay. God, that peanutbutter and olive monstrosity I'd shared with Stephanie last night against my better judgment had really turned out to be a mistake. I shook my head. I knew better, but I'd do just about anything for Stephanie, up to and including consuming the leftover half of one of those truly repulsive sandwiches she loved so much. I was sure paying for it now, though. In spades.

I stared at my father's arms holding my daughter, concentrating all my attention on her feet. Those perfect, skipping, dancing feet of my own personal ballerina. I had no interest in playing out some subconscious parody of Hamlet, so I avoided looking directly at him, hoping he would just disappear for another fifteen years. Or forever. "Come on, Sofi," I thought to myself. "One good kick in the ribs, and you can rescue your Daddy, here." I wrapped my arms around Joey, his wriggling weight a welcome comfort on my chest as I waited for Sofi to kick me back to consciousness. "Joey must still be sleeping on my chest," I reasoned, as I waited, and waited, and waited.

"I know this must be a shock," the dream visage of my father said. Funny, his voice was much softer and kinder than I remembered. I'd been on the receiving end of his temper more than a little, and his voice had usually been raised to an ear-splitting level, and adorned with enough profanity to bring a blush to even an ex-sailor like me.

"You're dead," I said flatly, cutting him off in mid-sentence.

He hung is head and slowly set Sofi down on the floor, where she started an intricate dance around his legs, twirling and skipping along to the beat of some music only she could hear. "That's what I wanted you to think," he answered.

"I'm dreaming, and you're dead," I repeated. "Sofi, come to Daddy."

Sofi danced over and took my outstretched hand, skipping along happily as I led her back around the corner of the grocery aisle. "I'm ready to wake up now," I said. I thought if maybe I verbalized it within the dream, it might cut through the psychological binds ensnaring me in my worst nightmare. The old man was dead and buried. I'd stood as pall bearer at his funeral, and the last thing I needed was some insane Freudian/Jungian whatever playing around in my brain. I'd resolved any issues I'd had with my father by living a different life than him, and I wanted his doppelganger buried right alongside his cold, rotting corpse, thank you very much.

"Bye, Poppa," Sofi called, waving cheerfully.

"Bye, Sofi. I'll see you later." He looked sad. And old.

Good.

"The hell you will," I growled.

"I lub you, Poppa!" I stared down at my daughter in disbelief.

"I love you too, Sofi-girl," the old man said. He took two steps and closed the distance between us as I drew back in reflex. Old habits die hard. But Sofi just threw her arms around his neck and gave him a sloppy kiss right next to his left ear. He kissed her cheek, then leaned over quickly and kissed the back of Joey's head, catching his little hand and giving it a quick squeeze before he turned and walked away.

I clutched Sofi's hand in a death grip, and purposefully led her back to the safety of the car. I left the cart sitting smack in the middle of the aisle, but I didn't care. Somehow, I made the drive to the Plum house, because the next thing I remembered was hauling Sofi and Joey up the front steps. Ellen and Grandma Mazur were still at mass, but I garbled out some lame excuse to Frank and left the kids with him.

I needed to be home. Now that the kids were safely out of the car, I ignored all the traffic laws as I traversed the familiar roads between the Plum house and the old row house that had become my sanctuary. If I could just get back inside the haven that I shared with Stephanie, nothing bad could touch me. I slewed around the corner, nearly clipping a stop sign. The memories that I held at bay by force of sheer will couldn't touch me in that house. I had no memories of the old man in the Slater Street house, just memories of Stephanie and the babies—memories I could wrap around myself to keep the old man at bay. My chest was heaving like a bellows when I finally screeched to a halt in the drive. I catapulted from the car and let myself in the back door, slamming it shut behind me. I twisted both locks for good measure, and let the warm familiarity of the kitchen surround me. Coffeemaker half full, a few dishes and Joey's morning bottle in the sink, tell-tale jar of peanutbutter still sitting on the counter from last night, the usual mess of spilled crunchies from Bob's food dish. Bob could never manage keeping his food in his bowl even before Joey got big enough to crawl around and fish the crunchies out of the dish, happily strewing them from the kitchen to the hallway on a constant basis. I reached for the broom on reflex and swept the crunchies back into the bowl on autopilot. I carefully hung the broom back up on its hanger and threw my coat across Sofi's booster seat before I carefully picked my way through the scattered toys to the sofa.

I didn't so much sit there as collapse, my legs no longer able to bear the weight of my memories.