His mother stood in the doorway, warm unfocused concern in her green eyes and a wine cooler in her hand. Father, meanwhile, perched on the side of the bed. He had brought with him a strange plant, one with a pungent grassy odor, that had been sliced open.
"I told you not to play too long in the sun, Robert." Father attempted a stern admonition, but tenderness overran his voice. "You know you've got pale skin."
He began began to rub the aloe into his son's sunburn, his hands big and gentle befitting his profession. The boy's brow unclenched as the cool creamy oil mercifully chased away his searing burns.
"Feel better?" Father asked.
A sleepy smile spread over his face. "Yeah."
Father chuckled and tousled the boy's blond hair affectionately. "You're as bad as your mother."