Weeks flew by in Hillwood, and all too soon November was upon the Sunset Arms household. There were two new tenants, a newlywed husband and wife called Oskar and Suzie. Suzie adored Arnold and was quick to offer to babysit as much as her double shifts would allow.

Phil grew worried about his beloved with each passing day. His Gertrude was losing touch with reality, and it was even growing more obvious to the boarders- who, although were all a bunch of misfits, still held onto their sanity. Ernie had even suggested a mental institution. Maybe it wasn't- Phil shook his head, clearing his thoughts. What a terrible husband he was, to think of sending her away. She'd be alright, as soon as their baby returned home.

A few weeks went by, and as Phil and Arnold entered the house one day after a play date with an african american couple's son Gerald down the street, Phil hit the ground in a barrel roll, clutching Arnold to his chest.

A Whizznobbie firework blazed by, going out the door just as it exploded. Phil stood, twitching in anger as he took in his wife's delighted face.

"HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY, EVERYONE!" She cackled with her head thrown back, looking quite proud of herself, and then Phil's heart dropped.

"Pookie, no. It's Thanksgiving tomorrow, dear. Not the Fourth."

The disappointment in her eyes made Phil's soul ache. "But I…" Then, her eyes lit up again. "The hot dogs are ready to be fired up, Chef! Come on up!"

As she turned and ran to their kitchen, Ernie stood with a hand on the bannister, looking to Phil. Quietly, he whispered, "Phil?"

In the single word, was a million questions. Mostly, the present one: To ignore this, or just go with it. Clearly, Gertrude wasn't getting better. Phil bit his lip and jiggled his grandson, looking out to the blustery day that was late November. Sighing, he tightened Arnolds coat and faked a huge smile so the toddler wouldn't think anything was wrong.

"Off to the roof! We've got hot dogs to cook!"

As weeks went by, Phil found himself going up to the attic to get Christmas decorations down. He hadn't decorated the house for decades, not since Miles had his last Christmas at home before he went off to college.

What year was that? 1968? How time flies…

As Phil put the box down and scratched his head at the lopsided tree that mostly stood up, the doorbell rang.

"Now, who…?"

He gasped as he flung the door open. It couldn't be… no. He had to be dreaming. He closed his eyes and then opened them, She was still there.

"Daddy… oh, Daddy. I heard about Miles...it was in my town's paper. I had… I had to come."

Tara's words shook him out of his shock, and he all but dragged her in the door, tears filling up his eyes.

"Tara… oh, is it really you?" She dropped her bag by the door and smiled unsurely, but nodded.

"I'm… I'm sorry, Daddy." The two words encompassed so much more than anybody could have imagined.

Hillwood, 1955…

"I'm going! I can't stand it here anymore! After Johnny died, you two can't keep it together!" Tara stamped her foot, anger sullying the air. She threw back her hair of gold, and grabbed the suitcase she'd planted by the door. The fifteen year old seemed older than her years as the fire gleamed in her eyes. "I hate you both! You spend all day quietly sulking and working. Neither of you have any time for us. It's nothing but misery here, and I'm going somewhere else! Anywhere but here!"

She disappeared out the door, and kissed her longtime beau Michael Vonderschmidt, hurrying him as she got in his car. Phil and Gertie watched them leave, tears pouring down their cheeks. Gertie grasped Phil's hand tight enough to bruise, and Phil petted her hair, kissing her on the cheek. He tried to be reassuring even as his voice wavered and broke as the car drove out of sight.

"She'll come back, Pookie. If nothing else, once they see how hard it is to live on your own… she'll come back. You know she will."

Somewhere behind them, their five year old asked why his sister was being so loud. Phil gave some answer that seemed inadequate, and then urged the boy to accompany him to the living room so they could play Monopoly. As soon as MIles asked who would play Tara's Dog piece, Phil grabbed the playing piece and put it out of sight from Gertie on a shelf, replying nobody until she returned.

They received letters once a year from Michael for a while, assuring them they were fine and even happy, but with no return address, they could never try to make amends. In all fairness, losing her as a consequence of their inner pain caused them to pour everything into making sure Miles grew up happy and healthy.

Eventually, the letters stopped, and this caused Phil to pour even more of himself into his last reachable child. He took the letters and locked them in a firebox, putting them deep in the attic. Gertie would never find them.

Phil lead his daughter into the living room, fighting the urge to dance in his joy. Tara took in the renovations they had done in the decades since she'd been there, and finally she sat and together she and Phil indulged in uncomfortable silence until she sighed and finally spoke.

"There's a lot of years to catch up on, I suppose."

The forty five year old took out a small album from her large purse and shoved it towards Phil. "Mike and I got married in 1958, as soon as I was eighteen. Until then, we took up separate bedrooms in any boarding house we could. In 1960, we had a little baby boy… I named him Jonathan, in honor of my little brother. We had twin girls in 1965, called them Lisa and Leslie, and then our late bloomer Michael Jr in 1975."

She paused and then took the album back. "We've had a good marriage, Daddy. He did really well as a painter. Every day we tried to live like you guys did before Johnny…" Her eyes dimmed and she reached out and grabbed Phil's hand.

"What happened with Miles? The article I read, it mentioned Mister and Missus Shortman…"

She trailed off, obviously unsure how to continue and Phil spoke quietly, the sadness radiating off of him.

"They met in 1980, on one of his trips to San Lorenzo. He's been to so many places, but gods he loved that jungle. They married in '83, and had a baby in October of '85…"

Her eyes widened and her hand came up to cover her mouth, a horrified gasp spilling from it. "No. Oh gods, Daddy. A baby?! Don't tell me…"

Phil quickly shook his head, calming her as he gripped her hands. As if on cue, the little one toddled in, grabbing onto nearby things to steady himself and giggled at his grandpa. Phil smiled and picked the boy up, bouncing him.

"This is Arnold. They got called back to San Lorenzo on an emergency mission back in July...we volunteered to care for the Lil Shortman until they get back. Hopefully, that's soon."

Tara seemed caught up in Arnold's soft green gaze, and finally she met Phil's eyes, her voice soft as it mentioned what had been going through his own mind secretly.

"And if they don't? Daddy, you're old. You and Mom both. Can you really care for him as old as you are, and you're only going to get…. Well, older."

Phil didn't flinch, although he had questioned the very same thing mere days ago. "When Pookie and I begin feeling our age, we will make provisions for our grandson. Right now, we are I am seventy and feel perfectly fine. I'll do whatever is best for Arnold, even if it hurts us."

The thought of giving Arnold to someone else to raise caused Phil's heart to skip a beat, especially as Tara looked at him doubtfully. "Fine then. Know my home is always open to him, when you realize his energy level is far too much for you and Mom."

She seemed on edge after that, although Phil couldn't be sure why. He mentioned getting Gertie up from her nap just so she and Tara could reunite, but Tara edged away from that, instead throwing her father a smile he hadn't seen in decades but still recognized- the one that said she was giving him a bold-faced lie and didn't want to admit it- and swore she'd just come again soon. Not long after, she left and promised to be in touch.

The next week, Phil received a summons from Hillwood Judicial System, for a custody dispute of his and Gertie's custody of Arnold. In the letter, Phil scanned to see who had contested their rights, and his heart dropped to see his daughter's name in the paperwork.