Frank's pov
A few days had gone by since we had to bury my son Joe, and since his son Connor had come to live with myself and my father. Everything happened in such a whirlwind time-wise, but I still could not believe I buried my next-to-youngest child and was now raising his toddler, though I was not that far from retirement, and my father, who was helping me with Connor, was already in retirement. Life works in mysterious ways, I guess. Not everything follows a natural order. Young as he was, Connor had memories of his father more than he had of his mother, since he had been just a few months old when she died. But the curious toddler remembered his father, and asked about him constantly. Breaking me out of my thoughts, my grandson piped up, as if to prove my point
"Grandpa, where's Daddy?"
I froze, not exactly sure how to phrase it to someone of his age, or if I should share all the details at all. I lifted him onto my lap and smiled
"He's not right here right now, Champ. But what do you say we get ready for bed and then we can watch a Western? You like those, don't you?"
He nodded, then his face lit up
"With ice cream?"
Desperate for anything that would keep his mind off of his father for a while, I surrendered
"Sure. Ice cream and sprinkles."
Thankfully, that bought us the night, the boy making it so in his mind that his father was working or traveling, so he was staying with his grandpa and great-grandpa for a bit. Pop and I were emotionally exhausted, and Connor was just tired from playing and eating his fill of junk food. The three of us fell asleep before the credits of the movie rolled