Paul and I had been friends for years – long enough that he and I had spent enough time together that his kids called me "Uncle Dan", even though they knew I wasn't related. Several years before, he had divorced from his wife, on grounds of 'incompatibility'. The divorce was relatively amicable, and when his wife decided to move to another state, he got custody of the kids.

There were 3 of them: Jan (whom I called 'Trouble', because she never was), 14, was cute as the proverbial bug's ear at about 5 foot 6 inches tall, 80 to 90 pounds, and with a slender – but nicely curved – build. Leo, at 10, was undoubtedly the smartest of the bunch (prompting me to call him 'Brainiac'), which sometimes got him into trouble. Finally, there was John (who earned the nickname of 'Goober'), at 7, and something of a little hellion.

Paul and I were close enough that he trusted me to watch out for the kids when he had to make a trip out of town. Fortunately, the kids*knew* that he loved them more than anything else in the world, and that his trips were a part of what he did to make sure they had the things they needed. These trips were of varying lengths, due to his job as a truly exceptional salesman – he made damn good money from his commissions. Looking after the kids usually just involved getting them to and from the Catholic school they attended, making sure they ate properly, and infrequently, getting someone to a volleyball (Jan), soccer (John), or Karate (Leo) session. Surprisingly, they got along reasonably well – only rarely was it necessary to break up any arguments or (even rarer) an actual fight. The kids and I were close enough, in fact, that they frequently came to me with questions or problems they didn't think they could take to Paul. Paul and I had talked about it, and he didn't have any problem with me giving them suggestions and advice.