"He mentioned it. I don't even remember Kevin." Vicky forked a chunk of cantaloupe and held it up to her nose for inspection. "Is he the kind of…" she rolled her eyes, "wigged-out lad that they sent to special schools and all?"

"Yes," Carl said. "Really a shame. He's quite intelligent, I think. In his own way, of course. But that speech thing…"

"Now I remember," Vicky said, sitting up straighter in her chair. "He can't talk. My little chubby cousin who couldn't talk…"

Carl wiped his mustache. "He's not chubby anymore. Grown into a very nice-looking young man. But they've never solved that problem with his speech. Some connection in his brain I would think but I'm no expert!"

It'd been years since Vicky had even thought of Kevin. He'd only been a baby when she'd last seen him. A strange little kid who made grunting sounds and scooted around much like other children. But he had a special aura about him all right. Yes, she remembered the look he'd get in his eyes. Like he was seeing things other kids couldn't.

"He'll only be here for the summer," Carl went on, "and Gus and Rebecca thought he'd do better if we housed him away from the main house. He likes to spend a lot of time by himself so it seems. Too much social hubbub confuses him." Carl pushed his chair away from the table and rose. "My brother tells me he's gotten to be quite a woodcarver."

"Kevin? A woodcarver?" Vicky glanced at Abby, who hadn't seemed a bit interested in anything that'd been said. It was hard to imagine that roly-poly little baby becoming anything special. But of course a few years had slipped by. Vicky realized she had been nothing much special herself back in those days. When she looked back at her father she caught him giving his sister Mona the strangest look. Vicky could almost swear it was a hot come-on. She glanced at Mona and saw the handsome woman lick her upper lip in an obviously sensual way.

As the breakfast table was abandoned, Vicky kept an eye on Carl.