was in one corner, I was in the
other corner. If he walked into a
room, I would get up and act like I
was going to the kitchen, then when
I reentered the room, I would make
sure I was close to the exit. He
could be in the happiest, friendliest
mood. Didn’t matter. Never again
did I let him come between me and
a door. Maybe a couple of times
after that I was sloppy and he’d land
a punch or a kick before I could get
away, but I never trusted him again,
not for a moment.
It was different for Andrew.
Andrew was Abel’s son, flesh of his
flesh, blood of his blood. Despite