Growing Like a Weed by Feath MacKirin "Why, will you look at him?" Aunt Amy said in mock horror. "He's growing like a little weed! Let me look at you, boy. You must have grown a good three inches since I've seen you last." She pinched his chubby cheek, with a great deal more enthusiasm than was warranted. "Yes," Helen agreed with a slight smile at her son. She turned from the buffet with a full plate. "Go ahead and play, Lucien." She waited for Amy to finish filling her plate then, weaving between the mourners, they found an open space beside the fire place. "He's my last one now." She said sadly, watching the eight year old skip out the back door. "Damn shame about Jimmy," Aunt Amy said around a mouth full of sausage. "And Mark -- and Lisa." She edged closer as another mourner tried to find room. "They were good kids, all of 'em. How you holding up, honey? I would be curled up in a corner by now." "Numb, Amy. I feel numb all the time." She looked down and her mouth trembled. "I will miss Jimmy. I hate to say this - it's not something a mother should admit to - but he was my favourite after Lisa died." Helen's hostess instinct kicked in and she checked the level of food on the table. Her relatives had brought great masses of food to the wake, but then, they ate great masses of food. It was her third wake in as many years, and sadly, she was becoming smart to the ways of keeping the hordes filled. "Well, you still have Lucien. That should be a comfort to you. Really, Helen, there must be something in the air here. He's growing so fast, just like a little weed." She speared some potato salad. Helen's gaze fell on Lucien, playing a rough game of tag outside. Her fingers rubbed the lapel pin that rested on her flat bosom. Grandma had given her the pin only hours before she died, right in the middle of her 90th birthday party. She cherished the pin as much as she had cherished Grandma and constantly wore it. "He plays so well with the other children," Amy said, following Helen's gaze. "such a loving, giving child -- do you remember how he kept scampering off to make cups of lemonade for Grammy at her last birthday party? You must be very proud of him." Helen continued to watch Lucien as he played with the visiting children. They darted and weaved along the stream that ran through the back yard. The one Jimmy had drowned in last week, while playing with Lucien. She smoothed her short blonde bangs, a frown gathering. "Have you ever noticed -- no, no, that's just too silly." She murmured quietly. She pushed a radish into a dab of vinegar and oil and attempted to shrug off the feeling of ghastly suspicion. "What is, hon?" Amy, using a slice of garlic bread to get the bits and pieces of salad off her plate, stopped and peered intently into her sister's green eyes. "Well... have you ever noticed how a weed grows?" Amy swallowed. "Don't follow you." She said cautiously, setting her plate down, the bread unfinished. "It grows fast, and strong. Its roots go deep into the ground, and... it chokes off all the other plants around it." "What are you...? " Amy's eyes darted over the people at the wake. The wake for Lucien's brother. The third wake Helen had held in the last three years. Her voice lowered, and she stepped closer to her sister. "Helen! It was an accident! " She hissed. "You can't really believe that little Lucien would...? No, please. You need to sit down, honey. The stress is getting to you." "Yes..." Helen said faintly, eyes still on Lucien's sturdy form. "The stress..." Lucien turned from his play and ran back into the house. He ran up to his mother and hugged her hard around the waist. "I love you, Momma." He said. "I love you, too, dear." Helen said firmly, finger-combing his dark hair. "More than anyone? More than Daddy?" Helen and Amy's eyes locked. "I love Daddy almost as much as you!" Lucien's eyes found his father in the crowd. " Almost ..."