The figure that approached the grave was strange and lopsided. Someone watching the Richmond family plot from far away might have had to look twice to realize why. The figure was actually two people: a little boy sitting on the shoulders of a big man. As they walked, the boy was laughing, tilting to the side. The man would catch him before he could fall, and push him back in the other direction.

As he saw the name on the gravestone, he suddenly remembered a similar scene a long time ago. He had carried a little girl on his shoulders then, and she had laughed just as loudly as this boy did now. He would swing her down when they reached the grave, and try to impress upon her the seriousness of the moment. It usually didn't last. At first, he might talk about how sad he was, and usually, she would catch on. Her lower lip would tremble. He would crack a joke, just to see her smile again. It became the custom.

Today, he hoped, there would be no crying. This was supposed to be a happy occasion. He swung the black-haired boy down, and gripped his hand before he could run away. He was still not accustomed to walking far distances, but he was a fast runner, and his parents had to keep a close hold on him.

He bent down to whisper to the boy. The little boy stretched his arm forward, placing the sunflower on the ground in front of the grave. “Hi, Aunt Bonnie!” he said.

Stanley Richmond smiled as his son looked up to him. Evidently, it was his turn to talk. “Hi, Bonnie. We came as soon as we could, to give you the good news. You're an aunt again! Doubled.”

He bent down beside his son. He held his right hand in a fist, shaking it near his cheek. “This is 'aunt', Clark,” he said. He took Clark's hand and helped arrange his fingers into the 'a' sign. Clark repeated the gesture, a somewhat dazed look on his face. He turned back to the stone.

“Don't get mad at us for leaving Mimi. We were kicked out. Apparently, we were keeping her awake. Gail Green got to stay, but we were keeping her from resting.” He rolled his eyes. “They keep telling me it's harder to have two babies than one. You'd be proud of her, though. She was amazing. Terrified Kenchy. I'm sure he was glad I was the one holding her hand. He thought he'd have to give me an x-ray.”

He didn't mention how close Kenchy had seemed to tears. He had been this way when Clark was born too. He had a feeling it had something to do with that other time Kenchy had seen Mimi as a patient- the bullet he'd removed from her shoulder. Every time they'd been back to see him, they seemed to provoke a reaction.

“Okay, okay, I'll stop boring you with details about non-relatives. You want to hear about the niece and nephew, right?”

He always paused for her reaction. Clark stared up at him. “Well, like we thought, one of each. The girl came first. Now, I know we promised we'd name our first girl for you. No matter what. You have to hear about this, though. She was the first one born. She is Mimi, all over. She has this black hair, and eyes just like hers. I can see her strutting around the house as soon as she learns how to walk. Anyway, Kenchy gave us the news, this one's a girl- obviously, I could see, but Mimi was at a different angle, so we both laughed and cried. We said, 'That's our Bonnie.' Well, it was mostly me. Mimi was screaming at us, because the other one was already on his way. So I handed off the first one, and we saw your new nephew. We all oohed and ahed that it was a boy, and they went to clean him up. So they brought our girl over to Mimi, and they handed me our boy. He was much quieter than your niece- she's a screamer already. He just looked at me. Guess what? He reminded me of you. His eyes, his face. I remembered when Mom and Dad brought you home. I was such a dumb kid back then- mad at my parents for making me fix up a crib while my friends were hiding booze in their rooms and learning to drive their cousins' trucks. I was mad at them, but you...you were just perfect. When you weren't screaming.”

He chuckled to himself, looking down at his son. He would soon know about that part of being a big brother as well. “Well, when I was holding him, I thought about you. I thought about holding you when you were that size, seeing you get bigger, walking, talking. That laugh you had. I don't know why, but I felt like he was the one we should be naming for you. So after everything calmed down for a little bit, and Mimi and I got to switch, I mentioned names. She was holding him, and I said, 'Does he remind you of her?' She knew I meant you. So we knew.”

Clark was getting restless. He put a hand on his shoulder. “When he's small, we'll call him Benny. One day, he'll probably decide he's too old and make us call him Ben. Either way, he'll know where it came from.”

He didn't say how part of him was relieved. It was a name for her, but it wasn't her name. It was very popular in Jericho to name children for fallen family and friends, but he had a hard time picturing himself chasing another little girl with her name around the house.

“Your niece is called Tessa. She'll be jealous one day when she hears she almost got your name. We'll tell her to be glad she isn't Mini-Mimi.” He chuckled again. Heather and Jake had already been making jokes when they had brought Clark over to the Med. Center. Hopefully, Tessa would be as headstrong as Mimi, and wouldn't develop a complex from her 'aunt' and 'uncle's teasing. He felt a pang as he thought of the word 'aunt'.

“They'll be out here, one day, when they're a bit bigger. When Gail won't be on us for exposing them to germs. And Mimi. She'll be out to tell you about how tough it is looking after four children.” He shook his head. He knew Mimi came out here by herself sometimes. More often than he could bring himself to do. She'd made friends in town, but it wasn't the same. Only last week, he'd come across her crying in the kitchen. She'd been trying to organize the newborn clothes Heather had returned to her that morning. She was sitting at the table when he found her; little pink and yellow dresses spread out in front of her. She didn't often bring her up- he knew she still carried a lot of guilt for what had happened. Since they had had Clark, however, she had come up again and again in their conversations, and now, with the new daughter and the son named for her, they would probably speak of his baby sister more and more. It still felt like a knife inside him, but it had become urgent to remember her out loud too.

Every time someone in town announced they were having a kid, everyone would talk about the last little miracle they'd witnessed growing up. Gail loved to entertain everyone with stories about Jake and Eric's baby days, and a few about Stanley himself. Most of their friends had witnessed Stanley and Mimi trying to cope with Clark before they'd had to do it themselves, so they talked about his early days while they handled their own sleepless nights. He always remembered Bonnie. It was strange the way the little details came up. Those '101 Dalmatians' pajamas she'd refused to throw out, though her wrists and ankles were exposed on winter nights. Trying to brush her hair- it'd taken him forever to get the hang of pigtails. Gail had taught him, after he'd finally caved in to the dirty looks the other mothers sent him when he dropped her off at school with hopelessly tangled hair. The games they'd made up together that tore apart the living room. The bizarre artwork she'd given him and he'd proudly displayed. Those quiet holidays they spent together in their parents’ house.

Clark was fidgeting as his father thought, and Stanley suddenly realized he was trying to sign again. “Hey, buddy, that's pretty close. Just make it like this.” He moved his son’s fingers so that they formed the 'a' sign. He looked back at his sister's simple gravestone. “The house is going to be so crowded now, Bonnie. I don't know how I'll get used to it.”

“Go see Mommy?” asked Clark.

He laughed at his son. A frazzled looking Jake had told him Clark had been asking for his parents all night. “Yeah, I hear you. And I think Aunt Bonnie would probably tell me to go back to Mommy instead of hanging out here all day. Too bad. It won't be as quiet as here.”

This loud family he had now- it was such a change from his and Bonnie's quiet little world. Now that he had said it, though, he could imagine her scolding him, telling him to go back, that Mimi was the one who'd just had to give birth to two kids, forget about his bruised hand. He smiled. “I'll tell her how much you love her. Give the babies kisses for you.”

He scooped Clark up into his arms, and the boy shrieked with laughter. “Wave 'bye' to Aunt Bonnie.”

Clark stretched out a hand, flapping it. One day, he would teach him the sign that he himself always finished with.

He always hated turning, walking away. He did so quickly today, still imagining her urging him to get back to his wife and new children.

“So, did Jake or Heather make you breakfast?” he asked Clark as he hoisted him up on his shoulders again.

“I don't know,” said Clark, a perplexed look on his face. “Oatmeal.”

Stanley tried not to make a face. “Well, whichever one of those guys tried to cook, I'm sure you have room for some lunch, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“So, we'll have lunch, and we'll go back to Mommy and the babies. Daddy will make his famous grilled cheese.”

He smiled to himself as Clark exclaimed. He had perfected grilled cheese those first couple of nights he'd cooked dinner after his parents had died. The casseroles had stopped arriving on the porch. Bonnie, just home from the hospital and heavily bandaged, had sat at the table, watching him wrestling with the frying pan. He'd burnt two sandwiches before either of them had eaten that night.

Mimi would never touch grilled cheese, but it had proven popular with Clark, and the other kids who frequently visited the ranch. They all expected perfect sandwiches, because he'd never burnt one in front of them. Bonnie had seen him burn plenty of things, but she'd always bitten fearlessly into whatever he put on her plate. Until she'd learned to cook for herself, anyway.

They walked along the soft ground, Clark talking happily about his sleepover at the Greens', his new siblings, and the picture he wanted to give to his mother. Stanley was quiet, imagining the games he'd invent for his sons, and the pigtails he would put in his daughter's hair.