After they had left the room I sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb my father. Barry sat down on the floor and began rocking back and forth, his thumb in his mouth.

“Hey now, Barry. Is that any way for a man to behave?”

“I’m not a m-man. I’m only eight.”

“Oh, that’s old enough. For a pirate, I mean.”

Barry stared at me curiously. “I’m not a pirate. Are you a pirate? I don’t remember you.”

“I’m Casey Williams, the pirate son of the pirate James Williams. I met you when you were just a little boy. That was three years ago. You were only five. I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. But I remember you.”

Thumb out of his mouth now, the rocking ceased, the boy sat up and looked at me earnestly. “Your father saved my life.”

“Aye, I know. He’s a great man, my pa. I’m proud of him.”

“Are you really a pirate? You don’t look like one.”

“I am too one,” I said, a little too indignantly.

My father’s laughter interrupted us. “I think Barry’s more pirate than you, boy.”

“Pa, you’re awake!”