In that moment, I felt so sheltered, small, and nervous. My feelings were so premature. “Essie,” he went on, “I know you miss your father. But I assure you, he will write to you. He told me that you mean the world to him. Don’t forget that. Not to mention he is a much better father than I ever was—er, I mean, than I ever could be. I want you to be satisfied and treated very well. My house shall be your house. I deeply regret that I can not give you a home to stay in this summer,” he softly said slowely. I thought about it for a moment. Here I was, sharing life stories with a man that I have never met before in my life! My, how bizzare the world could be! However, I had to admit that I was at least somewhat glad that I had met the owner of the house. I know knew the story behind the name. That was one less thing that was hanging over me, uncertain and unsure. However, in another sense, I was left even more befuddled. What of my father? What of this persistant gloominess? What of my life?