He had occupied the same spot often as a boy, had sat there looking out over the water, daydreaming. He’d had so many dreams once. Nothing grandiose, nothing even very far beyond his reach. Just simple dreams of doing something with his life. Maybe owning a business, maybe designing buildings or bridges, maybe—and this was the grandest one—becoming an airline pilot and flying planes all over the world. Why not? John could do anything he put his mind to; that’s what his father had said.He remembered once as a kid pointing toward the strange fortress across the lake and saying, “See the Castle over there, Pop?”His father, sitting on the steps beside him, nodded as he squinted against the sun. “Sure do, son.”“Someday I’m going to fix it up and make it nice again,” John had boasted. “That’ll be mine. But I’ll make a room for you and Mom, and you can live there too. Would you like that, Pop?”His father was drinking something like iced tea or lemonade or maybe iced coffee—something cold to ward off the summer heat.
