Catherine had barely knocked on the door to her family’s double wide. Her knuckles rapped on air the third time around. The door flung open. “Catherine!”

“Dad!”

Herbert Braun flung the door open and gave Catherine a bear hug. Making exaggerated grunting and growling noises as he pretended to crush her. Catherine did her part by pretending to suffocate. “Oh god! Dad! You’re killing me! Can’t breathe! Can’t breeeeathe.”

It was their thing.

My father-in-law looked exactly like his daughter: Except for the mustache, extra couple hundred pounds, the gut, relatively huge arms, and deep voice, that is. Hair. They had the same light brown hair color is what I’m saying. The man was nearly thirty years my senior and I had more white in my hair than him.

“Clark!” he said once he’d released Catherine. “How ya doin’, carrot top?”

“Bert,” I smiled softly; politely. “Good to see you.” Bert’s hand gave mine a squeeze so hard I had no choice but to squeeze back as hard as I could just to try to meet the pressure. That’s something that I took for granted working besides Tweeners and Amazons: In Oakshire most people thought me fragile; kid gloves and gentle touch time. In Misty Brook I was average; everything was fair game. My father-in-law? Bert was a Little- way too short to be a Tweener- but he was so thick and strong that all suspected he had a few drops of Amazon somewhere way, way, back in his family tree.