I left the screen door shut and shout, “I’ll open the garage door, come around.”When we meet up in the garage, I told him, “Sorry about that, ... don’t want those pesky mosquitoes in the house.”　“No problem,” he says.　I lowered the garage door.　He must be a new guy, I have not seen him before. He’s about thirty five or so. Tall and slim and gorgeous as hell. He’s clean shaven, grey hair, wears glasses, and he’s wearing shorts. Which I’d like to get off!He had a package for me which I had to sign. My son and I are certainly in that last category.This story rightfully starts in 1987, when I was thirty-seven and Paul thirteen. I knew even before Paul did, that he had a problem. One morning I came downstairs dressed in only my bathrobe to make Paul breakfast. After a minute or two of wandering back and forth between refrigerator and cupboard, cabinet and sink, chatting with him aimlessly as mothers do with their children, I realized that Paul's eyes were following me everywhere I went. I. More

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