Bill closed the door after the last partygoer. It was after two a.m., and I knew he was tired—we both were. He placed his hands on his hips and stretched his back until it cracked, and then he sighed in relief.

Sometimes I could still see a bit of the eleven year old Billy that I had met so many years ago, even though he was now over six feet tall, with wavy silver hair that he still wore long enough to touch his shoulders. Currently he sported a neatly trimmed goatee ...