You’re never sure of these things, he said. It could go either way. Just when you think you have it all figured out, boom, it hits you. And then life, as you know it, is never the same, he lit a cigarette and pushed the pack to his son. Go on. Take one, the old man walked over to the refrigerator and reached in the back for two beers. He held them in one hand. Want one? the young man nodded. The old man placed it in front of him on the kitchen table. A cat jumped up on the counter. Get down, the father said, then laughed. He never listens. No one in this house ever listened. Cautiously, the boy drank from the can of Old Style. His hand shook a little as he put the drink down.

And for a half hour, there was silence. No talking. A train whistle blew. Cars with loud radios drove by.

Are you going to miss her? the son asked. Can you honestly say you’re going to miss her? the old man tapped his fingers on the table. You two had problems, I know. I probably contributed to those. And for that, I’m sorry. But are you going to miss her?

Funny, you ask that question. Haven’t thought about it, he said. In the beginning, yes. And then, over time, no. I won’t remember her. I won’t remember you. Life does that. You get old, you forget, he told his son. She got lucky. Got out when she was young.

The two men drank their beers. Another train rolled through town.