I didn’t know she’d left. Nobody told me. When did this happen? the old man asked.

What do you mean?

When exactly? And where?

Dad, it was seven years ago. She died, the son responded. Heart attack. Middle of the night.

Nobody told me.

You were right there by her, dad. She died in your arms.

Oh. I forget these things.

Dad, what day is it?

Sunday. I know that because David Brinkley is on TV.

Yeah. That’s right.

Where is she buried?

She’s right here, dad. Right here in this box. 

Is that so. You burned her?

She wished to be cremated.

How’s she going to get into heaven?

What do you mean?

She’s got no body.

Her soul, dad. Her soul goes to heaven.

Sure of that?

I think so.

I see. Are you sure she’s dead?

Yeah.

Didn’t just run away with the postman?

No, dad.

You know they had a thing once. She told me.

Really?

I think it was her. Maybe it was the woman down the street. Not sure.

I see.

Let me see that box. The old man opened it. Looked inside at the ashes. Closed the lid. Shook his head. Ain’t that something, he said. Ain’t that something.