I couldn’t hear what Dwayne said. It took him a long time. Ben stood motionless through all of it, his arms crossed, his jaw set. When it was over, there was a pause that went on and on. A cow bawled in the lot. The wind lifted the corner of the tarp on the machine shed.Then Ben said something short. Dwayne nodded. And my son turned and walked toward the tractor, and Dwayne followed a step behind, like a man trailing a funeral.
They fed for six hours. At noon I took out sandwiches, and they ate on the tailgate, side by side, not speaking, a thin shaft of sunlight lying across their boots.
On the third Saturday, I saw them laugh.
On the fifth, Ben showed Dwayne how to cut the twine so it came off in one piece, the way Tom had taught him, and Dwayne said, “My dad used to do it that way.” A pause. “Tom was better at it.”
