“I’m not. I just feel I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve done more. Goddammit.” Kennet chucked the cigarette, meaning to lob it over the railing, but it bounced off a spindle and showered sparks onto his legs. Everything in the world was laughing at him. Mocking him. He was nothing but a chump. A damn fool of a boy. A punk who didn’t know his onions.

“Neither of us know this fellow she married,” Emil said. “He could be a fine, honorable and understanding man who did the right thing for someone he cares for. So don’t judge him too harshly, either.”

“Doesn’t leave me anyone to be mad at.”

Emil smiled. “I’m here. Be mad at me.”

As he dropped his chin, bubbles of laughter escaped Kennet’s aching throat. He longed to be young again, young enough to crawl into the haven of Emil’s lap and be soothed. He scooted on his butt to put his back against the leg of Emil’s chair. Emil’s hand rubbed circles between his shoulder blades.

“You were wronged,” Emil said. “Your heart’s broken, and that just has to hurt until it doesn’t.”

“I’ll get over it.”

“No, you won’t. But you’ll get next to it and learn how to take it along.”

“Shit,” Kennet muttered.

The chair creaked as Emil leaned and kissed Kennet’s head. “You are my eldest and finest. And I’d fight another war for you.”

Kennet closed his eyes. Three words he’d always struggled to say naturally with his father now spilled out without thought: “I love you.”

“You’re the best thing that happened to your Ma and me. You’re honorable and decent and kind. You don’t deserve this, and I’d fix it all if I could. But you’ll come out a better man for it.”

The Bender

Kennet was home for the weekend, puttering at his workbench in the boathouse. The radio was on, and when “A Small Hotel” started playing, he nearly flicked it off. Then he stood still with his fingers on the dial. Remembering.

When the door opened, he whirled around, startled out of his daydream and positive it was Astrid come back to him.

And whose little girl are you?

But it was only Little.

“Hey, bud,” Kennet said, trying to hide the disappointment.

“I wanted to give you something.”

“Oh?”

Little came over to the workbench, hands stuffed in his pockets. “You might not want them. I don’t want to hurt your feelings. You can say no and you won’t hurt mine.”

Kennet had to smile even as his brow furrowed. “Wow, I don’t know whether to be curious or afraid.”

Little brought a hand out of his pocket and revealed two flattened pennies, obvious victims of the train.

“This one is from the day Astrid came,” he said. “This one is from the day she left.”