Zachary stood before Max. “Look at me, damn it. I said, look at me. Have you ever really looked at me or heard me? No. You don’t give a pig’s eye about me. You and your land can go to hell.” Turning, he stomped toward the house.

Meanwhile, the cows had been secured inside the truck, the ramp retracted, and the huge rear door lowered. Max could hear the shuffling of hoofs. He imagined his animals jammed flank to flank inside, perhaps terrified. He had wanted to touch them as they passed, to silently address this cow or that, cows he had a special fondness for, to apologize, so to speak, hoping that they would sense the loss he felt at their going and understand why he had made this decision. Zachary had taken these special moments away from him, had deprived him of his absolution. He hated his son and wished him gone, out of his sight, forever.

The drivers, embarrassed and uncomfortable at witnessing this raw display of emotion, of venom, hung back near the doors of their cabs waiting for that moment when they might slip clipboards into Max’s hands for his signature.

When Zachary, still muttering obscenities, reached the house and entered, slamming the door behind him, the drivers moved forward and handed Max the clipboards. They did not look into one another’s eyes. Max signed and returned the clipboards. Moments later the drivers climbed into the cabs and started the engines. Then the huge trunks thundered from the yard.

In the silence that followed, Jose slipped away, and Max, depleted of energy and feeling suddenly desolate, leaned against the side of the barn. It was over! No stomp of hoof, no swish of tail or other movement or sound issued from the bleak, empty barn. His herd, his dairy and its routine, so much a part of his life all these years, a lifetime, were gone. It had been his decision, of course, and it was the right decision, but not like this. No, not like this.

Wearily, Max shoved away from the barn and lumbered toward the house. He entered the kitchen and, heavyhearted, with dragging steps, moved through it into the hall.

What was it to have a child, a son? Certainly it had not turned out as he had hoped, as he expected that day Bella came home from the hospital with the tiny baby. He had been thrilled to have a son. As he started up the stairs, Max stopped and held on to the railing. He remembered standing there looking down at the baby, thinking of all the things they would do together, fish, go to ball games, walk in the woods. He had anticipated teaching his son which berries were safe to eat, which plants were poisonous. He would teach the boy everything he knew.