“Then why’d you start working for this other guy?” Sid asks, wriggling in his chair as if he’d stepped on a hill of fire ants.

“Thought maybe he’d have a bigger reach. And he did. It got my name out there. Built a good number of new clients who kept spreading my name, so I should be good to start back up at my home again.”

“That’s good,” Sid says. “What about a female? You ever tie the knot?”

“No, but I got a girl that lives with me. We been together three, almost four, years. She’s a real piece of work.”

Looking at Itch and Nugget. Puckering his lips after emptying his glass of Maker’s, he asks, “How about you two citizens?”

Waving a hand through the air, Nugget tells Sid, “Hell no. Women are too much trouble. I just work, ride, lift, and run around with Hunter. Ol’ Itch here, he’s got a live wire.”

“That right?”

“Not really. She just don’t take no shit.”

Sid nods. Gets up, tells Hunter and his buddies, “Gonna have to excuse me. Got a meeting with a man about a mule. I’ll get us another round of drinks after the meeting.”

Hunter watches Sid. Something seems off, but he can’t put a finger on it.

“Everything cool?” Itch asks Hunter.

“Not sure. Something’s not right with Sid. The shaking. Wandering eyes. Fidgeting in his seat. Reminds me of someone.”

Reflecting back, it reminds Hunter of his grandfather—the early stages of dementia.

Walking back toward the table, Sid begins cursing, loud and obnoxious. He has a catatonic gaze about him. “Look, I done told you, I ain’t putting up with your bullshit tonight. No. Get the hell outta my face. The boy can stay with my parents or yours, makes me no difference. You made the choice. Live with it.”

Other patrons eye Sid, but that’s as far as it goes. They just glance up, then go back to their conversations and their booze.

Hunter recognizes the look. The acting out. Remembering when he would be with his grandfather. Losing track of time. Staring at Hunter. Believing that Hunter was Hunter’s father, Hank. Questioning him. Wondering when he was going to give him a grandson. Those times killed Hunter. Not being recognized. But not recognizing his grandfather, either. It was as if he had passed from one room to the next in a house—one room decorative and bright, the next room dark and shadowed. A shift of perspective and mood. During those times near the end, Hank was home, caring for his father. Sid’s wife, Annie, who had been a nurse forever, helped Hank, giving advice and bringing food to help out.