He and Frank spent an hour arguing amiably about the best way to anchor a bench in damp soil.

Dad had never been a craftsman; Frank had the patience to let him try.

I watched them crouched side by side beside an unfinished seat, two men linked to me in very different ways.

During lunch, Dad came to sit beside me on a low stone wall.

“I owe Frank a thank-you,” he said.

“For the bench?”

“For the wedding.

For saying yes when I said no.”