Before Roger left, we used to meet our son twice a year at an interstate rest stop halfway between his home and ours.

The arrangement was Roger’s idea.

He said it was practical, a good way to see family without surrendering an entire weekend.

I remembered those visits differently now: Trevor talking about promotions and places he’d traveled, me asking questions, and Roger interrupting with stories about golf.

When Roger drove away with his new girlfriend, I wondered whether Trevor had grown used to being a visitor in his father’s life long before the separation.

One afternoon during his Christmas stay, I found Trevor looking through the old school photographs I had left on the dining table.