I didn’t answer him.

There was nothing in my mouth worth wasting on him.

My father had the lawnmower tipped onto its side in the garage, with the smell of gasoline and cut grass filling the whole space.

He cleared his throat twice before he said my name.

“There’s a Coke in the cooler if you’d like one.”

I took one.

He had kept that cooler stocked with glass bottles since I was nine years old, and he had never once run out.

“Robert’s appraiser showed up at the house,” I said.