How the hell does he do it, Jack wonders, how the fuckin' hell is it that he come back to Lightning Flat (not home, not home here no more, maybe never was) and that silence from his dad cuts him down, ever single time, makes him feel six again, young and too short and always in the way.

He stares down into his glass of water, train of thought stopped dead by the flatness of his father's unamused laughter.

"Could look into it for you, while I'm up here," he offers, trying again.