The silence stretches on.
And on.
And on.
There isn't even the steady torment of a clock to tick the hours by. At least then there would be something tangible. There'd be a record beyond the endless drag of night. A tally of tocks to mark each passing moment when their father is still gone.
Scott sits on the unfenced deck and lets the moon pass over him. Its slow revolution pauses. It hangs as a pearl in the dark dip of the night's neck. The stars stop their blinks. Every eye is watching. Yet none can see.
Nothing moves but the single slip of water that escapes his eye, crosses the barren flesh of his cheek and slips into the corner of his mouth. Even his sorrow returns to him.
But not his dad.
That's it. One tear. No more.
And the silence stretches on.
And on.
And.
On.