“Ah, here we go,” Pierre said, pouring hot water into Xavier’s cup. “Not too much honey, the way you like it.”
Xavier watched his father settle in the old and creaky wooden chair across from him at the kitchen table. The low hanging naked bulb shone down on his father’s hair and Xavier could see all the thick gray streaks in his father’s pony tail. Pierre had aged in the last six years, but he still looked big and strong. Especially in those checkered plaid shirts and worn Levi’s jeans. “Thanks,” Xavier said, taking the hot cup.
Pierre sipped his tea, watching him with vivid eyes, though it was late. He didn’t say anything. Simply observed him. Did he ever get tired? His father worked all week at the cultural center. He was one of the few people responsible for the development of an exte
