20 minutes later, and the tip of the cigarette spat one last gasp of a flame before smoldering to ash. I miss smoking sometimes; I deserved that last one.

“So, the Dever’s are sending Jason to Cornell,” I said, hunched over the balcony railing watching them load the minivan. “Architecture school.”

“I’ve seen the forts he built in the back yard,” Jim said, “and I advise you staying out of any of his buildings.”

I sighed. “I miss you Jim. I wish you’d have tried a little harder,” I said. I stretched and flicked the butt in the general direction of the Devers.

“All those books, I didn’t read them,â€? he says. “They just sat there on the shelf looking much smarter than me.â€?

“You should have read them, Jim,” I scolded, “you could have beat it.”

“I know,” he said, his voice shrinking. “You gave me good advice, but I wasn’t listening.”

He didn’t take my advice or I wouldn’t be sitting here, alone, imagining him talking to me again. His blues eyes continued to stare at me, unmoving, from our last family photo.