Robert found James stretched out and soaking up the rays of the setting sun from the top of his crypt, the dying sunlight turning his gray hair red again.
“Happy birthday, Pops,” Robert said as he eased his old bones next to the younger looking man and placed a bottle of Glenfiddich between them.
“You’re getting greyer and more wrinkled every year, Bobby,” James said as he broke the seal on the Scotch.
“Have you reconsidered leaving?” Robert asked as he patiently waited for James to take the first drink.
“I promised your Grandmother I’d wait for you,” James replied.