Ted reflects that children know little of who their parents were before parenthood. He recounts coming home at dusk to a dark house, startled by The Ox in a car and his own fear response. Ted’s older brother, drunk and bruised from a fight, arrives with him, and Ted nervously challenges his brother’s loyalty to The Ox. Instead of violence, his brother admits the bonds were formed in childhood and tied to survival in their town.

Observing his brother’s swollen knuckles, Ted blurts that his brother is not a bad person but chooses bad friends. In a rare soft exchange, his brother notes that Ted’s friends are lucky. Ted finds a note from their mother saying she is out, then brings ice for beer and his brother’s hand. His brother offers Ted a beer, an unusual gesture that feels like a near-embrace. They talk about work at the harbor, financial duty to keep the house, and Ted asks him to play something on the piano.

His brother plays a sad song their father used to play for their mother when she was angry. He shares intimate anecdotes: their parents never said “I love you,” instead saying “But, but, but,” their father’s humor with ghosts in their creaky house, and how music could reconcile arguments. Ted learns their father was funny and tender, and that their mother, though hard, could be funny and protective, even sleeping on the floor outside her son’s door to keep nightmares away.

They remember details of their home life: the tall basement step, their father’s trudging footsteps, and his nightly ritual of turning off lights and whispering “Good night, ghosts.” Ted recalls the sound of his father’s voice. They discuss class constraints—music not being a job “for people like us”—and look at the simple wedding photo where their mother still looked like she was dreaming. Ted’s brother shares their father’s romantic metaphor: he and their mother were like two colors that, once mixed, could not be separated.

More memories surface: their father’s steadfast beer brand as a sign of loyalty, their mother continuing to buy beer during his illness, and that their father loved her cooking. Ted’s brother suggests their mother feels like a good mother when she ensures they eat. When Ted asks if their father was afraid when he died, his brother remains silent, then recounts a nurse’s call saying their mother curled up on the bed and their father died in her arms.

They finish their beers. Ted rinses cans, eats a freezer meal, and leaves his plate unwashed so their mother will see he is fed. That night, their mother returns, deliberately steps on creaky floorboards to signal her presence, and washes Ted’s plate, briefly feeling like a good mom. Ted’s brother falls asleep on the floor outside her door to guard her from nightmares, mirroring her past comfort. As Ted dozes in the basement, a scrape at the window wakes him: Joar is outside, his hands covered in blood.