Gabriel wanted to pay attention to Melanie—he really did—but somehow, he just couldn’t. There was something oddly comforting about the angular man at the chessboard, something that held Gabriel’s attention, though he couldn’t determine what it was.

The old man looked up at Gabriel with his bulbous eyes. Gabriel nodded in greeting. In response, the old man offered him a friendly, unpretentious smile.

“Dad!”

“Sorry, Melanie. I’m sorry. I got—”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” She bit her lip. “It’s just that I have to get going.”

He bristled. “Now?”

“Yeah.”

Gabriel stared at her. “I know it’s been hard, since Yvonne… since your mother died. But I’m not dead yet, Melanie.”

“Dad! I never said—”

“I know. I’m sorry. But I want to see you more. Isn’t that the exact reason you made me come here, all the way to New Hampshire?”

“Yes—”

“I miss you.”

Melanie stood and wrapped her scarf around her neck, tilting her head back to prevent more tears from flowing down her cheeks. She wiped her eyes, looked at her father, and then looked away quickly. “I miss you too,” she whispered. “Goodbye, Dad.”

She put on her coat and crossed her arms again, taking in a deep, ragged breath. She lowered her head, checked her cell phone, and took a step back. She was preparing herself. She had to prepare herself to hug him.

“Wait.” Gabriel’s muscles tightened. He wanted to lunge forward and hold her, prevent her from leaving. “Please.”

She looked at him with red eyes, eyes that he might not see again for a long time, unless she permitted him.

“I’m sorry.” Gabriel sighed. “For everything. I’m sorry I wasn’t there more.”

She sniffled. “Stop.”

“I’m truly, deeply sorry. I swear it. I wish I could go back and fix all the mistakes I made with your mother, back before you were born, I wish—”

“But you can’t.” Her voice carried a hint of resentment. “Mom’s dead, Dad. She’s been dead a long time.”

He’d never seen Yvonne during her chemo days. He’d been living in California, and she was across the country. Yvonne’s second husband was a good man, her rock, and he’d been there for her in ways that Gabriel hadn’t been during their marriage. Gabriel hadn’t seen the hair loss, the weight loss, and the vomiting. But he and Yvonne had talked on the phone all throughout the treatments, at least once a week, and he distinctly remembered that her wonderful laugh had never changed, never faltered. The braveness she’d possessed in those final days was inspirational. “I know.”

“I wasn’t reminding you,” Melanie retorted. “I’m just wondering if you’ve ever realized that there’s a point where too many years have gone by to brush things under the rug.”

“It’s not my fault that—”

“Don’t pretend that I’m ignorant.” Melanie clutched onto her purse strap so tightly that her knuckles reddened. “I know all the stories. You were the irresponsible one. You were the one who messed up and put booze before family.”

He stretched out a hand. “Melanie…”

She stepped back. “It’s okay. Really. I’ve come to terms with it. But don’t you dare act like you can fix things with a simple apology. It’s too late.”

Gabriel didn’t cry but only because nothing she said was new to him. He’d beat himself up with the same statements a million times.

“I’m sorry.” Melanie sighed. “Listen, I have to—oh. Hi there, Natty.”

Natty Bruckheimer, Gabriel’s least favorite LNA, normally worked the night shift, but evidently, she’d picked up some earlier hours that day. A series of junior high photos on her phone, which she frequently showed to anyone who dared mention a weight-loss program, proved that while Natty had once possessed an average big-boned figure, the last few decades had caused her to become so overweight that the floor shook when she walked, and the folds in her elephantine legs were visible through her skin-tight white scrubs. She blamed diabetes. Natty was in her late forties, but she was the sort of woman who, after getting pregnant in high school—and having two kids, if Gabriel recalled correctly—was forever chasing after her lost youth. She had a blond buzz cut, a fake tan, multiple neck tattoos, and a face like a rodent, complete with beady eyes and prominent front teeth.

“Hi, Melanie!” Natty clapped Gabriel’s daughter on the back, pretending that the two were friends.

“So how’s my dad doing?” Melanie whispered. “Is he doing okay with the, you know, with the new medications?”

They didn’t look at him, didn’t talk to him, didn’t even acknowledge that he was there. Somehow, they’d convinced themselves that if they lowered their voices to a certain tone, he couldn’t hear their whispers.

“Oh yeah, Gabe’s been good,” Natty answered. “Those new meds are working wonders for the guy.”

“So there haven’t been any new behavioral problems?” Melanie asked.

“Oh no, don’t worry! The Seroquel has been a big help.”

“Has it?” Melanie asked, glancing over at him.

“Oh yeah! Gabe’s much happier these days.” Natty reached out, took off Gabriel’s fedora, and rubbed the back of his head, messing up his hair.

Gabriel clenched his teeth. Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm…

“Ain’t that right, Gabe?” Natty giggled. “You’re doing real good today, aren’t you, honey?”

That was the last straw. “Gabriel,” he whispered venomously.

“What was that, honey?”

“I’m not Gabe. Not honey. My name is Gabriel. Gabriel Schist.”

“Sweetie-pie, you really need to speak up,” Natty said. “We can’t hear you when you mumble! You know you—”

“Gabriel! My name is Gabriel Schist, and I’m not a goddamned child! You hear me now? You hear that? You—”

“Dad… stop. Please.”

Gabriel threw his fedora to the ground. Melanie looked startled. Natty stepped back, her eyes rapidly passing back and forth between father and daughter. The thin, bug-eyed man peered at them across the chess board.

Gabriel started to speak and then stopped. He couldn’t find the words. His stomach was twisting in knots. He went over to Melanie and collapsed in her arms. She hugged him tightly. He felt her heart beating, a heart he had set to motion, a heart that now existed independently of him. A heart that would continue to beat long after his became dust.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I know… I know the Alzheimer’s makes it difficult. Difficult to know what you’re saying and all that. It’s not your fault.”

Marvelous. Rub some salt in the wound, Melanie. Thank you.