“Dad? Uh, Dad? Are you there?”
Gabriel smiled at his daughter. She looked so much like Yvonne at that age. When he’d first met Yvonne on that California beach, with her devilishly flirty smile and her bag full of Santa Barbara oranges, he never could have predicted that they would someday create such a beautiful daughter together.
Melanie sighed, those sharp cheekbones of hers pulled taut, her mouth a thin line. Still, the stung vulnerability in her chocolate-brown eyes was unhidden; her eyes were always flickering, always moving, always thinking. The whites looked a little bloodshot, but he imagined that she wasn’t sleeping much, considering the long hours she spent between the orphanage, the local homeless shelter, and her two kids. He’d always suspected that she had sleep apnea, as well.
“Dad.” She snapped her fingers.
“Oh, hello,” Gabriel said. “Sorry, Melanie. I was a bit distracted.” Distracted. For how long?
“It’s okay. For a sec, I thought your mind had gone skiing in the White Mountains or something.”
“No, not quite. I’m not that far gone. Not yet.”
“Good.”
They sat there, staring at each other, the void between them jammed full of non-words and unspecified feelings. She crossed her arms, digging her fingernails into her biceps. Several times, Gabriel moved his mouth to speak and then stopped, made nervous by the intensity of her gaze.
He remembered when she was little. He remembered her zeal, her compassion, her love of life, the way that she’d cry and ask him for help, ask him for advice, ask him for guidance. The beautifully uninhibited smile she used to give him—a Christmas present he was once lucky enough to receive as freely as oxygen—a smile that he never saw anymore.
She was no longer that little girl. To him, that was the greatest trial of parenthood: watching a loving, helpless little creature become a new, independent person before his eyes. A person who didn’t need him anymore.
He was proud of Melanie. She’d become a strong-willed, kind woman who helped abandoned little kids find new families and the homeless find new homes. She was a terrific mother, a better parent than he’d ever been. But on some level, he still missed the little girl, and he hated the weight that his condition put upon her shoulders. He supposed he probably always would.
“It’s truly wonderful to see you.” Gabriel leaned forward, hunched over his cane. “I miss you, Melanie. It’s been so long since you’ve visited. Why don’t you come here more often?”
Melanie shifted uncomfortably. She sucked in air, revealing her breathing to be ragged and choked up. Swiping at her eyes, she gazed at the fish tank. “I… I miss you too. But, Dad, it… hey, it hasn’t been that long. Only three weeks.”
Three weeks? Gabriel nodded. A few seconds elapsed, and he realized his allotted space for a timely reply had passed. Any reply would seem out of place, awkward, demented. So he remained silent, stroking his cane’s molded plastic handle for comfort. The cane was becoming less of a tool and more of a friend.
A tear escaped from Melanie’s eye. She wiped it away and looked over at the clock as if arguing with herself about how much longer she needed to stay. Gabriel quickly glanced away. He needed a distraction, just for a moment, to regain his bearings.
There were always a few other residents in the lobby, especially in the afternoons. Edna Foster was sitting by the bay windows, talking to her three sons. Her face was pulled back in her familiar scowl. One son leaned closer to her, and with a hostile expression, she loudly whispered about how evil everyone in the nursing home was. Everything was terrible. Everything was the worst ever.
Bob Baker rolled his wheelchair up to one of the tables, where he was presented with a plate full of his hotdog cubes. He glared at them.
All the way in the back, a new resident was sitting behind one of the chessboards, playing a game against himself. Well, maybe he wasn’t a new resident but definitely one Gabriel had never noticed. He was a tall, thin old man with long bony fingers. He looked so emaciated that the slightest breeze might break him into pieces. His three-piece tuxedo was ridiculously pristine and out of place. Big buggy eyes rested in dark hollowed-out sockets, and his perfectly combed-back hair was silver, as was his goatee. He looked noble, distinguished, like a lawyer or a politician. A long, gnarly scar crossed his left cheek, extending upward in a ragged trail then abruptly splitting off to the right and terminating in a shape that resembled the number 7.
“Dad? I’m talking to you.”
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.”
