Page 8 of Unforgettable Player

She held my hand through the service. She spooned me for weeks when I couldn’t sleep alone. She told me jokes, even though I didn’t laugh at first. She persevered until I did.

I can’t stay in here any longer. Getting the glasses I came in for, I head out, closing the door behind myself.

When I finally look up from my books, a barrage of texts is waiting for me from Scout. She’s been sending me messages every half hour.

Hey, how’s it going?

What time shall I pick you up?

Yoohoo big summer blow out.

YOU THERE?

I’m on my way.

That last one is about ten minutes old. I jump up and clean away my take-out container, leaving Dad’s on the counter. Maybe he’ll eat it later? It’ll still be good cold. He likes cold food. Sashimi used to be his favorite thing ever. He’d drag Mom to that same sushi restaurant every weekend and ignore the disapproving looks he’d get from the Japanese chefs over how greedy he was being and how terrible he was at using chopsticks. Mom found it hilarious and always gazed at him lovingly while he stuffed his face.

My heart sinks when I hear a knock on the door. I had hoped Scout would just honk. I hesitate before answering. Another knock. I know better than to think Scout will just go away if I ignore her.

She comes barreling inside as soon as I open the door, heading straight for the kitchen.

“I’m ready to go,” I say, watching as she eyes the uneaten burrito bowl on the counter.

“Is that for your dad?”

I nod.

Before I can stop her, she’s marching down the hallway toward the study.

By the time I catch up, the door is open and she’s strutting inside.

“Hi, Mr. B.”

My dad sounds understandably caught off guard. I hang back, chewing my lip. I could never be as authoritative with my dad as Scout is.

“I’ll make you a cup of coffee. Come on,” Scout says. “You’ve got to eat—everyone knows burritos are brain food.”

“Scout, I—” Dad starts to protest.

“Come on.” I know that tone, how impossible it is to resist.

She leaves the study door open before marching back to the kitchen. A moment later, Dad is following, lowering his gaze as he passes me in the hallway. I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry. How does she do that?

Dad takes a seat at the kitchen table while Scout warms his food up and makes a fresh pot of coffee. All the while, she chats away, mostly with herself, talking about school. When she got into M.I.T., he was over the moon for her. They had countless talks over this very kitchen table about all the professors she was about to meet and how much she was going to learn. It helped her get over the pain of getting rejected from Harvard.

She sits opposite him now and watches him take tentative bites of food. He pushes the bowl away after eating about a quarter of it.

“I’m full, Scout, seriously,” Dad says.

She takes a deep breath, watching him, assessing whether he’s telling the truth or not.

“Why don’t you two go and have fun?” Dad asks. “It’s your summer break.”

“No, Dad. We can stay here,” I cut in. Now Scout got him to eat something, maybe we can keep him out of his study? Get him into the shower and find some clothes in his closet that aren’t moth-eaten.

But he’s already pushing away from the table, retreating to his safe place.

“I have a lot of work to do, Eli,” he says without looking at me.