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Half an hour later, we were cleaned up and knocking on my dad’s door. “Pants weren’t made by the devil, Led. Are you high? Did you have an edible?”
“Shh! Don’t tell my secrets. Do you know how many old guys here have asked me to smuggle them weed? My pockets aren’t big enough, man.” I knew she was joking, or at least hoped she was, but I wouldn’t have blamed anyone for wanting to get high at this place.
As far as assisted living facilities went, we’d gotten my father into a nice one — Zeppelin even got her STNA certification and got a job there to keep him company — but fucking hell, it had to be a boring place to live. No wonder my dad was having fever dreams.
The inside of his little apartment was more spacious than it seemed, and I was happy to see he was well enough to open the door without using his cane or a walker. Still, I was gentle as I leaned down to hug him. “See that new hip is doing you some good, huh, Pop?”
“Oh yeah, Sterling reminds me I almost said no all the time. Can w-we play some chess?” He greeted Zeppelin and shuffled his way over to a small desk already set up with his favorite game, which somehow made the place feel more like home.
The fact that he’d barely let me get in the door before making me play just furthered that feeling, and the icing on the cake was the sheer speed in which he kicked my ass. I could beat Sterling sometimes if I tried hard, but my dad? I wasn’t sure he’d ever lost a game of chess to anyone but my mom.
“Heard you’ve been having dreams again,” I said as I reset the board for a rematch. “Anything you want to tell me?”
He shot Zeppelin a playfully accusatory stare. “No. Nothing at all, Son. I h-have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t. Led? You have anything to say for yourself?”
“What? Sorry I don’t have signal, try again later.”
“Mmhm. I’ll let it go for now, but some day, one of you is gonna tell me the truth about this shit,” I said calmly. “In the meantime ... your move, Pop. Winner goes first.”
My father’s hands were steadier than I’d seen them in years as he checkmated me in three moves, and I kicked myself for not seeing it coming. “You’re getting sloppy, Oliver. You s-should pay attention to what you’re doing.”
“I know, I know.” I chickened out of a third match but got up to let Zeppelin take my place, then watched with an amused expression as she gave him a run for his money. “Sterling’s been teaching you well, huh?”
“Yup. You don’t want to know how he motivated me to learn fast, trust me.”
“Oh, gross. Now there will be three Bishops I can’t beat,” I deadpanned. “Thank God you two decided against procreation.”
“And thank God you haven’t,” Dad said.
I chose not to answer him there — I fully intended on being a good father someday, but the more time that passed, the surer I was that it would never happen.
Maybe it was me, maybe it was fate. Maybe it just sucked.
But as I sat with the two of them and temporarily pushed Domingo from my mind, I started to wonder if I was out of time after all — and if I was, what the hell I was going to do about it.
