But without his wife, his days had started blending together.

Breakfast.

A walk.

Television.

Dinner.

Sleep.

Then repeat.

Until one afternoon, a seven-year-old boy dropped a chess box onto his table and accused him of lying about how good he was.

Suddenly, Arthur had somewhere to be every afternoon at 3:30.

He checked the weather before bed.

Saved chess puzzles from the newspaper.

Carried plain cookies because Miles hated raisins and had once declared,

“Raisins are fruit pretending to be candy.”

Arthur had secretly agreed.

“I couldn’t let myself get lazy,” Arthur said. “Couldn’t have a seven-year-old beating me.”

Miles looked up.

“I beat you twice.”

“Once.”

“Twice.”

“Disputed.”

And suddenly it felt exactly like the park again.

Same voices.

Same argument.

Same two people.

Only this time, I was truly listening.

Miles finished recreating the game Arthur had left behind.

Only a few pieces remained.

One white pawn stood deep in enemy territory.

Almost across the board.

Miles tried complicated moves first.

Flashy ones.

Arthur simply waited.

Eventually, Miles sighed.

“Fine.”

He moved the pawn forward.

Then protected it.

Another square.

Then another.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Until finally it reached the opposite side.

Arthur leaned back.

“What do you want, Soldier?”

Miles reached for the queen.

The obvious choice.

The strongest piece.

Then stopped.

Instead, he picked up the knight.

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

“Not the queen?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Miles placed the knight where the pawn had been.

“Knights move weird.”