The first time it happened, Miles reached the park, saw Arthur’s chair empty, and refused to sit anywhere else.
He stood beside the table holding his chess box, staring down the path until the sun began disappearing.
The next afternoon, Arthur returned.
Miles was furious.
“You weren’t here.”
Arthur nodded.
“I noticed.”
“I waited.”
Arthur looked down at the board.
“You could have played someone else.”
Miles looked offended.
“They play weird.”
Arthur’s lips twitched.
“High praise indeed.”
But when Miles said, “I waited,” something crossed Arthur’s face.
Something quiet.
Something I didn’t understand then.
A few days later, I noticed Arthur rubbing his chest.
He looked tired.
Grayer somehow.
The moment he saw me watching, his hand dropped and he reached for his coffee as though nothing had happened.
When Miles went to refill his water bottle, I walked over and sat in his chair.
“You okay?”
“Perfectly.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It technically is.”
“Arthur.”
The humor left his expression.
For just a moment, he looked old.
Really old.
Then he smiled tiredly.
“Just aging, Maisy. Happens to the best of us.”
I didn’t like the answer.
But Miles returned before I could ask anything else.
Arthur immediately straightened.
“Your move, Soldier.”
And whatever door had briefly opened between us closed again.
I told myself I would ask later.
I assumed there would be plenty of time.
—
About a week later, I overheard something I would remember forever.
Miles was concentrating over the board.
Arthur watched him quietly.
Then he said,
“Soldier, one day I might not be sitting here.”
Miles didn’t even look up.
“Then I’ll wait.”
Arthur’s hand stopped over his bishop.
I looked up from my laptop.
Arthur glanced at me.
Only once.
Then he moved his piece.
Nobody said anything else.
But I remembered.
Especially when that day finally arrived.
—
We reached the park at 3:30, like always.
Arthur’s chair was empty.
Miles stopped.
“He’ll come.”
“Maybe he’s late.”
“Artie doesn’t run, Mom.”
I smiled despite the knot already forming in my stomach.
“You know what I mean.”
When we reached the table, Miles opened his chess box.
Then stopped.
The board was already arranged.
Not for the beginning of a game.
For the middle of one.
Several pieces were missing.
Only a handful remained.
“Did Artie leave this?”
“Maybe. Don’t move anything.”
Miles kept looking toward the park entrance.
So did I.
At 4:10, I closed my laptop.
“Miles, I think we should go home.”
“No.”
I crouched beside him.
