He shook his head.
“I knew it was cowardly when I wrote the note.”
“You could’ve told him.”
“I tried.”
“When?”
Arthur looked at Miles, who was already setting the pieces out.
“I told him one day I might not be at the table.”
My throat tightened.
“And do you remember what he said?”
I remembered.
Arthur’s voice softened.
“He said, ‘Then I’ll wait.’”
He looked at me helplessly.
“How do you tell a boy like that you’re not coming back?”
I said nothing.
“He would’ve gone to that park every afternoon,” Arthur continued. “He would’ve sat there waiting beside an empty chair.”
He glanced toward the chessboard.
“So I gave him something to finish instead.”
His voice cracked slightly.
“Something to do with his hands.”
I couldn’t answer.
Then I noticed a clear plastic container on the windowsill.
It was filled with white sugar packets.
Dozens of them.
I stared.
“Arthur.”
He immediately looked defensive.
“Don’t.”
But I was already laughing through tears.
“You drink black coffee.”
Miles looked up.
“What?”
I pointed at Arthur.
“I’ve watched this man drink coffee for months. He never uses sugar.”
Arthur pointed at me.
“Your mother is spreading outrageous misinformation.”
Miles looked betrayed.
“You don’t use the sugar?”
Arthur sighed.
“No, Soldier.”
“Then why did you keep it?”
Arthur looked at the container.
All the humor left his face.
“Because you gave it to me.”
Miles went silent.
So did I.
For months, I had assumed Arthur was the generous one.
Arthur was helping my lonely son.
Arthur was teaching him.
Arthur was giving him company.
I touched the container.
“I thought you were keeping Miles company.”
Arthur looked toward the boy carefully arranging the chess pieces.
“He was keeping mine.”
Then Arthur told me what I had never known.
His wife had died four years earlier.
His children loved him.
He insisted on that.
Twice.
They called when they could.
Visited when life allowed.
Arthur didn’t blame them.
