Chapter 5 - The Spare Key
Megan arrived at four with damp hair, hospital shoes, and a grocery-store bouquet she apologized for twice.
"It's mostly carnations."
Dad took it like she'd brought him gold.
"Good. Roses look nervous around me."
She laughed and hugged him.
He shut his eyes for one second longer than usual.
We ate at the little table, elbow to elbow, with a folding chair borrowed from the laundry room.
The turkey was a little dry after reheating.
The gravy had a skin.
Nobody cared.
Megan told us about a patient who'd spent all morning trying to trade his pudding for somebody else's mashed potatoes.
Dad told the story of the first turkey Mom cooked, frozen solid in the middle.
For twenty minutes, we were simply a family having dinner.
Then Megan set down her fork.
"Grandpa, did you get my graduation pictures?"
"The ones on your phone?"
"The printed ones. I left them with Mom in June."
He shook his head.
She looked at me.
I had no answer worth giving.
"I'll print more," she said quickly.
"I'd like that."
After dinner, she found the moving boxes.
Dad gave her the same careful explanation he'd given me.
Smaller place.
Less upkeep.
An older man making sensible decisions.
"Do you want to leave Fort Wayne?" she asked.
He folded a dish towel.
"Want isn't always the whole question."
When she went to retrieve her coat, he pulled a spare house key from his pocket.
Our house key.
The one we'd given him when Megan was a baby.
"Might as well return this."
"Why?" I asked.
"Doesn't work anymore."
I stared at the brass teeth.
We'd changed the locks in May after Karen lost her purse.
She'd told me she had given him a replacement.
"When did you find out?"
"Came by to drop off your birthday present."
He'd driven over on my birthday.
I'd spent that evening thinking he forgot.
"You should've called."
Dad looked tired.
"I did."
I took out my phone and searched our old messages.
There it was, buried beneath work notifications.
May you like
Stopped by. Call when you get a minute.
I never had.
