He plays gin, without cards and without any other players. He sits on the edge of the hospital bed, one leg crossed over the other, leaning forward. As if in that chair at the old radiator repair shop where, Saturdays, I sat on the grease drum and watched him. A rye ’n ginger at his elbow, cigarette at the corner of his mouth, right eye closed, like now, as if smoke is in it. “I love you, Dad,” I say. And for one spectacular moment, he is there with me. “I love you too, sweetheart.” Then he draws another card.
Jean Buie is a lawyer and adjudicator who loves to write. She lives in Toronto, Ontario, with her family and her dog, Grimm.