Crossing the Bridge by Michael Baron

Author:Michael Baron [Baron, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: cookie429, Kat, Extratorrents
Publisher: The Story Plant
Published: 2010-11-14T23:00:00+00:00

The next morning, I awoke ahead of the alarm. While I showered, I decided I’d take myself out to breakfast before going to the store. I thought about calling Iris to see if she wanted to join me, but I didn’t want this visit to end with a brief coda and I certainly didn’t want to take the chance that things would be different in any way from the day before.

When I got downstairs, I saw that my mother had already left for the day’s errands. She seemed to be getting to these earlier and earlier. I drank a cup of coffee while I flipped through the Advisor, which of course took no more than a few minutes. On my way toward the door, I went into the den to say good-bye to my father. He was in his usual chair in front of the television, the sofa bed unmade with the blankets heaped near the bottom. I was accustomed to this morning scene at this point. Except this time, the television wasn’t on. My father was staring at a dark screen.

“Hey, Dad,” I said. “I’m gonna be heading off in a minute.”

He lifted his arm to wave, but didn’t turn his head.

“Everything okay in here?”

“Everything is fine,” he said vacantly.

It was entirely possible that he was simply deep in thought or that he was practicing some kind of meditation technique to improve his condition. But this wasn’t the impression I was getting and I didn’t like the idea of leaving him this way.

“Do you want me to stay here until Mom gets back?”

He lifted his arm again, though this time he didn’t wave. “I’m okay, thanks.”

These were precisely the kinds of “conversations” we’d been having since he returned from the hospital and I could feel my concern shifting to aggravation. He was much too young to allow himself to become an invalid but he wouldn’t even consider the most rudimentary forms of help. I shook my head and turned to go. If he didn’t want anything from me, then it was ludicrous of me to offer anything.

I’m not sure what made me turn back toward the den. I’m even less sure of what made me think of the chess set that was sitting in a box on a bookshelf. But without saying anything more, I retrieved the box and set the game up on the card table.

I wasn’t a chess player. I knew how the pieces moved and I understood the basic rules, but that was all I’d really learned. My father would play regularly with Chase, though, with this set of ivory pieces on a leather board, or with a plastic set at the store that they would set up in the back room, alternating trips there from behind the counter to make their moves. I knew my father took this game seriously and could stay focused on it regardless of distractions. He was also very good at it. I was in the room the first time a

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