That was my understanding.
Then came Father’s Day.
Emmett arrived at my apartment in a very good coat.
I remember noticing the coat before I noticed his face.
He had never been inside that building before.
Not once.
He had visited me forty times in three years.
Restaurants.
His house.
Christmas.
An airport once.
Never here.
That was partly his fault.
Mostly it was mine.
I had deliberately kept him away.
Four different conversations.
Four different messages to Thea.
Tell him I’m settled.
Tell him it’s a nice building.
He doesn’t need to see it.
Let him think I’m comfortable.
She had replied “okay” every time.
I had asked her to lie for me.
And she did.
That is something I need to say clearly because people like simple villains.
Thea was not one.
She was doing what I asked.
So when Emmett walked into my apartment that Father’s Day, he stopped about four feet inside the door.
His eyes moved around the room.
The peeling paint.
The heater.
The table.
The tin of soup.
The old chair.
The single lamp.
Then he looked at me.
“Dad.”
“Yes?”
“Where’s the senior residence?”
I frowned.
“What senior residence?”
He stared at me.
