I walk into the kitchen
and he is sitting at the
table with a cup of
coffee. The sleeves of
his white shirt are
turned up twice and
I see his Bulova watch.
He is reading the paper.
He looks at his watch,
closes the paper, un-
folds his sleeves and
adjusts his tie. “Well,
I better get back to the
office,” which is just
down a few steps from
the kitchen. “Should
we toss the ball when
you get home from
school?” he asks.
“Sure.” With that,
he walks down the
stairs and out of
my life.