I touched the worn blue backrest.
“Dad thought he’d stayed away too long.”
“Too long for what?”
“To come back.”
Ruth went silent.
Then she said, “Nobody told him that.”
Mom covered her mouth.
She leaned closer to my phone.
“Ruth?”
“Yes?”
“Were you angry with him?”
“Sometimes.”
Mom closed her eyes.
Ruth continued.
“I still would’ve picked him up at the airport.”
***
After the call, Mom and I sat beside the blue chair for a long time.
A week later, I took it to my apartment.
Mom objected immediately.
“Annie, that’s your father’s chair.”
“I know, Mom.”
I placed it at my kitchen table.
The following Sunday, Mom came over for coffee.
She stopped when she saw me sitting in it.
For a moment, I thought she’d ask me to get up.
She didn’t.
Instead, she sat across from me.
Dad’s faded photograph lay between us.
