Whisper to Me(20)

He looked down at the deck of cards in his hand. Time had not been kind to him. Wrinkles lined his mouth and forehead, and there were bags beneath his eyes. Had he had patrons at his seats, there would be no time for small talk. But the place was mostly empty. At least at the gambling tables, which always saw more action in the evenings. The slots machines looked to be about half-full.

I stole a look at the clock just beyond the giant crystal chandelier. If Sam didn’t hurry, I’d be late, and then dad would accuse me of getting high this morning. Not that I hadn’t considered it. “Well, my grandson has been pretty sick.”

“Gosh, I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, trying to sound more interested. The old man seemed pretty upset, so maybe his grandson didn’t just have the flu. “Which grandson is this?”

“Micah,” he said almost reverently. “He’s going to need a transplant.”

That made me turn my full attention to him. “What kind of transplant?”

“Heart,” he said. “He’s been placed on a list. We’ve all been pitching in trying to keep his spirits up, and your parents have been great about allowing me to trade shifts from time to time.”

“I’m so sorry. Please know that he’s in my thoughts.” I knew everything there was to know about trying to keep a hospitalized person’s spirits up. “If you ever need anything.”

I motioned to my father’s office and turned to walk away.

But his soft and tentative voice called me back. “Well, since you asked . . .” I couldn’t imagine what he could possibly want from me. Did he need me to take a shift? I certainly hadn’t gone to dealer training, but I wouldn’t put it past my father to ask me to get my license or any other license required to work in his casino. I’d put it off for far too long.

I took a step back toward him. “What is it?”

“Maybe you could visit Micah sometime. He likes rock music and, well, you study music and play in bands. Maybe you could bring your guitar and keep him company some afternoon.”

I was struck speechless. How bad off was this kid? The look of anguish on his grandfather’s face might have said it all. “Sure, Sam, anytime. But right now I gotta get on the clock. So let me ask you about visiting hours later.”

“Do your father proud,” he said as I strode away from him.

I knocked on the office door before firmly twisting the knob. I heard my father’s deep, rich voice as I pushed it open. “Come in.”

Mom was the first person I saw as I entered the lush space. She sat behind a small oak desk at the back of the room right beneath a giant portrait of a Navajo warrior in battle. She had her own office upstairs, but my parents always hung out in the same space, so it was no surprise to see them together. Mom rose first to greet me, stepping around my father’s large desk, which took up most of the middle of the room.

“There’s my favorite guy.” She tugged me into her arms, and I felt how thin and bony she was. My father was a tall and imposing man, so next to him she looked like a porcelain doll.

I kissed her cheek and pulled away. “Hi, Mom.”

Then I looked over at my father. He stood behind his desk and stretched out his hand as if I was a new employee or something. And maybe that was the message he was trying to send.

“Dad.” I reached over to grab his hand, and he gave me two solid claps on the back. “Have a seat, son.”

He only used that formal tone when I was about to be reamed out. I figured he’d gotten it all out on the phone that morning, but maybe he had more to say. Even behind closed doors, my father was the consummate professional in his place of business. Suddenly I was thankful this meeting hadn’t taken place at their house instead. Even though I was an adult, I still sometimes felt like a twelve year old who’d just been caught taking a sip from his father’s beer when I was reprimanded there.

My father cleared his throat. “I’m glad you decided to work here this summer.”

I worded my response carefully. “Not sure I had much of a choice, Dad.”

My ears automatically tuned into the sound of the lame elevator music piping through the speakers. My thoughts veered off to the idea of creating different mood music in the casino before I realized I had totally tuned my father out. Fuck.

I heard my father sigh, and when I looked up his face was beet-red. “Have you heard anything I’ve said?”

“Of course I have,” I snapped, in a lame attempt to convince him. Besides, I’d heard all of his lectures before. Even the ones about smoking pot. “Whatever you need, Dad.”