Artie Claus proceeds to weave a tapestry of profanity about“senile my ass,”and“damn Gen Xers”under his breath as he positions his bifocals on the bridge of his nose.
“Now, let’s see here,” he starts, tapping away on his screen. “Which one is for texting?”
Cecil pulls his own lenses from his collar and slides them on. He shifts to look over Artie’s shoulder. “It’s that there green square with the comic bubble.”
A few more taps, all of us waiting with bated breath, and then Artie barks a smug laugh, turning the phone around to show the class. “Look! I did text you.”
We all lean in. Tom face palms. Hannah snorts. I cover my mouth to keep from laughing.
Cecil presses in the closest. “You didn’t send it, you moron.”
Artie’s face scrunches. “Bullshit! It’s right there?” He flips the phone and reads the text aloud. “‘Hi, Hannah. It’s Arthur from the VFW. Norm died.’”
Tom grimaces. “Nice, Artie.”
Sounds exactly like a text Pops would send so it’s no skin off my back.
Artie slams the phone on the table with a grunt. “I never said I was Shakespeare! You asked me to text her and I did.”
“But you didn’t.” Cecil’s in hysterics now.
“I typed it, didn’t I?”
Hannah leans against me, her knees nearly buckled from cackling so hard.
Cecil swipes Artie’s phone and shows him the screen. “You didn’t hit the arrow to send it.”
Deep grooves form between Artie’s brows. Second after second after second ticks by. “Well,goddammit, why doesn’t it say ‘send’? What the hell does just an arrow mean?”
“It means ‘send’!” Tom, Cecil, and Hannah say in unison.
Artie’s nostrils flare. He meets everyone’s gaze one at a time. “I hate all you fuckers.” His eyes flash back to Hannah, softening. “Except you, sunshine.”
My breath catches on the nickname.Pops gave it to her after their first chess game.
Warm. Blazing. Bright. The sun—center of its solar system. Without it, life wouldn’t be possible. Planets would float aimlessly through the cosmos without its gravitational pull to lock them into orbit.
That’s Hannah.
Heaviness settles in my throat again, but I force it down as she introduces me to my grandfather’s friends.
He had friends.
“Boys, this is Rowan. Norm’s grandson.”
Unlike the bunch of strangers I met on the way in, these guys are on their feet in an instant. Tom and I exchange a handshake and then he pulls me in for a hug. Cecil does the same, slapping me on the back. And finally, Artie, with a bear hug strong enough to break the dam of tears behind my eyelids if I let it go too long. I pull away before that can happen.
Artie squeezes my shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss, son.”
Cecil nudges the chess board into place while I pull out the empty chair across from him, gesturing for Hannah to sit.
“You play?” Cecil asks as I drag another chair over and set myself at the end of the table.
“Not as well as Pops, but I hold my own.”
Tom chuckles. “Nobody plays as well as Norm did. Sunshine here was the only one who ever beat him.”
Hannah smirks but doesn’t look up from where she’s setting her pieces on the board.