Emily

###“He’s in the basement.”
###Before I’m through the front door, Mom’s already telling me where my father is.
###“You can’t allow him---“
###She doesn’t let me finish. “I couldn’t stop him. Your father has worked with that old wood stuff all his life. Can’t do a thing about it.”
“He could hurt himself. ” ###Halfway down the back stairs, I see him at his worktable, quiet and studious as a monk.### “Dad?”
###He turns and peers at me through the protective goggles. “Bob? That you?”
###“Paul. I’m Paul.”
###“Sure.” He sighs, the solitude broken, pulls off the goggles and unties his canvas apron.
###“Mom tell you I was coming? We thought we’d go for a drive. Get some fresh air.”
###“Sure.” He pulls on an aged brown cardigan, and we start for the stairs. “Wait,’’ he says and goes back to the worktable, turning over wooden blocks and scraps until he finds what he’s searching for. He slides it into a pocket.
###“Ready, Dad?”
###“Sure.”
###When he’s in the front seat of the car, I close the door so he can’t hear me and ask Mom, “Who’s Bob? Dad thought I was ---”
###She laughs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.’’
###We drive in silence except when Mom, from the back seat, announces a red light or a stop sign.
###Soon as we turn into a long curved driveway before a large brick building, she starts in. “Isn’t this nice, George? All these shade trees and flowers. Benches for people to sit. Why, it’s like a park. You can tell they really keep this place up.’’
###She hasn’t told him what it is or why we’re here. We go inside, and she chatters like we’re in a shopping mall. “Look at all these comfortable chairs and couches. Those tall windows let in so much light. They’re going to show us around the whole place, George. Like a tour. We’ll see everything.”
###And we do. She’s especially enthusiastic about a spacious room with bright ceiling lights above long tables where a few people are concentrating on scissoring up old greeting cards and making new ones from the pieces. “See, George? It’s the art room. You’ll like being in here. Make all kinds of things.”
###“Sure.”
###Dad and I stand in the sunshine outside the front door while Mom goes off to find a powder room.
### “So, Dad, what do you think? Of this place? Like a hotel, huh? Mom thinks maybe you might want to stay here for a while. What do you think?”
###He reaches into his pocket and pulls out odd-shaped wooden pieces clumsily attached and answers with the most words I’d heard him say in a long time. “I made something today for you, Bob.”
###“Paul.”
###“It’s a---”
###“I know,’’ I stop him, using Mom’s trick. A sad, uncomprehending look comes over his face. I take the small object, warm from his hands. “It’s beautiful, Dad. Really. You still have the magic touch.”