“Dad, I’m home.” I call through the hallway, dimly lit by a lone bulb hanging from the ceiling. Whether he’s left it on for me, or just left it on, I don’t know. “Got assigned a new house today,” I continue as I move to the kitchen—the constant sound of my voice will stop me from surprising, from scaring him—“it’s one of the big five, you know, up by the hospital?”
The kitchen is empty.
“Apparently it’s not been lived in since something like nineteen-ten.” I step into the living room to find his familiar outline in the armchair in the corner. I didn’t really expect to find him anywhere else. His deep brown eyes gaze vacantly past the TV, still on the same channel I left it this morning, humming low in the background.
“Dad?”
“Hm?” He turns slowly and looks, first through, then at me, pu
