““There is nothing wrong with me,” Dad said. The chair was going to be important. “Sit in the chair, Dad,” I said. And appearance. Appearances mattered. “You have to get rid of that beard, Dad, and cut that eyebrow especially,” Walter said grimly, staring Dad close in the face. “You look like a villain.” “Would you guys stop talking to me like that? You’re making me nervous. And I have things to do.” “You do not.” “Yes I do. Things. Loads and loads of things.” “Get in the chair, Dad.” Walter was... very serious. Menacing, even. He stood like a toy tough guy, feet wide apart, pointing at Dad’s chair. His lovely and loved, comfy, legendary chair. The old, deep-seat, burnt-red leather chair with the rivetlike buttonholes all over, sunk so well you could only see the holes and not the buttons. Nobody ever sat in that chair but Dad, and Dad almost never sat in it these days. “Sit in the chair, Dad,” Walter said, a little tougher. His voice cracked with the strain of his toughness.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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