“Well, I’ve got close to two hundred dollars. We can go get something.”

“You got two hundred dollars on you right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Where’d you get that kind of money?”

“I work—I told you, I deliver papers. But I’m not allowed to spend it. I lie about how much I make and hide some of it. This is my stash.”

Just like his daddy for the world.

“Well, this is good that you have a job. It do teach you how to be responsible, I guess.”

“I’m thirteen, Dad.”

“Yeah, you told me.”

“Is there a Tony Roma’s anywhere around here?”

“A who?”

“Tony Roma’s? It’s a barbecue place.”

“No, but we got a Arby’s?”

He frowns up his face. “How about McDonald’s?”

All I’m thinking is, I already had McDonald’s once today, and here’s a opportunity to eat a real meal. I don’t wanna pass this chance up, even though I have every intention of giving back whatever my son spends. I mean that. I hand him the ice and he puts it up to his eye and then I hear myself say, “You don’t wanna eat that junk tonight, do you?”

“Well, what else good is within driving distance?”

“We got Marie Callender’s. That’s a nice, classy kinda place, and they got the best pot pies. How does that sound?”

“Good.”

“But we have to walk. My car is out of commission right now. It’s in the shop. Being fixed. Won’t be ready for a few days, but could be tomorrow.”

“I don’t mind walking. What about you?”

“I can make it, but ain’t it still raining?”

“It wasn’t when I walked from the bus stop.”

“How’d you get out here anyway? And who told you where I lived?”

“I took two Greyhound buses. It took four hours, but it was kind of cool. I’ve never been on a Greyhound bus before. Aunt Janelle gave me your address, because she said you didn’t have a phone. Do you still play chess?”

I’m shocked that he remembers. It’s nice that he do. That he got something good stored in his memory about me. “When I have a worthy opponent,” I say.

“You’ve got one,” he says, and heads for the door.

I hope he ain’t too good, is what I’m thinking when I grab my jacket, but then I feel ashamed for even allowing this kinda thought to enter my mind. This ain’t even about him. It’s about me. I’m just tired of losing. Want to win for a change. Want him to see that I’m smarter than he is. I may not sound like it, but I am. I want him to gain a different level of respect for me when he sees how fast I move, how good I am at battle. I want him to watch his father think and act, and make sharp, intelligent decisions. I don’t care if it’s only on a board. Because victory can transcend. And victory is power. And if I had to lose to anybody, I just hope it ain’t to my own son.