Emmett took his father’s elbow and tried to help him back to the grassy area but Gibson shook him off. Emmett blew out a relieved breath. His father hated accepting help. It wasn’t the rabbit hole opening with that question about dinner, just the simplicity of losing track of time. He could relate to that. Somehow being in the old school had made him feel as if he’d been back in high school with Jaime, not facing an uncertain future with his father.
“I’m not an invalid yet,” Gibson said and turned on his heel. “If your being here means I can’t take a walk without checking in, you can just haul yourself back down south and I’ll hire a crew to clean up the house. Toledo or Cleveland has assisted-living apartments I could move into, too, you know.”
Emmett knew that. Of course he did. But Toledo and Cleveland were too far from Cincinnati for him to get to his father if he was needed. He wasn’t budging on this. He’d missed too much of his mother’s last years. Too many of his father’s. He might only have a few months left and he damn well wasn’t going to lose them, too.
“Toledo and Cleveland don’t have Skyline Chili.” He used Gibson’s favorite Cincinnati treat as enticement.
“They do in the freezer section.”
Emmett chuckled. “You tried that before I left home, remember? One bite and you tossed it in the trash.”
“Maybe my tastes have changed.”
“We have Graeter’s,” Emmett said, mentioning an ice cream chain where his father always managed to eat on visits to Emmett’s home. “And you know the hot dogs are better at the Reds games than at the Mud Hens or Indians.”
“True.” They began walking back to the trail leading home. “But according to one celebrity Toledo is the Paris of Ohio,” his father said.
“A river running through town doesn’t make Toledo Parisian.” Not that Emmett had been to Paris.
“Well, that actress is hot.”
“I don’t—Dad—which actress?” Emmett stumbled over his words. “Nevermind. When I was a kid you said hotness was more a state of mind than body.”
“You paid attention. You know, the one. Blond hair, pretty eyes. In all those black-and-white movies.” No, Emmett didn’t know. Gibson could be describing one of about twenty starlets, but before he could ask anything more Gibson patted his shoulder as if Emmett had just won the national spelling bee. “Beauty is still only skin deep, it’s the mind that keeps us coming back.”
Emmett wasn’t sure what to make of his father. He’d never seen Gibson so much as notice a pretty girl, and now the old man was crushing on an elderly actress. The doctors didn’t tell him dementia would turn his father into a teenager again.
“Those actresses would be about a hundred and fifty years old.”
“So am I.”
“You’re seventy-two.”
“I always did like cougars.” Gibson looked at him, an innocent expression on his face. “What? You thought after seventy a man’s needs became irrelevant?”
He’d hoped not, but wondering what his own sex life would be like post-retirement and knowing what his dad thought about...those were two very different things. “I really don’t want to talk about this.”
Gibson shrugged. “A man has needs. We had this talk when you were about twelve.”
They’d talked about girls and kissing and where babies came from in a very abstract way. Emmett was so not having the sex talk with his dad. Especially not when the talk was about his dad.
“Dad.”
“Do you know your mom never let me watch game shows? Those great old dames used to guest star and she knew I had little crushes on a few of them.”
“Mom was afraid you’d run off to Hollywood to have an illicit affair with a star because she was on a game show?” His mother jealous of a woman Gibson would never meet because he’d never wanted to leave the island? Didn’t sound like the Mary Margaret that Emmett remembered. His mother was feisty. Single-minded, completely head over heels about Gibson, and confident he was crazy for her.
The tree line thinned as they neared the house. “Nah, Mary Margaret knew she was the only girl for me.” He was quiet for a moment and Emmett watched him carefully. A twinkle came into his eye. “It was because of the letter.”
“Letter?”
“I wanted to be a contestant so I wrote to the show.”
They stepped up onto the back porch. Emmett opened the drink refrigerator on the porch, pulling out two cold bottles of water. They sat on the old porch swing.
“Sure. I’d have taken any of the shows, but Password was my favorite. It would have been fun. I was always good with clues.” He chuckled. “Funny, my mind used to be sharp. I could remember anything.” He didn’t say anything for a moment. “Now, some days I wonder if I’ll remember who I am.”
“We’re getting you help, Dad. They have treatments.”
“They’ll work for a while, I know.” His dad’s voice was stoic. Resigned, maybe. “I remember today, and I’m not going to ruin that. Where was I? Right, the letter. So I wrote the show and made it through the first phase, and that meant a trip to LA for a screen test.”
“You guys never left Ohio.”
“Sure we did.”
“Not once. We might have crossed the lake to Detroit a time or two, but I can’t remember ever leaving the state when I was a kid.”
“Huh. There was the trip to Gatlinburg. No, that was before you were born. St. Louis. No, that was our honeymoon. We never did get that cruise we talked about. Maybe we didn’t travel much when you were younger. I’m sorry, son.”
Emmett swallowed some of his water. “It isn’t a big deal. I always thought the two of you, or at least one of you, was kind of afraid to travel.”
“Huh.” His father was quiet for a moment. “I never did tell her.”
“Tell her what?” Emmett’s mind reeled. His father had a whole life he knew nothing about. He’d wanted to be on game shows? And his mom had been jealous of Gibson’s crush on an actress?
“The screen test. I got it, but never taped the show because she got so mad on that trip. After the audition we went to the Santa Monica Pier and Betty was there. Your mom was busy buying souvenirs and I was watching Betty. Betty flirted with me I flirted with Betty, and Mary Margaret didn’t like that at all.”
Which Betty? Grable? Davis? White? Emmett was torn between trying to figure out his dad’s celebrity crush or chalking it all up to rambling. None of this sounded like the parents he knew. The devoted, loving people he’d grown up with. He checked Gibson’s eyes but they seemed clear and his hands weren’t doing that clench-and-unclench thing they did when he was upset or having one of his spells. “The thing I never told your mom is the Betty who flirted with me was a female impersonator. Just some street performer looking for a tip.”
Emmett choked on his water. “You flirted with a drag queen on the Santa Monica Pier?” His buttoned-up, tweed-wearing dad?
“When was I going to meet the real woman? I was a schoolteacher from a tiny island on Lake Erie that no one outside the state has ever heard of. And I was in LA, auditioning to be a contestant on my favorite show. It isn’t as if the impersonator was a hooker or anything. She didn’t talk to me for the rest of the night.”
“The hooker?” Emmett couldn’t keep it all straight. He checked Gibson’s