When he got home, he opened the desk drawer. The letters that usually sat there were still at the newspaper office. Farther back was a small photo case. He took it out.
There were a few pictures from when his daughter was little. In one, she stood beside a block house she had built almost as tall as she was. His own back was visible behind her, at the dining table with work spread out in front of him. He remembered that day.
“I’m making a huge one. Watch.”
“In a minute.”
By the time his wife called him over, the house was finished. He had walked closer with papers still in his hand.
“That’s great.”
He couldn’t remember ever sitting down beside her to build anything. Another morning, she had asked over breakfast,
“Are we going anywhere today?”
“I have golf.”
“Again?”
“It’s with people from work.”
“What about next week?”
“Maybe next week.”
Something came up the following weekend too. The next time she asked, he had said,
“Some other time.”
He looked at the block-house photo again. His daughter was smiling beside what she had made. Behind her, he was working. He left the photo on the desk instead of putting it back in the case.