The King of Spades

The King of Spades: Landon Graves

Landon sat on the edge of the chair. He’d hated this house as a boy with the ridiculous number of rooms and the conservatory with the piano. He couldn’t play, or more correctly he wouldn’t play. That horrible black behemoth with its shiny white keys could stand alone gathering dust and going off tune.

Dad coughed and reached for his glass of water. His once bright eyes looked dull and overly large for his shrunken face. “Gordon’s been good to you. He’ll know what to do. The documents have been filed, and everything is in order.”

“Dad.”

“We needn’t pretend. I’ve had a full life and so will you. I trust you to take care of everything. You never were as wild as you pretended.”

Landon leaned forward in his chair, blinking back the sudden rush of tears. “Dad--”

“Shh. You’ll be fine. You’re my son, but you will not be alone. You have Gordon now. You’ll be fine.”

“I will,” Landon said through his tears. “You will too.”

“We’re both too old to pretend. I’m not fine. I’m ready for a new model. You and Gordon take care of yourselves.”