Apparently, joy forgot to retire.
SLAP.
The ace landed in the middle of the table.
“Absolutely not.”
Grandma Rosa pushed her glasses higher.
Across from her, Arthur leaned back with the peaceful expression of a man who had just committed something technically legal.
“It’s an ace.”
“I can see that.”
“Good.”
“I can also see you smiling.”
Arthur stopped smiling.
This did not improve his case.
Beside the table, the little white dog opened one eye.
Four people were playing cards.
Three were now accusing the fourth.
The dog closed his eye again.
He had seen enough.
The Original Agreement
The evening had begun respectably.
Tea at seven.
Cards at seven fifteen.
Home by eight.
Nobody had objected.
Margaret brought butter biscuits in a round tin.
Henry shuffled.
Rosa poured the tea.
Arthur announced that he had forgotten his reading glasses.
“You’re wearing them,” said Henry.
Arthur touched his face.
“So I am.”
This was considered an encouraging start.
Cards whispered between dry fingers.
Fffft. Fffft.
Cups clicked against saucers.
Outside, the last light rested against the windows while leaves scratched softly along the path.
The dog slept beneath Rosa’s chair.
At 7:28, Henry won.
At 7:36, Margaret won.
At 7:44, Arthur won and became unbearable.
At 7:51, Rosa announced:
“Last round.”
Everyone agreed.
The Last Round
At 8:03, another hand was dealt.
Nobody mentioned this.
Margaret opened the biscuit tin.
One remained.
Four people looked at it.
Henry broke it into four pieces.
The dog stood up.
Five people looked at it.
Henry sighed and broke his quarter in half.
The dog accepted the settlement.
At 8:17, Rosa played a queen.
Arthur frowned.
“Where did that come from?”
“My hand.”
“It wasn’t there before.”
“You’ve been studying my cards?”
“No.”
“Then how would you know?”
Arthur adjusted his glasses.
The defense had encountered difficulties.
Margaret laughed so hard her cards slipped onto the floor.
Henry bent to help.
Their heads bumped.
Tok.
The dog moved to a safer jurisdiction.
A Small Dispute
By 8:31, the tea was cold.
Nobody noticed.
The score sheet had acquired arrows, corrections, two question marks, and one number that might have been a six or an angry nine.
Henry pointed at it.
“You owe me twelve.”
“Points?” asked Arthur.
“What else?”
Arthur looked toward the kitchen.
“Biscuits?”
Rosa removed her glasses.
Margaret put hers on.
They examined the score together.
Nobody agreed.
So they did the sensible thing.
They dealt again.
Outside, the street had gone quiet.
A motorbike passed at the far end.
Somewhere a gate clicked shut.
Inside, four voices rose simultaneously.
“No—”
“You can’t—”
“I just did—”
“Whose turn is it?”
The dog crawled beneath the side table.
Home by Eight
At 8:47, Henry checked his watch.
He tapped it.
“Stopped?”
Rosa asked.
“No.”
A pause.
“That seems unnecessary.”
Henry lowered his wrist.
At 8:55, Margaret gathered her cards.
“Well.”
Everyone nodded.
Arthur pushed his chair back.
The dog emerged.
Rosa stacked the cups.
Henry folded the score sheet.
Margaret reached for her cardigan.
The dog stretched luxuriously.
At last.
Then Arthur looked down.
One card was lying beneath the table.
He picked it up.
An ace.
Silence.
Rosa slowly turned.
“Where did that come from?”
Arthur looked at the card.
Then at Rosa.
Then at the deck.
The dog froze halfway through a yawn.
“I can explain.”
Three chairs moved back toward the table.
The dog stared at them.
Arthur sat.
Rosa sat.
Henry sat.
Margaret sat.
“Last round?” Arthur asked.
Four heads nodded.
The dog looked at the clock.
Then at the four people.
Then at his bed.
He picked up his blanket in his teeth and dragged it beneath the table.
Apparently he had stopped waiting.
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