The Riddle of the Room

And then

"So."

Roger looked up from his tear stained hands and realized that he was no longer in the room. He was outside, kneeling next to the bench where he had disappeared the first time. It was night. He could hear the faint chirp of crickets in the park around him.

 The old woman was sitting next to him. She smiled, her lips shriveled and dry. "You figured it out, did you?"

He nodded. He didn't know what else to say.

"So. Whose room?"

"My daughter's," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "My daughter, Della."

She nodded.

"How...how could I not know that?" he said, his voice breaking. "How did I not know what my own daughter's room looked like?"

"But I bet you could find your way around your office building with your eyes closed," she said simply.

"I didn't even know she danced," he whispered, closing his eyes in shame.

"And you didn't even remember that your family was on vacation in New York City this week," she said, a little accusingly.

Roger looked at the old woman, his eyes wide and desperate. "What's wrong with me?"

She sighed. "It's not just you, Roger, though you're worse than most. It's like an epidemic these days. People chasing money and jobs...sad, really. You could have all the money there is to have and still be the poorest man in the world if you've cut yourself off from love."

Roger suddenly looked up. "How much longer will they be in New York?" he asked anxiously.

"Three days," the woman said, a little surprised at his sudden change in demeanor. "You figured it out quicker than I expected."

"Ok, thanks." He stood up and started walking quickly.

"Where are you going?" she shouted after him.

"To spend three days in my son's room," he called back. "If I can learn about Della in four days, I can learn just as much about Devon in three if I try hard enough." He broke into a light jog.

The old woman smiled and watched his retreating figure as he ran. "Well done, Roger," she whispered. "Well done."