What is it?
She turned and went into the living room. Dad was sleeping and she went over and put her hand on his arm and held it there until he opened his eyes and looked up at her. Are you awake, honey? she said.
I am now.
I want you to hear something.
Lorraine came into the room.
I want to tell you both something, Mary said. About a phone call I just got from Doris Thomas. You remember her.
No. I don’t, Dad said.
Yes, you do. She had the daughter that moved out to Washington State. She and her husband lived over on Detroit Street until he died.
Don Thomas.
That’s right.
He always talked a lot, said Dad.
Well, I don’t know about that.
They had a boy my age, Lorraine said. I never heard what became of him.
What about this phone call? Dad said.
Mary looked from her husband to her daughter. Doris said she saw Frank. At the airport in Denver.
How could she see Frank?
That’s what she said. She said she saw him at the airport.
When?
Two weeks ago.
Why is she just calling now?
Because she was in Seattle seeing her daughter. Her daughter had her baby. She just got back.
What did he look like? Dad said.
She said he looked like you when you were his age.
I doubt that.
That’s what she said.
I doubt it.
Dad, she said she saw him.
I don’t believe any of this for a minute. It isn’t possible.
But, honey, what if she did.
No. Frank’s gone off someplace far away. He’s not coming back here or anywhere near here.
I don’t think she saw him either, Mom.
Oh why do you say that?
I don’t think she could have. I don’t think Frank would be flying anywhere.
Mary looked from one to the other, her eyes filling again with tears. Shame on you both, she said. Shame on you.
She left the room and went out through the front hall to the porch and carried her broom to the swing and sat down.
In the house Dad said, Go see about her, will you? She won’t talk to me now.
Lorraine went out to the porch. Can I sit with you, Mom?
No, I don’t want any company. I don’t want to speak to you or anybody else right now.
6
THE NURSE from hospice was a small active woman with beautiful teeth and shiny hair. She came into the living room on a sunny morning in her pink shirt and vest and blue jeans and came over to Dad, walking slowly so as not to surprise him, and he turned from the window to look at her. Lorraine brought her a chair and she sat down in front of Dad and took his hands and examined them, inspecting his fingernails, and smiled and he looked at her soberly, not smiling but not frowning as he sometimes did. She said, Mr. Lewis, how are you this morning?
About the same.
You’re out of bed and in your chair. You still feel well enough to sit up.
Yeah.
What did you have for breakfast? Did you eat breakfast?
I ate something.
What did you have?
He looked at Mary who was standing behind the nurse with Lorraine.
You had your oatmeal, she said.
I had some oatmeal, Dad said.
He didn’t eat very much of it. He didn’t want his toast.
I’m tired.
Yes, the nurse said. You eat whatever you want to.
She thinks I need to eat.
Of course. Because she cares about you.
I’m not hungry anymore.
I know. That’s what happens. We get like that. Did you have a shower today?
No, he said. Later maybe.
All right.
We’ll see. I don’t know if I will.
Do you mind if I check your breathing and pulse?
If that’s what you want to do.
I do.
She took his temperature and his pulse and put the clothespin-like oximeter on his finger to gauge the oxygen level.
What is it today? Mary said.
It’s ninety-two. Still satisfactory.
Can I listen to your heart and your breathing now, Mr. Lewis?