DAD CAME OUT from the bedroom through the hall in the hot still summer afternoon using his wood cane, with Mary following behind, her hands held out in case he needed help, and they came on into the living room where the preacher and Lorraine were sitting together on the couch. Lyle had said not to disturb Mr. Lewis if he was sleeping but Mary told him she’d go back to see if he was awake yet. Now Dad moved across to his chair and sat down and put his cane in place on the floor, looking up at Lyle, who rose and stood next to him and touched him on the shoulder and reached down to take his hand. It’s good to see you, he said. How are you doing today?
Getting slower. Going downhill more.
Are you in pain?
No. They got that taken care of.
I won’t trouble you for long. I just came to see how you were feeling.
You don’t trouble me. Sit down a while if you care to.
Lyle turned and sat again beside Lorraine. Mary seated herself in the rocker as Dad glanced out the window at the sprinkler that was throwing rings of water onto the grass between their house and Berta May’s.
What’s the weather doing out there today? he said. Too hot again?
They say it’s going to rain, Lyle said.
It might. It’s turning off dark right now.
The farmers won’t like that, will they, Daddy? Lorraine said.
Not if they’re trying to cut wheat. The guys with corn won’t mind it.
Sounds like a mixed blessing, Lyle said.
Dad looked at him. Yes sir. Lots of things turn out to be blessings that got mixed up.
You’ve seen some in your lifetime here.
I was raised out on the west plains in Kansas.
You’ve seen some changes.
One or two. He looked out the window again. The sprinkler had moved on its cleated wheels. He looked back. This was the only house on this street when we bought it. Isn’t that right, Mary?
It was nothing but prairie and wind and dirt, she said.
The wind still blows, he said. That doesn’t change. You got to have some wind.
It doesn’t have to blow on my account, she said. I’m tired of it.
They never paved our road over. I don’t guess I’ll see that. If they ever do.
What about people you’ve known? Lyle said. Do you think people have changed?
People?
Are we any different now?
I don’t know. He stared at the preacher. We got more comfortable. We’re not as active or physical. We don’t even go out as far as the front porch as much as we used to. We sit around and watch TV. TV is what’s become of people.
My folks always used to sit out in the evenings in the summer, Mary said. I remember that so well.
We did when I was a kid too, Lorraine said. When Frank and I were still little, before junior high. Do you remember?
Frank’s your brother, I understand, Lyle said. May I ask about him? I hear his name mentioned.
No one said anything. After a while Dad said, You can ask about him but it won’t make no difference. He left here a long time ago. Two days after he finished high school, he took off.
That’s pretty young to leave home, Lyle said.
He only come back twice, Dad said.
But he’ll come back now, won’t he.
Back here?
Yes.
Why would he?
To see you. He’ll want to say good-bye.
He won’t come back for that, Dad said.
Honey, he might yet, Mary said. Oh I want to think he will.
He doesn’t know I’m dying. He won’t be coming back.
Haven’t you told him? Lyle said.
We don’t know where he is.
But would you like to see him?
I’m not waiting on Frank so I can die. If that’s what you’re getting at.
Most people want to see all their family before they go.
I got my family right here.
No, this is not all of us, Mary said. Don’t say we’re all here.
As far as I’m concerned we’re all here, he said.