No. I’m all right now.
When he woke an hour later the room seemed too dark. He hadn’t slept so long, it wasn’t the end of day, night wasn’t coming on yet. He peered at the ceiling. Then he felt there were people in the room. He had visitors. But she hadn’t wakened him. It wasn’t like her letting people come in when he was asleep. He didn’t like anyone seeing him asleep unless it was his wife or his daughter, and he didn’t want even them to sit and wait for him to wake up.
He looked around. There were four of them, two sitting on chairs in the corner where the room was darker, and two more in chairs near him. The closest one was sitting straight up, a man. He was watching him. He was smoking a cigarette.
You shouldn’t be smoking no cigarettes in here, Dad said. Didn’t she tell you that? I got cancer of my lungs. I can’t breathe good.
I’m almost done with it.
Dad looked at him closely. I know you, he said.
You ought to. I haven’t changed that much.
Frank. Is that you, Frank?
Yeah, it’s me.
You lost your hair on top. Most of it. I didn’t recognize you.
Isn’t that the berries?
Yeah, I guess. But what do you mean?
I end up looking like you.
You don’t look like me.
Yeah. I do. Have you looked lately?
Well. If you mean you look like I used to. Not now. Maybe back then.
When you were in your fifties.
I guess so.
Well. That’s where I am. I’m in my fifties.
Dad looked at him sitting there, smoking. I know you now. I’m glad you come.
Are you? Why would you be?
I want to talk to you.
Go ahead. Talk.
Dad looked around at the others. I don’t like to talk in front of these other people here.
They won’t mind.
Who are they?
Don’t you know me? The woman in the chair behind Frank moved so he could see her. A blond woman about thirty, ripe-looking with a big chest, wearing a low-cut blouse and shorts. Her legs looked white and plump. Don’t you know my voice too?
I never thought I’d see you again, Dad said.
Here I am. I came to visit you.
Do you want something?
Maybe I do.
What is it? I thought you told me you never wanted to see me again. That it was enough. You wrote that letter.
I know. That’s what I’m talking about. I want to catch you up. Tell you all that’s happened.
That’s fine. Go ahead. But just a minute. Who’s these others here?
You know us too, Dad. Hell, you ought to recognize us.
Is that you, Rudy?
Nobody else.
And Bob?
Yeah. It’s me, Dad.
I don’t understand this. Aren’t we done with the store?
Yeah. About done.
He peered at them. Then he studied the other faces, one after the other. Well, do you want some coffee, all of you? He looked toward the open doorway.
No, Rudy said. We wouldn’t want to bother Mary.
I never got to meet her, Tanya said.
Didn’t you?
I used to see her in town on Main Street when we was still living here before we moved away. Before you made us get out of here. Before you told Clayton what you told him.
What was I supposed to do? Dad said. He stole from me.
You say. There might of been different ways though.
What ways?
You might of let him work it off. Pay down his debt that way.
I didn’t want that, Dad said. I couldn’t have him in the store. I never wanted to see him again.
Yeah. Clayton told me that’s what you said.
Dad looked at each of them again. You don’t want any coffee, Rudy?
No, sir. I’m okay. Doing fine.
You neither, Bob?
No, thanks.
I don’t know if you even drink coffee, Frank.
Don’t you remember?
No. Should I?
You would have, if you were paying attention.
What does that mean? Dad said.
I drank coffee all the time when I was still here. When I was going to high school. You don’t remember that, do you.