Near the end of the flight he asked if she liked Indian food.
“You know?” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever had it.”
“There are these two adjacent Indian restaurants,” he said, “at the top of this stoop on Second Avenue, off Third Street. They’re identical: the same décor, the same hanging lights. Strings of plastic chili peppers. They’ve been warring for years. A host stands outside each door, trying to usher you in like it’s Shangri-La on the other side of that door. You make your choice: right or left. Then you’re part of that tribe. They remember you. God forbid you go the other way the next time.”
“Which way do you go?”
“Right,” he said.
“Then how do you know they’re identical?”
“I never thought about that,” he said. “I guess I’ve been too scared to find out. You don’t know how intimidating those guys are.”
She laughed; he could feel interest stirring in her. For most of the flight, he had waited for that moment when the dynamic between them would change, when she would cease being a stranger. Maybe this was his chance.
“Maybe we should go while you’re in town,” he said. “We can go left, if you want. I’m willing to risk it.”
“I’m not one to tamper with loyalties,” she said, and she shifted in her seat. He feared he had spoken too soon. It could get uncomfortable; they still had a little ride ahead of them.
“You’re right,” he said. “Better safe than sorry.”
“Are you sure you have time? I mean—your father.”
“I can make time,” he said.
“You don’t have to worry about me,” she said. “I’ll have enough to keep me busy. You’ve got things to take care of.”
“It’ll be fine,” he said. “I’ll be able to slip away. Besides, he’s probably going to be fine. This has happened before.”
“Well,” she said, “only if it’s not a disturbance.”
“I’ll give you a call to set something up.”
They exchanged numbers. There was a hint of bafflement on her face. She seemed shocked by him, the way one is shocked and refreshed by diving into unexpectedly cold water. The way she searched his look for an extended moment, as if to ask whether he were sure he wanted to entertain her with so much else going on that was far more important, cemented his belief that he had impressed her as a man delightfully open to suggestion, with an imagination large enough to find time, even in the depths of despair, for the important things in life, those accidents without which our existence was little more than a schedule of dry routines.
They landed and filed off the plane. She had to retrieve her things from the overhead bin, and a few passengers shot between Connell and her. He waited at the mouth of the corridor, averting his gaze from the other passengers, embarrassed at the thought they could see what he was up to. It felt important to walk with her to baggage claim. She was about to greet the rest of the city; he would become merely the first in a line of men she encountered in her travels. Whatever primacy he held was about to yield to the manifestly transient quality of their acquaintanceship. He could easily be forgotten. These last few hundred meters would make a difference in ensuring that that didn’t happen.
As they snaked their way through the terminal, he made some dry observations about New York that got her laughing. He was riding a wave of euphoria. His bag felt like nothing on his shoulders. She seemed to be taking quick steps to keep up with his longer stride. He was filled with a sense of possibility: this might be the prelude to something they could continue in the city they had just left. It was the first day of his trip; there was no way of knowing what was to come. And there was this woman striding along beside him, bursting with expectation. To an onlooker he could have been her boyfriend, visiting the city for the first time himself.
They were almost running when they hit the corridor that opened onto the baggage claim area. He was turning to look at her the whole time. As they headed down he remembered why he was there and looked for his uncle Pat through the frosty glass. He couldn’t yet distinguish any faces.
The revolving doors loomed at the bottom of the downward slope, and anxiety began to creep into him. He found himself slowing his pace and flattening his smile. He was looking less at Karla and more toward the revolving doors beyond which waited his uncle Pat. And then he was really slowing down, enough that Karla asked what was wrong. He could make out the faint image of his uncle and his mother through the glass. The fact that his mother was there could only mean one thing. He was drifting slowly away from Karla and not answering. He didn’t want his mother to see him talking to her, to see him as the frivolous fool he suddenly knew he was. Soon Karla had stopped addressing him and walked on, and he walked several paces behind her, knowing what he had seen through the glass but not admitting it fully to himself until he got right up to it and could not avoid any longer the sight of tears streaming down his mother’s face. That was when he knew that his father had died while he had forgotten him entirely.
He pushed his way through the revolving door. His mother was fanning her face with her hand as she tried to tell him what he already knew. His uncle stood by, saying nothing.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
He had missed his father by two hours. His mother had gotten permission to keep his father there long enough for Connell to say good-bye.
His uncle Pat drove to the home like a Formula One racer, leaning into the turns. While his mother sat on the divan by the entrance, Uncle Pat walked him down the hallway to his father’s room and left him alone. His father’s eyes were open. Connell stared into their beautiful blueness awhile, though they stared at something else, and he smoothed his hair down as he always did when it stuck up. He kissed his forehead and cheeks. He was cold. He talked to him, though he knew he wasn’t there anymore. His mouth was open. He looked at his cracked tooth. He wouldn’t need teeth anymore. He wouldn’t need anything.
His mother came to get him after a while. “That’s probably enough,” she said.
He gave his father another kiss, and on the way out he stopped in the doorway and turned and looked back. He was about to return to his father when he saw the stern, imploring look his uncle was giving him. The expression on his mother’s face said it was painful for her to be in the room with his father, that she’d been holding out for Connell to come home but the time had come to say good-bye. It must have been difficult for her to look at his father the way she’d looked at the corpses of so many patients over the years. It must have seemed like there was no difference between him and the rest of the numberless dead. He closed the door with a quiet click and they all walked out to the car.