Benediction (Plainsong #3)(3)

In the middle of the morning the old neighbor woman came over and knocked on the front door and then cracked it open without waiting. Hello? Dad, are you here?

Who is it?

It’s Berta May from next door.

Yeah. All right.

Can I come in?

Come ahead.

She came in with a young girl behind her and they stood in the living room looking at him. He was in sweatpants and an old flannel shirt.

Mary called, Berta May said. She said you was alone here by yourself.

Well I don’t know what she did that for.

Well she was worried about you.

Yeah, but I’m okay.

Maybe you are. Maybe you aren’t.

Dad looked at her and looked at the girl. You going to sit down? I’m not going to stand up.

No. I come over to see if I could help. To see if you needed something.

I don’t.

You’re sure of that.

I’m doing all right. Who’s this here you got with you? he said.

This is Alice, my granddaughter. Haven’t you met her before?

I see her out in the yard over there across the fence.

She’s living with me now. Say hello to Dad Lewis, honey.

The girl was eight years old, a thin brown-haired girl in blue denim shorts and a white T-shirt.

Hello, she said.

Hello back to you, Dad told her.

Berta May said, You don’t mind me looking out in the kitchen to see if anything needs to be done, do you.

It’s okay out there. It’s just not tidy.

Well, I’ll just take a look. She went out. The girl remained, looking around the room and then at Dad Lewis in his chair.

Why do they call you that? she said.

What?

Dad.

Because I got a daughter like you. People started calling me that when she was born. A long time ago.

I don’t have a dad. I don’t even know where he is. I don’t ever see him.

I’m sorry to hear that.

Are you sick or something? she said.

You could say so. I got this cancer eating me up.

She studied him for a moment. Is it in your breast? That’s where my mother had hers.

I got it all over me.

Are you going to die?

Yeah. That’s what they tell me.

She looked out the window. You can see Grandma’s house from here. You can see the backyard.

That’s where I saw you. I noticed you yesterday back there, Dad said.

What was I doing?

I don’t know. I couldn’t tell what you were doing.

Was I down on the grass?

Yes. I believe you were.

Then I was working.

What kind of work?

Digging dandelions. Grandma pays me for every one. She’s got a lot of them.

Why don’t you come over here and dig some.

How much would you pay?

The same as your grandmother.

I don’t know, she said. I better go see if she needs any help.

The neighbor woman Berta May washed up the dishes and swept the kitchen and afterward she and her granddaughter went back home and at noon she sent the girl over with a tray covered with a white dish towel. Alice came in and said, Where do you want me to put this?

What have you got?

Grandma made you some lunch. The girl set the tray on a chair and removed the dish towel. There were potato chips and a ham sandwich and a little hill of cottage cheese on a paper plate and a piece of cake wrapped in wax paper. Grandma said you could drink water or make your own coffee.

You want some of it? I’m not hungry.

Grandma’s waiting for me to eat with her.

Tell her I appreciate this. Will you do that?

The girl went out, and through the window he could see her going along the fence and on into the yellow house.

Late in the afternoon of the third day, without any warning Mary came through the gate out front and up on the porch and into the house. In the living room Dad was sitting in his chair by the window reading the Holt Mercury newspaper. He looked up and she was just standing there.

Well, what in the hell. What are you doing here?

They let me out, she said.

I didn’t hear any car out front. How’d you get here?

I walked.

What do you mean you walked?

I walked home.

You walked home from the hospital.

They couldn’t bring me right away. They were out on some other call, I guess. And I didn’t think we had to have the expense of that anyhow. It’s going to cost too much as it is. They told me I had to wait but I didn’t want to. I wanted to get home.

Well, Jesus Christ, Dad said. You were in there because you got too worn out and now you walk home in the hot afternoon clear across town.

It’s not so hot out right now, she said.

What’s wrong with those people, letting you go like this.

They didn’t want to let me go. I just left. I wanted to make you some good supper.

He was staring at her. Well, by God, he said. If you keep this up, I’m going to die right now and not put it off any longer, just to keep you from doing this again.

She came across the room and stood in front of him, small and straight and old, and spoke slowly, directly. Don’t you say that to me. Don’t you say such a evil thing. Don’t you ever say it again. You don’t have any right. Are you hearing me, Dad?

He looked away from her.