Benediction (Plainsong #3)(9)

In the spring a couple of months later on a slow day Dad received a call. He was in the little office again, in the middle of the morning. The voice on the other end, a female voice, was already screaming when he picked up the phone.

You son of a bitch! He killed himself! You son of a bitch.

Who is this?

You know who it is. He went to Denver and started drinking and took a gun and blew half his head off. He never even left a note. Because of you. You did this. You’re the one that made him. Oh I hope you rot in hell! Oh goddamn you! I hope you burn in hellfire forever.





5


MIDMORNING she was out on the front porch in the still fresh bright heat of the day with the old wooden-handled broom she kept for the porch and sidewalk, sweeping across the gray-painted wood boards, some of them warped and coming apart at the joints. At the front window she looked inside and Dad was sitting in his chair staring out into the side yard. She wondered what he was thinking about. If he was thinking about how his death would come for him, in what manner it would take him away. He never talked of it. She swept up the dead tree leaves and the dirt that had blown in. There was always dirt on the front porch, even in winter. She was glad of that, in a way. She was sweeping it off onto the bare ground next to the cement foundation of the old house when Lorraine came out and said she had a phone call.

I didn’t hear the phone.

It’s some woman asking for you.

Did she say who it was?

No. But I wish you’d let me do this, Mom. You don’t need to be sweeping out here.

Yes I do. I have to get outside. This gives me an excuse to be out here. She leaned the broom against the house wall and Lorraine handed her the phone and went back inside.

Yes. This is Mary. She stood facing out across the street.

This is Doris Thomas calling. I saw Frank.

What did you say?

I saw Frank.

What do you mean?

At the airport in Denver. He was in the lines at security where they make you walk back and forth between those straps and we kept passing each other and I knew right away it was him. He was wearing a cap so I couldn’t see the top of his head but it looked exactly like him. Like your husband used to look when he was that age.

What did you say to him?

I didn’t say anything to him. I didn’t want to embarrass either one of us.

He was flying someplace?

Yes. I just thought you’d want to know.

When was this?

Two weeks ago. I was on my way to Seattle to be with my daughter. She had her baby.

Did he look okay?

Frank? Yes, I think he looked okay.

I mean, did my son look happy?

Oh. I wouldn’t be able to say about that.

She stood facing out across the fence and gate and the street to the empty lot on the other side. Inside the fence the shade under the silver poplar trees was shifting and moving on the grass. There were tears in her eyes now and she stayed for a long time crying quietly and thinking. Then she wiped her face and went back into the house. Lorraine was upstairs in her bedroom. At the foot of the stairs she called up to her. Will you come down now?

Is something wrong?

I want to tell you and Dad at the same time.

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.