Whisper Me This(63)

“Are we having a party? I’m very tired. Would it be rude if I just go to bed?” Without waiting for an answer, he shoves back his chair and starts to get up.

He only clears the chair by a couple of inches before falling back, heavily.

“I’ve turned old, Maisey,” he says, gently, as if he hadn’t just been shouting at me. “Help an old man to bed?”

And so I do. I give him both my hands, and he grips them, tightly enough to squeeze my bones against each other. Using my weight, I lean back as he leans forward and drag him to his feet. He sways a little, and I see Tony moving in my peripheral vision, ready to catch him if he falls, but then the swaying stops.

Red-rimmed eyes look down into mine, and Dad sighs, deeply. He plants a kiss on my forehead. “You’re a good girl, Maisey. You always have been.” And then he starts shuffling across the kitchen, and I move with him, holding his hand.

All my childhood selves move with us, across the kitchen, down the familiar hall, into my parents’ room. How many thousands of times have we walked this way, hand in hand? Only then he was the strong and comforting anchor in my life. The man with the answers. The calm to my mother’s passion.

Now he is frail and I am strong, and if he is the man with answers, he’s not about to share them with me.

He sinks down onto the bed, fully clothed. “I’m too tired to undress,” he says. “Will it matter?”

“It won’t matter, Daddy. So long as you’re comfortable.”

I pull off his shoes, and he collapses back onto the bed, rolling over into my mother’s spot once again. “I keep thinking she’s coming back,” he says. “I keep waiting.”

“She’s not coming back, Daddy.”

“I know.” He starts to cry then, and I lie down on the bed beside him and put my head on his chest. I have no more tears of my own, not tonight, only a deep and abiding ache in my chest that seems like it’s always been there and will never go away.

I lie there until he stops crying. Until his breathing eases and slows and turns into a soft snore. He’s fallen asleep on top of the covers, so I fetch a spare blanket from Mom’s cedar chest and tuck it around him. I kiss him on the cheek and turn out the light.

Out in the kitchen, Mia is washing bowls and spoons in a sink of soapy water and Elle is drying. Mrs. Medina and Tony sit at the table. Nobody is talking. The energy in the room feels more like the aftermath of a bombing than an ice cream party.

All the eyes turned on me seem accusing and judging.

“Is he okay?” Elle asks.

“He’s asleep.”

“Maybe we should check his blood sugar,” Tony says. “In case it’s gone off again.”

“I think we should let him sleep.” I sound downright bossy. I don’t care. The energy for pretending anything I don’t feel right now is missing in action.

Tony pushes back his chair. “You’re right, of course. We should go. Tomorrow is going to be a difficult day.”

I look at the clock. God. It’s nearly midnight. Mom’s funeral isn’t until eleven, but there will be so much to do.

“Thanks for staying with him, Mrs. Medina.”

She smiles at me, despite my behavior, despite everything. She puts her hands on my shoulders and kisses me on one cheek, and then the other. Her lips are soft, her cheek cool against mine.

“I know it’s not my place to give advice,” she says. “I think if your mother were here, she might tell you this. Give Walter a little time. Give yourself a little time. You’re in shock, the both of you. It will all come right in the end.”

I want to believe her, but I can’t imagine any of this ever coming right. Still, I nod.

“You don’t believe me,” she says. “Why should you? But I, too, have been through hard times. It will all come right. You’ll see.”

“Let’s go.” Tony circles her waist with his arm, and she releases me and walks with him to the door.

Mia hugs Elle. “We’ll go bowling. Or shopping at Walmart. Or a movie.”

“Will you be there tomorrow?” Elle asks.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Mia says.

Elle yawns. Her eyelids are drooping. “Go to bed, Elle Belle,” I tell her, and she doesn’t argue.

“Night,” she mumbles.

Once Elle is safely off to bed, Mia embraces me in a tumultuous hug. “I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling,” she says. “What a clusterfuck, right?” And then she hugs me again.

“Mia!” Tony calls from the door.

She laughs. “Once a big brother, always a big brother.”

Mia is like a breath of wind on a foggy morning, clearing the air, revealing sunlight. I hug her back, tight, and then follow her down the hall.

Tony waits by the door.

“You okay?” he asks.

I nod, unsure if my voice is going to work if I try to speak.

“Lock the door behind me,” he says. “Check all the windows. Sleep with the phone. Just to be sure.”

This is not comforting. I swallow back a sour taste rising in the back of my throat. “Maybe you should give me the ammo back? For Mom’s gun?”

It’s like a curtain drops over his face. All the softness is gone between one breath and the next. That hard, clenched look comes back. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”