Obediently, the eye began to travel the length and breadth of the room. When it swung back around to him, he waved and smiled as if for a camera. No one knew, not even the specialists with their fancy jargon and machines, if Charlie was still in there.

He put the blue bottle back and idly fished through the basket again. He wasn’t sure he had the stamina for another and was relieved when the nurse suggested that three was plenty for one session.

“Those were neat smells, weren’t they, Charlie?” she said before she checked her vital signs and left.

Her presence had been an annoyance, but the room seemed drained and vacant after she left. He took his granddaughter’s hand, a hand clenched tight on her chest, and tried to pray. He’d never learned to pray. All he knew how to do was beg. He begged for this child to be spared, but even in the small chamber of his own head, his voice was faint.

He sat back in the chair. He hadn’t noticed the enormous clock opposite him. He still had forty more minutes.

Footfall was steady outside in the hallway. Occasionally a nurse or orderly would slow and glance in, having been informed about the very old man visiting in room 511.

“I am an arrogant man,” he whispered. “I thought this would be easier.”

It was a nice room, bigger than any he’d had here. There was something comforting about hospitals now. He liked the ambience, the voices on the intercom system, calling out names of strangers, the steam coming out of the oxygen tube, the bright light of the buzzer near the bed, the rolling of carts and chairs in the hallway, the clean sterile smells. He felt safer here than at home where accidents were waiting, where help was across town. Here, death felt far, far away.

The chair was comfortable. A light rain began to tap at the window. He could feel the extra oxygen in the room and took it in gratefully. Sleep came over him, thick and slow, and just before he surrendered to it, he felt the rhythm of his breathing falling into Charlie’s, falling into an easier, simpler place where they might finally reach each another.

MANSARD

Frances flew out to greet her.

“Audrey!”

They all had names like that then, out of old storybooks.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Frances said.

“When did you call?”

“Five minutes ago.”

“Well, I was driving here, wasn’t I?” Audrey had never seen Frances so wild. Out in the gravel without shoes. The bottoms of her stockings torn, most likely. Hair in tufts in the back. “What is it?”

“I have to cancel. I’m sorry.”