“Take her to the chapel!” he said, and that’s where we are sitting now, in the quietest room in the hospital. It’s as quiet as on the bottom of the ocean.

The boy has curled up in my arms with his eyes closed and is scraping his thumbs against his index fingers. He rubs them incessantly, whispering the whole time. I hug him, and it’s as if his head and the crook of my arm are made for each other. I’d like him to know that his father squeezed my hand before I had to let go to catch him. I’ll tell him in a minute. In a minute.

His name’s Sam. He’s Henri’s son.

Henri has a son.

I hold him tight—Henri’s son from a life I know nothing about. In awe, the same way I’ve held every one of my friends’ or employees’ newborn babies. In awe that such small, energetic life exists. It always feels as if life, however tiny, comes into the world fully formed.

Sam whispers something over and over again, and eventually I manage to make out the words of his prayer. “Come back!”

I join in, silently at first before whispering those words too. “Come back!” we whisper until our words are in step, and together we pray to our fathers: “Come back! Come back!”

Eddie

I shut my eyes and draw the boy a little closer to me.

Dad, help me! I think. This time I don’t shrug off the touch of his hands on my shoulders, the same touch he gave me on the night he passed over to the other side.

When he died . . . Oh, tell it the way it is, Edwina. Dying is the proper word! It’s got nothing to do with going away. Going away means the person is going to come back, and that’s not going to happen. He’s gone. For good. For the rest of your life. And whatever you might have felt, assume that it can’t have been real! He’s gone forever.

In a flash I feel the anguish of knowing that I’ll never again hear my father outside my body, only inside me. My memories of my father—his voice, his smell, and the rhythm of his footsteps on asphalt—are like gently fading stars.

Sobs shake Sam’s body.

I feel Dad’s hands on my shoulders and hear his voice in the darkness. “Shush, Eddie, shush, my little Winnie. Come here! Come here and listen to me. Are you listening?”