Chapters (16)
“It was around the time she went to school,” she said. “Eva started noticing problems with his nerves. I couldn’t really tell what was happening, I couldn’t see what she saw, but Eva could always see more than me. Anyway, it was very sad, because she tried all sorts of things, and it only got worse. When it got worse, I could see that.”
“When did he”—in the glow of The 700 Club, I chose my words carefully—“pass on?”
Now she held the marbles tight. I could hear the rain outside.
“What do you mean?”
“Sorry. If you’d prefer not to talk about it, I understand. It’s just that Eva has always spoken of his passing as a transformative event, kind of like a crossroads in her life. It’s what made her the person she is today, it’s why she’s done everything she’s done.”
“Pass on,” she said. “You mean die?”
“Yes.”
April showed a row of gapless teeth, like a mouthguard. “You’ve got your facts mixed up,” she told me. “Amos didn’t die.”
“What?”
“He’s upstairs right now.”
I was off the couch, nearly tripping on the dog. He growled as I took the stairs two at a time, April calling after me: “Wait a minute.”
I saw a bathroom, a bedroom, and one closed door.
“Don’t go in there.”
I heard the dog’s nails scramble over the floor. He yelped as April snatched him by the collar. I opened the door.
A man lay on a single bed, facing me, his knees drawn to his chest, a thin wool blanket pulled up to his neck. Snowy stubble frosted his cheeks, which were collapsed as if he were sucking something. I could see the tremors. It was Amos, alive.
I told you about my father.
An old-fashioned radio in a wooden case played some classical music, and two sabers with golden tassels were crossed beneath a Confederate flag push-pinned to the wall. A reek, like a shoe rotting on a foot, rolled off the bed. The father kept shaking in the blanket, but his eyes didn’t flinch as I stood in the doorway, the dog pulling April toward me. Sick or insane, I don’t know, but he wore a smile of perfect serenity.
The German shepherd flashed his teeth and April could barely restrain him.
“You better leave,” she grunted, leaning back.
I stared at Amos, Dr. Kriss’s last story voiding.
“I’ll let go of this fucking dog if you don’t leave right now.”