My father is tilted up at a slight incline, as if he might want to relax in bed and watch the news on the suspended television. I reach out and touch the undisturbed thermal blanket, which is just a little off center, gently teasing it into plumb. As I do, I feel the warmth that still radiates from his yet-living body. There is a tiny flutter of breath. I stare at him, trying hard to find something to anchor me to the moment, to the right emotion, to the feelings I should have. What good memory should I cast back for? What bad memory should I cast off?

I remember wandering into Adele’s kitchen, to find my father staring out the window, looking across the fence to our house. It was before they got married, it must have been, because I was wearing a pair of sneakers that were too short for me; I got new ones just before the wedding day. Why this image sticks with me is because I had never seen such an expression on his face before. It was not grief, not even lingering sadness, but almost that of panicked regret.

*   *   *

“What’s the matter, Daddy?”

“Nothing.”

“What are you doing?”

“Thinking.”

“About Mom?”

“I guess. Yes.”

“I miss Mommy.” I am still talking to his back. He rubs his face with both hands but says nothing.

“Is Adele going to be my mother?”

“Yes.” His voice is raspy, as if he has a sore throat.

“Daddy, I want to go home.”

“This is home now.”

*   *   *

Another man might have reached out and hugged his daughter, but the great withdrawal had already begun. Adele walked into the room and he quickly turned around and reached for her.

*   *   *

I give the thermal blanket another adjustment, just to feel that he’s still warm.

Adele is back, and I move away from him.

*   *   *

I am not staying by his bedside. I am at Paul’s office, checking my e-mails. There are the usual junk e-mails, a couple of notifications that my online bill pay is about to take money out of my account, a thought that chills me to the bone until I check my bank account and see that my dear friend and boss, Candy Kane, has direct-deposited an unearned paycheck into my account. I don’t normally get weepy, but that brings tears to my eyes. I fire off a thank-you e-mail with a promise to work it off. There are e-mails from Candy and Saundra with messages of hope and “Hang in there.”