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By Root 256 0

closed his bedroom door and walked into the kitchen. The nurse had left a brochure on the table, “When Your Loved One Is Dying,” and she picked it up, without opening it, and slid it under some papers by the phone. She was not at all interested in reading it at the moment. She sat at the table, glad for a few minutes of solitude, glad her father had driven over to the rectory, though he had not explained why, glad Fred and Bea had already dropped off the week’s meals, glad Trina was working at the diner and that the social worker wasn’t due for another couple of hours. She was even glad Roger was working, still sorting through paperwork about the fire and still trying to decide if charges would be filed. She wanted a few minutes alone. She had taken a leave from work, and she had not spent more than a couple of hours away from the house. She went outside and sat on the porch a few times each day, and she walked in the mornings up and down the street while Roger fed Alex his breakfast or the nursing assistant gave him his bath, but she never left, and she never had any time to herself.

Ordinarily, she would have driven over or walked to the church to pray. But after the fire, that was not an option. Father George had offered her the parish in Omega and Quemado, but they were too far from her house, and they were not her own. She had declined that offer.

She poured herself a cup of coffee, the pot still hot, and took a sip. She closed her eyes and thought of her mother, wondered if she was still visiting Alex.

“Mom, you here?” she asked and then waited.

There was no sound except the ticking of the kitchen clock, no presence felt except that of those who had been in the house earlier, no notion that anyone else was in the room.

Malene kept talking anyway. “I figure this is your doing. I figure you gave him this idea that it’s so perfect wherever you are, so peaceful and wonderful, that he decided to go with you.” She took another sip of her coffee.

She shook her head. “I don’t like it,” she said. “Not one bit.” She felt the tears gather in the corners of her eyes. “I didn’t like it when you left and this . . .” she stopped. “This is worse than I ever imagined.”

She wiped her eyes. “He’s just a boy, Mama, just a little boy.” She slid her hair behind her ears and rested her head in her hands. “Can’t you do anything? Don’t you have any power wherever you are to change the course of things, or at least change his mind?”

She waited, but there was no answer. She thought she heard a flutter or something in the den, but then she realized the window was open and it was just a slight autumn breeze coming in. She knew her mother wouldn’t answer, but that was who she prayed to, that was who she called upon, had been calling upon since Alex was born and Angel left. When she tried to draw up some image of God in her mind, she always started with a picture of her mother. Mama was the one who answered, who gave comfort and strength, who brought peace. Or didn’t. Malene didn’t really think of her mother as God, but she certainly thought of her as the way to get there.

“I’m sorry,” she said, hoping her mother was listening. “I know you wouldn’t want this. I know you’ve done whatever you can.” And she reached for the coffee cup and held it in both hands, warming her fingers and thinking about Alex and the nurse and morphine and his impending death. She thought about Roger and his quiet grief, how he wept only when he thought no one could hear him, alone and behind locked doors. She thought about her dad and the way he refused to see this as the end, how he kept buying magazines and bringing over photo albums, talking incessantly, reading articles, so uncomfortable when it was silent.

She thought about the new girl, Trina, and the strange bond forged between her and Alex. She thought about the fire and how it seemed to take the last bit of drive out of her grandson, and she thought about Father George and how clumsy and awkward and wordless he had been in his last visit. She had even asked Roger about that conversation, which they had