“What was that all about?” Kaye asks as Cohen comes back through the door.
“We need to keep an eye on Dad’s medication,” he says, looking closely at the various IV bags, reading words he doesn’t understand. He walks back around the bed to the chair that has become his and sits down. He’s tired. The long night is catching up to him.
“While we’re being honest,” Kaye begins.
Cohen looks at her, eyebrows raised. “You mean, while you’re being honest.”
“Okay, while I’m being honest. Cohen . . .” She pauses, looks at him. “I feel like you know something about Dad you’re not telling me.”
He feels a rigidity spread up his spine, immobilizing him. He grips the armrests of the chair like a man afraid of flying. His eyes lock on to his father’s face. His strong features. The lines in the wrinkles around his neck. The small hairs that populate the ridges of his ears. The faded scar at the corner of his eyebrow. Cohen can barely breathe.
“Did the doctors tell you something you’re not sharing with me?” Kaye asks, almost pleading. “Did you see something at the funeral home you’re not telling me about?”
“Kaye,” he whispers, shaking his head. “I don’t . . .”
Before he gets any further, the door to the room opens. A nurse comes in, checking things, looking at clipboards, glancing at the IV bags, and monitoring the equipment. Behind the nurse, Ava.
“Hi, Kaye,” she says. “Hi, Cohen.”
“Ava,” he says, surprise in his voice, and a question mark.
“I’m sorry about your father,” Ava says to Kaye, shaking her hand. “I don’t know if you remember me. I went to school with Cohen. I’m Ava.”
“I’m sorry,” Kaye says. “Vaguely. I wasn’t around much after seventh grade.”
Ava nods, looking over at Cohen. “I was wondering if you have a minute?”
“Have you found out anything about what happened to our dad?” Kaye asks.
“Nothing for sure,” Ava says. “And my boss has taken me off the case, officially. Unofficially, I’m still snooping around.” She smiles after the last sentence and looks knowingly at them, as if she is doing the snooping as a personal favor to them.
“Where do you want to talk?” Cohen asks.
“Actually, my boss is wondering if you could come over to the funeral home, walk through the basement with him, answer a few more questions? He doesn’t know much about how the operation works. He’s hoping your insights might help us out.”
“Sure,” he says, standing slowly, stretching, a yawn slowing him. “Do you mind if I go, Kaye?”
“No,” she says. “Go ahead. But can you take the overnight shift tonight? I’m exhausted. And Johnny didn’t do well without me at home.”
“Of course,” he says. He walks over to Kaye and kisses the top of her head. “I’ll be back soon. After that, you can go get a shower,” he jokes.
Kaye swings playfully at him, smacking him on the hip, but her hand grasps his jacket for an extra moment before letting go, and her eyes lock with his as if she’s trying to find the answer to her earlier questions, the ones he avoided. Did the doctors tell you something you’re not sharing with me? Did you see something at the funeral home you’re not telling me about?
He meets her gaze for a moment, and there it is, the face of the girl from his childhood. He remembers seeing her in the back window of the car as she left with their mother. Her chin was on the top of the back seat, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, her eyes afraid and wondering. Her hands gripped the back of the seat on either side of her chin, and she raised the fingers of one hand, only her fingers, in a sort of wave. They drifted in a sad rhythm like seaweed in a current. Then they were gone. She was gone.
He doesn’t know if he wants to tell her their father might have committed suicide. He doesn’t know if he can tell her it might have been his fault.
He nods to Kaye, trying to be reassuring, before turning back to Ava. One of the machines beeps a long, steady pulse. He gives his father one last glance before walking out the door.