39

We meet again.
My old friend.
Together till the end.

— Kids from Alcatraz

I WALKED INTO THE HOSPITAL room. I sat down next to Henry’s bed. He turned his head to me. “Hello,” he said.

I sincerely hoped he was clear today. “Hi, Henry,” I said. “Do you know who I am?”

He smiled. “Aven.”

“Aven Green,” I said.

He nodded. “Aven Green.”

“I’m doing it, Henry,” I told him. “I’m taking your advice.”

He licked his shaking wrinkled lips. “I’m glad.”

“I have something important to tell you,” I said, hardly able to keep my voice steady.

His face lit up. “What is it?”

“Well, um, there’s someone here to see you.”

“Who? Joe?”

“No, Joe was here earlier. Remember?”

He nodded. “Oh yeah.”

“She’ll be back tomorrow. There’s someone else here to see you.”

“Who?”

“Just a second.” I got up and went out into the hallway. I came back with a man pushing an older man in a wheelchair. I sat back down at Henry’s bedside.

“Who are they?” Henry asked.

“This is Robert,” I said. “And this is his father, Walter.” Both men seemed like they were straining hard not to cry as they watched Henry. “They came all the way from Chicago to see you.”

“To see me?” Henry said.

I nodded. “Henry . . . ” I swallowed hard. And swallowed again. “Walter is your brother.” Henry’s mouth dropped open as he stared at the two men. “He’s been searching for you his whole life.”

I moved out of the way, and Robert pushed Walter to Henry’s bedside. Henry’s mouth opened and closed, opened and closed. His lips trembled. He pushed the button on his bed so he could sit all the way up and face his brother.

They looked so much alike. It was like Henry was looking into a mirror—a mirror that made him look even older than his already really old self.

Walter stuck out a feeble, shaking hand, and Henry grasped it. They stared at each other, holding hands, little gasps escaping their mouths, sniffing every now and then, until Walter said in a hoarse, whisper-like voice, “I was five when Mama and Daddy died. You were only a baby. I wanted to take care of you, but they took you away from me. You and Nora. She was only three.”

“Nora?” Henry said.

“She was our sister,” Walter said. “I don’t know where she is. I haven’t been able to find her. I thought you both might be dead. But here you are.”

“You’ve been looking for me?” Henry said.

“All my life.”

And then they sat crying together for a long time. There was a lot of lost time to cry for.