62
I didn’t remember moving off the couch and to the floor on the other side of the room and I couldn’t recall who made me a cup of tea or having sipped any of it. Somehow Oma was there, holding Joel’s head to her shoulder where he sobbed. The minister and his wife sat with Mom at the dining room table.
I noticed that, not only did I have tea, but it was also in my favorite cup. The one with the rooster cock-a-doodling into a sunless morning.
David came from the kitchen, right toward me, putting his hand out to me. “Let’s get you off the floor, huh?”
I let him help me up, and I took a seat in Mom’s chair. He squatted beside me, still holding my hand.
“Bernie’s in the kitchen making some soup,” he said. “In case you wanted to eat some.”
“Okay,” I answered, feeling as if in a fog. “I don’t know.”
“That’s all right.” David let go of my hand and pulled a straight-back chair from the corner and sat on it right beside me. “Is it okay with you if I stay for a little bit?”
“I won’t.”
“I’m so tired,” I said, turning toward him. “That’s all I can feel. I’m just tired.”
“It would be all right if you closed your eyes.” He took my hand again.
I shut my eyelids.
When I woke, Frank had taken Oma’s seat next to Joel. My brother was leaned over, holding his head in his hands. His fingers worked through his hair that had grown into a mass of long curls.
“Like Bob Dylan’s,” Joel had said just the day before when Mom had complained about it.
Just the day before.
Before.
Frank caught my eye. He held his jaw clenched, his eyebrows lowered. But his eyes were watery and red.
“You came,” I whispered.
He nodded.
“Then it’s real?”
He looked away from me before nodding that time.
“Why?” I tried to ask, but no sound came out except a groan. “Why Mike?”
“I don’t know,” Frank said.
We sat at the dining room table, sipping the soup Bernie had made, more out of politeness than hunger. But the hot broth seemed to awaken me from the numbness in my chest. As much as I hated to feel the terror and heartache and loss, it was better than suffocating in the void.
Elbow to elbow, none of us complained about being tucked around the table so tightly. It was as if the nearness was important, as if it was what kept us from falling to pieces right there in the dining room.
“Frank, do you remember the day Michael was born?” Mom asked, her voice shaking.
“I couldn’t forget it if I tried.” Frank gave her his half grin. “It’s the same day I got this.”
He angled his face upward and pointed at a scar that cut through the stubble on his chin.
“You fainted when I told you it was time for him to come,” Mom said, laughing even as the tears collected in her eyes. “I thought I’d have to drive myself to the hospital.”
“Five stitches,” Frank said. “If only you could have experienced the agony I suffered that day.”
“Oh, you.” Mom cringed, grinding her teeth together and letting out a sob. “He was the most perfect baby, wasn’t he?”
“He was. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.”
“He didn’t like to sleep,” Oma added. “I remember Gloria coming to my house and crying over how tired she was because he cried all night long.”
“And you didn’t believe me,” Mom said. “You told me all babies did that.”
“So I took your invitation to come spend the night.” Oma shook her head and laughed. “He cried from dusk until dawn.”
“Unless Frank had him,” Mom said. “He loved being with his daddy.”
Frank’s brows gathered in the middle and he looked into his nearly empty bowl of soup. “He was protecting a wounded soldier,” Frank said. “He shielded him with his body. He saved that boy’s life. That was what the officer who came to my house told me.”
“They didn’t tell me,” Mom whispered, then covered her eyes with her hand. Leaning down, she rested her elbow on the table.
“Why would he do that?” Joel asked. “He was supposed to take care of himself so he could come home. Why would he risk it?”
“It was the right thing to do,” Bernie said. “It was his duty.”
“But why’s it right that the other boy gets to live and Mike doesn’t?”
“Joel,” I said. “You know how Mike is. Always putting somebody else before himself.”
“Then he should’ve thought of us,” Joel said. “Shouldn’t he have? Aren’t we important enough?”
No one answered him. Maybe that was because there wasn’t an answer to give.