I could only stare as the woman approached, as she greeted Dr. Merkel, as she sent her son a hard look, and finally, as she stepped forward, standing directly in front of me, her eyes impossibly warm and compassionate.
“Oh Kathleen, my darling. I’m so very, very sorry,” she whispered, reaching for my hands and holding them in hers, her eyes misting as they moved over my face in a look that could only be described as compassionate. “Take a few moments, gather your thoughts, and decide what you want to do. If you want to spend the night here, just say the word. We can set you up in a room nearby, or you can sit with your father. It’s entirely up to you.”
I nodded, and—inexplicably—I felt my chin wobble.
She tutted, her hand coming to my face and cupping my cheek lovingly, making me feel like she’d done this to me a hundred times.
Maybe she had, but not to me. Maybe she’d comforted a hundred daughters, perhaps over a thousand.
“But if you want to leave and come back tomorrow, you should. That’s completely understandable. You have some difficult days ahead of you and you’ll need your strength.”
I nodded, blinking against my blurring vision.
“Oh, my dear. My poor dear.” The next thing I knew, she was pulling me into a hug and I was clinging to her. I was also crying.
I didn’t want to stay.
I sat with my father for fifteen minutes. The sound of the machines, watching his chest’s artificial rise and fall, but otherwise his body’s complete stillness, it felt like he was already gone.
So I left the glass room and rejoined Dan and his mom, Eleanor, in the hall and we all left together. She wrapped her arm around me as we walked, encouraging me to lean on her shoulder and promising me tea and cookies when we arrived home.
Home.
I didn’t think about it. I just let the tide take me. The three of us got in a car, minutes passed, Dan held my hand. Eleanor’s pleasant voice filled the silence with news about various family members; the way she spoke reminded me of Dan, and her stories probably would’ve made me laugh in normal circumstances.
After a short time, we arrived at our destination, a three-story house on a tidy street in Jamaica Plain. Dan and the driver brought in the bags while Eleanor escorted me into the house.
The first thing I noticed was the giant crucifix hanging over the entryway table where some people might’ve placed a mirror. Around the crucifix were several beaded necklaces with more, smaller, crucifixes attached to the end of them. On one side of the big cross was a picture of Jesus and a picture of the current pope. On the other side was a picture of John F. Kennedy and a picture of Martin Luther King Jr.
I huffed a little laugh, not because I thought anything about the display was funny, but because it caught me by surprise.
“I have cookies, but I know it’s late, and I know you just got off a plane.” She led me out of the entryway, an arm looped in mine. “Let me show you where you’ll be sleeping, and you decide what you want to do.”
Belatedly, as she guided me up the stairs, I realized the first floor of the house smelled like fresh baked bread and cookies. As we climbed the wooden steps, the aroma of orange oil and caraway seed greeted me. I glanced at the gleaming wooden banister, deciding she must polish it often for the wood to look so fine.
We skipped the first door in the second floor hall, and stopped in front of the second.
“This was Dan’s room growing up.” She gave me a little smile paired with a slight shrug as she revealed the room and encouraged me to walk in.
It was medium-sized, with a sturdy if not beat up dresser, a queen-size bed, and a nightstand. The walls were wallpapered with posters, some were of bands, some were of women in very little clothing, but most were of hockey players.
“He liked the Bruins,” she gestured to a team poster. “Takes after his mom that way.”
“He’s great,” I blurted, nodding for no reason. “He’s so great. He’s the best. I don’t deserve him.”
Her smile was immediate, but subdued. She opened her mouth, like she was going to respond, but we were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the staircase. Dan appeared a moment later in the doorway, holding our bags.
He stopped short, looking between the two of us. “Can I come in?”
“Of course you can. It’s your room. Bring in the bags.” She wrinkled her nose at him like she thought he was funny, slipping out to presumably give him more space.
He didn’t move. “You’re gonna let us sleep in the same room?”
Her smile widened and she chuckled at her son. “Married couples don’t sleep together in Chicago? Is this a new custom? What’s wrong with you? You’ve been spending too much time with the puritans.” She patted his shoulder, motioning him forward, “Now get in here. She’s got nice teeth but I don’t think she bites.”