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His father looked at him, sharply. “I don’t know what happened. Something happened last night.”

“Nothing good. You really don’t want to know. No point in it. Sir.”

“So, are we going to have the sheriff coming around here?”

“No, sir,” he said. “I have done nothing that would interest the sheriff.” His voice was soft and sad.

“Papa, Jack’s all right. Everything’s all right. But he’s tired now,” Glory said. “I think we should talk about something else.”

The old man nodded. “We’re all tired now.” Then he said, “So many times, over the years, I’ve tried not to love you so much. I never got anywhere with it, but I tried. I’d say, He doesn’t care a thing about us. He needs a little money now and then, that’s the extent of it. Still, I thought you might come home for your
mother’s funeral. That was a very hard time for me. It would have been a great help. Why did I think you might come home? That was foolish of me. Your mother always said, You imagine some happiness is going to come out of all this, all this waiting and hoping, but it never will. So I tried to put an end to it. But I couldn’t.”

Jack smiled and cleared his throat. “Maybe now you can. Maybe I should tell you what I was up to all those years. That might put an end to it.”

The old man shook his head. “It couldn’t be worse than what I’ve imagined. I’ve thought of every dreadful thing, Jack. Lying awake nights. But it only made me grieve for you. And for myself, since there was no comfort I could give you.”

Jack said, “Well, I wouldn’t want you to think—I mean, ‘dreadful’ is a strong word. There are worse lives than mine. I know that’s not much to be proud of. But still.”

Glory said, “We all loved him, Papa, all of us, and there were reasons why we did. Why we do.”

“Could you expand on that a little, Glory?” Jack said. “I’d be interested.”

His father said, “Well, it’s just natural. What I’d like to know is why you didn’t love us. That is what has always mystified me.”

After a moment Jack said, “I did. But there wasn’t much I could do about it. It was hard for me to be here. I could never—trust myself. Anywhere. But that made it harder to be here.”

His father nodded. “Drink,” he said.

Jack smiled. “That, too.”

“Yes, well, maybe it’s a joke, I don’t know. Last night was about as bad a night as I have passed on this earth. And I kept thinking to myself, asking the Lord, Why do I have to care so much? It seemed like a curse and an affliction to me. To love my own son. How could that be? I have wondered about it many times.”

Jack said, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t be more sorry. But at least you
know why I stayed away so long. I had no right to come home. I shouldn’t be here now.”

“No right to come home!” his father said, and his voice broke. “If I’d had to die without seeing your face again, I’d have doubted the goodness of the Lord.” He looked at Jack. “That was a fear I had. So I was very happy, you know, there for a while.”

Jack said, “What are your feelings now, about the goodness of the Lord?” He said, “I really don’t think the Lord’s good name should depend on my behavior. I’m not equal to the responsibility.”

The old man shook his head. “Nobody is. I’m not equal to it, either, the way I’ve been talking to you here—”

“No matter. I knew most of it anyway.”

His father pondered for a while. “You knew it, and it didn’t make a bit of difference. I should have realized that. I suppose I did.”

Jack pushed back his chair and stood up. “Yes, well, if you’ll excuse me—”

Glory said, “No, Jack, you sit down. We’ve worried about you enough.”

His glance at her was weary, even bewildered. “I just thought I’d go up to my room.”

“No.” She touched his shoulder. She could see him make the decision to trust her, at least not to offend her. He sat down again.

His father said, “Kindness takes more strength than I have now. I didn’t realize how much effort I used to put into it. It’s like everything else that way, I guess.”

Jack said, “I can’t leave quite yet. But I’ll leave as soon as I can.”

“Oh yes, you came for your own reasons, and you’ll leave for your own reasons. And it just happened that I was here, I wasn’t dead yet.”

Glory said, “I’m sorry, Papa, but this has gone on long enough.”

The old man nodded. “Maybe I’m finding out I’m not such a good man as I thought I was. Now that I don’t have the strength—patience takes a lot out of you. Hope, too.”

Jack said, “I think hope is the worst thing in the world. I really do. It makes a fool of you while it lasts. And then when it’s gone, it’s like there’s nothing left of you at all. Except”—he shrugged and laughed—“except what you can’t be rid of.”

His father said, “I’m sorry you’ve had to know about that, Jack. And now we’ve got Glory crying.”

Jack shrugged and smiled at her. “Sorry.”

Glory said, “Don’t worry. There’s no harm in it.”

Her father sighed. “Yes, well, I wish I could take it all back, everything I’ve just said. But I suppose you did know it already. Still, it’s different when you say things like that out loud. It already seems like I didn’t mean it. Now I know I’m going to just lie on my bed and worry about it, and wish I’d held my peace. I did that for so long.”

Jack said, “You did. You were always very kind.”

The old man nodded. “I hope that still counts for something.”

“It’s the only thing that counts.”

“Thank you, Jack. And I know you want to be done with me now. I’ve worn us out, both of us. I’ll just let the two of you get back to your conversation.”

Glory helped him to his room and into his bed, and when she came back, Jack was slouched in his chair with his ankles crossed, laying out cards for solitaire.

He said, “Has a day ever passed when you haven’t thought of him?”

“Who?”

“Whom. The old gent. Whom did you think I meant? Mr. 452 Love Letters?”

She said, “You’re so jealous!”

He laughed. “True. It isn’t fair. I never got even one. Just the other day in the
Post
I noticed a poem by Mrs. Lindbergh that I wouldn’t mind getting in the mail. Much better than nothing. Though I’ve learned that nothing also has charms. It’s more nuanced than ‘return to sender,’ for example.”

She said, “I doubt I’ve gone a whole day without thinking of Papa. I’m sure there have been hours here and there.”

“I’ve thought about this place so many times. When I was a kid I used to wish I lived here. I used to wish I could just walk in the door like the rest of you did and, you know, sit down at the table and do my homework or something.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “I actually tried it out once or twice.” Then he said, “I know why people watched me. I’m not even sure that was what made me uneasy. I think it made me feel safer sometimes. I used to test it, stir up a little trouble to make sure the old fellow was still keeping an eye on me. Sometimes I’d be out in the barn, in the loft, listening to the piano, you all singing ‘My Darling Clementine,’ and I’d think, Maybe they’ve forgotten all about me, and it felt like death, in a way.” He said, “I was usually closer to home than he thought I was. Where he didn’t look for me.” He glanced at her. “Don’t cry, please. I’m just telling you how it was.” He laughed. “How it is.” Then he said, “There are a couple of bottles in the loft. If you want to get them down, I’ll hold the ladder.”

“I get tears. I can’t help it. They don’t mean anything.”

“They’re nice, actually. To be honest, I think I tell you my sad stories to see if they really are sad. And sure enough, the tears start, and I can relax about it. I mean, there’s nothing sad about getting what you deserve. So I’ve been told. I feel a little vindicated when you cry.”

“I don’t know. Maybe getting what you deserve is the saddest thing in the world.”

“Really? I think about little Annie Wheeler, the non-bride of my non-youth.” He looked at her. “That’s sad. You see, I just mention her name and here come the tears.” Then he said, “I’m really sorry. I should have known better.”

After a while Glory said, “I wouldn’t mind talking about her. I think about her, too.”

He cleared his throat. “Do you know where she is? You don’t
have to tell me. I mean, I don’t think she’d have any use for me. There are plenty of bums in Chicago. I just wondered if you knew.”

“If her family knew, they wouldn’t tell us. Papa talked to them about it a number of times, thinking they might hear from her. He has worried about her.”

Jack said, “I really shamed him.”

“It was a hard time.”

He fiddled with the deck of cards, cutting it and squaring it and cutting it. “That last time I spoke to him, before I left, I knew I had done something he couldn’t forgive. He thought he could. He said he had, but he’s a terrible liar. It shocked me that I could hurt him so badly. It scared me. It was what I expected, but it scared me. It was like stepping off a cliff. And it was a relief, too. I thought, It’s finally happened, I knew it would.” He laughed. “I believe I was drunk for the next three years. Teddy found his vocation keeping me alive. The poor devil, when I think of what he went through with me. When he was nineteen, trying to study, trying to make varsity baseball, trying to get me to class. He was caught cheating once. Teddy. He took my place at an exam. I believe my sense of decency must have stirred briefly, because that was when I went off to St. Louis. Apparently the dean decided Teddy violated the honor code for honorable reasons, I don’t know. But it could have kept him from finishing. It could have been a blot on his record, kept him out of medical school.” He said, “St. Louis was stepping off another cliff. And that was a relief, too.”

He shuffled the cards, laid them out, swept them up, and shuffled again. “None of this makes sense,” he said. “It’s all pretty ugly. For a while I thought I might have come to the end of it. No, I knew better than that. I knew better.” He said, “Della’s father asked around. He wanted—character references.” He smiled.

“I’m sorry.”

“He told me some things about myself I’d forgotten. He showed me a letter he had written to Della. He said he wouldn’t
give it to her if I let her alone. I couldn’t do that. But she stuck with me. That was hard.”

“But you were all right then, when you were with Della.”

“‘Can the Scotsman change his skin or the leopard his spots? Then may ye also do good that are accustomed to do evil.’ He was just trying to look out for his daughter. I respect that. He’s a lot like our reverend father, in fact. Always trying to look after everybody.” He laid out the cards. “Anyway, I feel more like myself now. Wanting, hoping—it’s like the old fellow said, those things take a lot out of you. But this—this I can do.”

“You are going to send the letter.”

He nodded. “There’s no point in sending it. On the other hand, why waste a stamp?” He glanced at her. “Gloria Dolorosa. It’s good of you to take it all so hard, chum. It really is.”

She made up the dumpling batter and dropped it onto the stewed chicken. She, also, had eaten some terrible dumplings. It occurred to her to wonder if they were ever good in the ordinary sense, if at best they were not just familiar, inoffensive. They really were too inoffensive. It might have been the word “dumpling” she liked rather than the thing itself.

She said, “I have an idea, Jack. I could go to Memphis. I could talk to her. If you fix the car, we could drive down together. We’ll call Teddy, and he’ll come here to look after Papa for a few days. He would do that if you asked him to. And then I’d just go to her house. Or to her church. No one would notice me, and maybe I could get a chance to talk to her.”

“That’s kind. But let’s just say they don’t notice you.” He laughed. “I’m pretty sure they would. But if they didn’t. What would you say to her? That no one will give me a job, and I’m drinking again, and I recently failed to fire up the DeSoto and sail off to perdition? That I am metaphysically responsible for the floweriest little grave in all Gilead?”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“What would you say, though, Glory? You see my point.”

“I’d say you were waiting in the car.”

“With a dozen roses. And the engine running.”

“And a box of chocolates.”

Jack looked away and smiled. Then he said, very softly, “Don’t, Glory. I have to deal with reality. Or at least accept the fact that reality is dealing with me.” He touched his face. “I’m a rougher-looking bastard now than I was when I came here. And even then I was surprised that you’d let me in the door. I don’t think I’d want her to see me now.”

“You’ll be better in a day or two. Then you can decide.”

He laughed. “This is a terrible plan. I can’t tell you how bad it is.”

“Well, you can think about it.”

“Yes,” he said. “It is nice to think about. I’d like to show them what good people I come from. If I could get the radio working, we’d hear some music on the way to Memphis. I might as well take a look at that engine, anyway. You were getting some use out of the old crate. I’ll try to get it running again.” Then he said, “Is my shirt still out there?”

“No, I brought it in this morning. I tried laundry soap and that didn’t do much. I doubt bleach would, either. I thought I might ask Lila. But that sleeve isn’t stained very badly.” She said, “Your suit is hanging in the porch. I burned your socks.”

He looked at her. “Tears again.” He laughed. “Regret is wasted on me, Glory. I do the damnedest things, and there’s no help for it. I kept that shirt for a long time. I don’t often manage to keep things.”

She said, “I haven’t given up yet. If I can’t get those stains out, I’ll sew the sleeve into your other shirt. That wouldn’t be hard.”

“Don’t,” he said. “Let me get used to things the way they are. That’s the biggest favor you can do me, Glory.” He smiled. “But thanks. You’re a good kid.”

“Yes. In the morning I’m going to take your letter to the post office.”

“All right.” He said, “You did get those bottles out of my dresser?”

“While you were asleep.”

“Good. It would be a mistake to trust me. I’m sorry about that.”

While she looked after her father, Jack set the table. She brought the old man out to the kitchen and seated him. He said, “Yes,” and bowed his head and said no more for a little while, then, “If you wouldn’t mind, Glory.”