When I Found You (40 page)

Half a minute or more, during which Nat listened carefully to the sound of Nathan’s audible breathing.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” Nathan said. “I’ll forgive you for lying about the fight, if you’ll forgive me for not telling you I had cancer.”

Nat rose, walked to Nathan’s bed. Sat down next to him. He held out his right hand and Nathan shook it. Then he rose and headed for the door.

“Nat. Before you go …”

“Yes?”

“Did you ever try to find your father?”

“No.” He waited to see if Nathan would ask why not. He didn’t. But Nat felt compelled to say anyway. “Because you said I should be ready for a disappointment. For him to let me down. I knew you were right about that. And I wasn’t. Ready. I never got ready. I just knew I couldn’t take that. So I decided to stick with you.”

28 January 1990   

“Are you awake, Nat?” Nathan’s voice seemed to lose volume every day. He barely sounded like Nathan any more. The strength of that voice, the sureness of it, the way it had seemed to project up from the depths of his chest … all that was gone now. It sounded as though it lived in his throat and barely succeeded in making the short journey.

Nat glanced at the new glow-in-the-dark clock. Two thirty.

“Oh, yes.”

“Why didn’t you help that boy?”

“What boy?”

“The one Little Manny wanted you to help.”

“Oh. Danny?”

“Big boy. Lives with his grandmother.”

“Danny.”

“Why wouldn’t you help him? Are you still jealous of those boys?”

“Yes.”

“But you work with them every day. It’s your job.”

“But they pay.”

“They pay Manny. You get paid either way.”

“I just don’t like Danny.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t. Just something about him I don’t like.”

Silence. Nat listened to the clock ticking. The wind whistling outside.

Nathan didn’t say anything.

“Didn’t you ever meet someone you didn’t like?”

“Often. But I could usually state my reasons.”

“Well, I don’t know mine.”

“See if you can figure it out and get back to me. OK?”

“Why? Because you really want to know? Or because you really want
me
to know?”

“Yes,” Nathan said.

In spite of himself, Nat laughed slightly.

“You know,” Nathan said, “your grandmother still calls me. To ask after you. Once a month or so. After all these years.”

“No. I didn’t know she still did. You didn’t tell me she still did.”

“I’m telling you now,” Nathan said.

“She must be quite an old woman by now.”

“I thought when I met her that she was my age. But she’s actually four years younger. So she’s just about in her mid-seventies. So she’s getting up in years, yes.”

“Meaning if I’m going to call her, I should do it soon.”

“I didn’t say that. I’m merely telling you.”

“Why now? All of a sudden? Why tell me now?”

“How many more chances do you suppose I’ll get?” Nathan asked.

3 February 1990   

Carol came in at six thirty.

Nat sat in the living room, in the dark. On the window seat. Watching the snow fly in the light from the street lamp out front.

At the corner of his eye he saw the lights come on in the foyer. Carol stuck her head into the living room. Reached for the overhead light switch.

“Nat?”

“Don’t turn on the light, please.”

“Are you OK?”

“I want to tell you something.”

She walked into the middle of the living room and froze there in the near-dark, a paper grocery sack clutched in both arms.

“I was an idiot. And I’m sorry. I know sorry doesn’t help. But I really mean it. I’m really sorry for being such a complete idiot. I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t believe you would love me if I wasn’t in shape. If I wasn’t a fighter. You know. If I wasn’t everything I was when you met me.”

“You might be overestimating what you were when I met you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Never mind. Sorry. Do you believe it now?”

“Not entirely, no.”

“Sorry to hear that. But thanks for the apology. And thanks for snowblowing the driveway. I have to go make Nathan’s cake. So it’ll be ready in the morning.”

“I don’t think he’s really going to eat cake for breakfast.”

“He can eat it whenever he wants. But I still think it would be funny to serve it for breakfast.”

She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Nat alone in the dark.

20 February 1990   

Nat’s left arm trembled with the exertion of supporting Nathan’s head while he spoon-fed him his afternoon clear broth. Not that Nathan’s head was all that heavy. But Nat’s left arm was still weak. And Nathan could only take about half a teaspoonful at a time. So he’d been holding the position for some time.

“Hospice woman is coming next week,” Nathan whispered between sips.

“Why? I can take care of you.”

“Different system of pain management.”

“Oh.”

“But I could have her take over some of the feeding.”

“No. I can feed you.”

“It’s too hard for you to support my head.”

“It’s fine, Nathan.”

“I can feel your arm trembling.”

“Nathan. You made sure my head was supported. Even when you thought I was dead, you made sure my head was supported. And all the way to the hospital. Did your arm get tired? I bet it did. Now just finish your soup, OK?”

“Let’s take a break.”

Nat eased Nathan’s head back against the pillows with a sigh. The muscles in his left arm shouted at him. For a moment, more loudly than they had while in action.

They sat for a minute, quietly. Resting from the ordeal of clear broth.

Then Nat said, “It’s because he’s better than I was.”

“Who?”

“Danny.”

“Oh. Danny.”

“He’s better than I ever was and he’ll be better than I ever would have been. Plus if he keeps growing at this rate, he’ll go heavyweight. And the heavyweights get all the glory.”

“So that’s why you don’t like him.”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you glad to know that?”

“Not really, no.”

“You’ll thank me for it some day.”

“I doubt it,” Nat said.

4 March 1990   

The light poured into Nathan’s bedroom, causing Nat to wince and blink when he opened his eyes. He knew he’d slept much later than usual. Nathan must have been awake for hours. He must have stayed quiet to let Nat sleep.

He slowly adjusted his eyes to the light and then clasped his hands behind his head. Looking up and out the window to clear, blue-white winter sky.

“Nathan?” he asked after a time. “Why did you do everything you did for me? I mean, I know why you rushed me to the hospital when you found me. Hell, anybody would have. Even
I
would do that much. But I mean … taking me into your house. Visiting me three times a week in Juvie. Financing my boxing career. And the gym. And all that time I was being such a dick. Sorry about the language, but if you can think of a better description feel free to jump in. Why did you do all of it?”

Nat lay still, waiting for his answer. It didn’t surprise him to have to wait. Nathan took more and more time to speak these days. And it was a hard question, anyway.

But the pause just kept going.

“Nathan?”

No answer. Nat scrambled up from under the covers. Ran to Nathan’s bed. The old man lay peacefully with his eyes closed. As if napping. As if having some lovely dream.

“Nathan?”

Nat backed up two steps.

A knock at the front door startled him. Even though the sound was muffled from all the way in the back bedroom. Nat sprinted to the door, still only in pajamas, praying it would be Wilma, the hospice lady. Wilma would know what to do.

He threw the door wide.

“My goodness,” Wilma said. “Everything all right?”

“Nathan’s … I don’t know what he is, Wilma, but he doesn’t answer me.”

“Did you check his pulse?”

“No, it was just now. Just when you knocked.”

“Well, let’s go see what’s what, then.”

She followed him back down the carpeted hallway. Nat’s heart beat so violently that he could feel it in his chest and hear it in his ears.

He watched Wilma silently, calmly, lean over Nathan and hold her fingertips on his wrist.

She nodded at Nat. “He’s still with us,” she said. “Still in there. Somewhere. Very weak pulse. I think he’s down below the place where you’re going to see him conscious. I don’t think he’ll wake up and talk much from here on. Then again, you never know.”

“So what do I do, Wilma?”

“Nothing much
to
do, really. Just stay with him. Try to see the beauty in it, if such a thing is possible for you.”

Without even waiting for Wilma to finish up and go, Nat lay on the bed beside Nathan. Moved in close and threw one arm over Nathan’s shoulders.

“It’s nice to see a young man so devoted to his grandfather,” Wilma said. “I don’t see a thing like that every day.”

5 March 1990