Enfolding spots of sunny greenery.”
“Ah,” Dr. Capello said, a sound of bliss. His pupils were fixed and dilated. “I see it all. The trees. The garden. The river. I see—” he took one more labored breath “—my Rachel.”
Roland’s head snapped up, his eyes wide open.
“Dad?” Roland leaned forward and put his hand on Dr. Capello’s face. “Dad?”
Allison placed her hand on Dr. Capello’s chest. She felt nothing.
“He’s gone,” she said in a whisper, but in the silence of the room it sounded like she’d shouted it.
Allison looked at Roland. He shook his head, not in disbelief but in protest against the unfairness of it all. His tongue was loosened then, and at last he said all the things he’d been meaning to say.
“Dad, it’s your son. It’s Roland. Listen to me. I love you, Dad. I’ll always love you. You loved me when no one else could. You loved me when no one else would. You took me in when no one wanted me. You didn’t just forgive me, you called me your son. When no one else would have me, you gave me a home. You made me who I am. You made me a good man. I owe you everything. I owe you my whole life and everything I am and everything I have and everyone I love. Dad? Do you hear me? Dad?”
Thora and Deacon sobbed in each other’s arms. They were lost in grief, drowning in it, choking on it. Roland had started his litany all over again.
“I love you, Dad. I’ll always love you. You loved me when no one else could. You loved me when no one else would. You didn’t just forgive me...”
Those words filled the room, filled it to the rafters and filled Allison to the ribs so that she thought they’d crack and splinter for how her heart swelled to bursting with love for Roland. Whatever sin Dr. Capello had committed against her, Allison vowed then never to hold it against Roland.
She reached for him, pulling him away from Dr. Capello’s corpse, guiding him to the chair. Outside the window the moon was high and round, and in the bed, Dr. Capello’s face went slack and his lips slightly parted in his death mask. And Allison knew she had to be the one to do it. Slowly Allison eased the covers down to free them from Dr. Capello’s arms and pulled them up, up and over his face.
Allison knew she should say something then. Something profound and poetic and merciful, something about this man who’d done beautiful things and ugly things and was now standing at the gates of heaven waiting to find out if the beauty outweighed the ugly in the eyes of God. But for the first time in Allison’s life, poetry failed her. She was left with only two words.
“Goodbye, Dad.”
Chapter 28
The next two days passed in a blur. Allison helped make the necessary phone calls. She cooked, she cleaned, she brewed pot after pot of coffee while Roland, Deacon and Thora walked around the house numb with shock, acting almost normal, which always seemed the most abnormal thing people did after a death. Every night Roland slept with her in her bed, holding her and sometimes kissing her but that was it. They didn’t make love or talk about their future together, if there was one. Nero might have fiddled while Rome burned, but not even he played in the ashes.
And there were ashes. Four glass urns that contained Dr. Capello’s last remains were delivered to the house on the morning of the third day after he’d passed away. There would be no funeral, no visitation. Dr. Capello wanted none of that. He found it maudlin and strange and religious, which he wasn’t. So the urns sat side by side by side by side on the floor of the sunroom next to the windows, waiting to be scattered. Allison caught Deacon staring at them. He stared so long and hard, Allison finally took a blanket off the couch and draped it over the urns.
“Thank you,” Deacon said, and swallowed.
“Not a problem.”
“I made them, you know.”
“Did you?” she asked.
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to make urns for your own father while he’s still alive?” Deacon asked.
“I can’t imagine.”
“I don’t recommend it.”
“You made four of them.”
“One for each of us,” he said. “But if you don’t want to—”
He smiled at her, a pained smile.
She took him in her arms and held him. He didn’t cry but that was no surprise. They were all cried out by the third day.
“You’re going to stay, aren’t you?” Deacon asked.
“You want me to?” she asked.
“Roland needs you. Sexually, I mean,” Deacon said, pulling away.
“Deacon.”
“It’s part of the healing process,” he said. “It’s cleansing. Gotta get all the fluids out.”
“You’re hopeless.”
“It’s true. At least, that’s what I keep telling Thora. She’s not buying it, either.”
Allison playfully shoved him and they laughed, the first laugh she remembered laughing in days.
“I have something for you,” Deacon said. “It’s up in my room.”
“I’m scared.”
“You should be,” he said with a wink.
He took her upstairs to his bedroom and showed her a large box sitting on the floor tied up with twine.
“For you,” he said. “Open it.”
Allison gave him a look before untying the string and opening the lid. And there nestled inside the packing peanuts she found a glass dragon. Not one glass dragon but two. Not two but three. Not three but four. She pulled all four of them one by one out of the box. They were exquisitely sculpted, with detail so intricate her eyes could barely see it all. They were all different—one was black and laughing; one was golden and pensive; one was red, chin high, proud and smiling; one was jade green and held a book in its talons. Allison recognized them at once—a dragon for each of them. And even better, they weren’t just dragons but bookends. Each one of them was situated on a heavy glass pedestal with a heavy glass back. Deacon had done this for her, made these with his own hands. She loved them in an instant.
“They’re beautiful,” she breathed, barely able to speak aloud.
“I like to make animals,” Deacon said, and she glanced up at him. He looked a little sad, a little embarrassed. “You know when I was a kid—”
“I know,” she said. “When I was a kid I stepped on every ant I saw because I thought they’d swarm and eat me. I think I had them confused with piranhas. Kids are dumb sometimes.”
Deacon gave her a grateful smile.
“You can sell the dragons in your bookstore,” Deacon said, his eyes bright and eager again. “I can make more, I mean, so you can keep these ones.”
The bookstore. Of course. What a perfect idea. So much for Pandora’s Books. She would call it the Bookstore at the End of the World. And the window would have a dragon painted on it and it would say under the name Here there be dragon books... She’d have a whole section on sea monster books, mythology and lore. And maps, too. Beautiful old maps with dragons at the edges of the known world. She’d work there all day and come home to Roland every night. What would he do? Start a children’s charity with his father’s money? They’d live at The Dragon, all four of them. Plenty of room, beautiful house, happy memories. No reason not to. And she and Roland would get married on the beach and maybe Thora and Deacon would have a private sort of ceremony so they could feel married at last, if that’s what they wanted. And they’d all be happy together and Allison would never, ever be alone again.
A nice dream.
“They’re so perfect,” she said. “I can’t even believe they’re mine.”
“I hope you don’t mind I made them without you. I was afraid you’d try to pet them when they were still a thousand degrees.”
“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”
“Reminding people of their stupid mistakes is what family’s for,” Deacon said.
Allison carefully put the dragons back in the box and carelessly threw her arms around Deacon.
“Hey, yo,” he said. “Calm down. I’m already sleeping with one sister.”
Allison laughed. “God, you’re terrible. I love you so much.”