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eleven
“Chris? Did you kill him?”
It was the first time Hobbs had laid eyes on his little sister since last Christmas. At first, he didn’t know what to say, even though she was the same old Hannah: small, feminine, wearing a flowy shirt with bright pink flowers, her honey-colored hair pulled back with a barrette, her voice gentle.
Victor stood behind her, towering over their baby sister, leaning in the entryway. He seemed far less concerned than Hannah that Pops might’ve just died.
“Is he dead?” Hannah stepped into the room and cautiously approached the sofa bed, as if Pops might shoot straight up like Nosferatu.
“Um.” Hobbs didn’t have words. For any of it. Had his father just died? He definitely looked dead. Hobbs didn’t know whether to feel vindicated or cheated.
Hannah held Pops’s wrist in her hand. Her fingers were pale and smooth against his ruddy, wrinkled, hairy skin. “He really is dead.” She turned to her brothers, fingertips covering her mouth, chin dropped. “Did he say anything?”
Hobbs cleared his throat. “No. He just...gasped.” He wasn’t about to tell Hannah Pops’s last words. No point in making her relive the past, too.
“That’s it?” Hannah turned back to Pops and stared down at him. “That’s it?” she repeated, her voice softer.
Hobbs couldn’t agree more. If the son of a bitch really had up and died, Hobbs had a thing or two to say about that. He’d wanted more, he realized, now that he was here and had looked the old man in the eyes. He’d been secretly hoping that Pops wasn’t that far gone, would remember everything and would have the chance to either show some remorse or prove what a horrible human being he was by not being sorry at all.Something, Hobbs thought.You don’t get to just up and die.
“He’s gone?”
Everyone spun toward Mom’s voice, coming from the entryway. She stood inside the door, her words punctuated by a gust of cold wind that swept in after her. She wore a pair of black slacks and a white blouse with a navy windbreaker over top. Her name tag, peeking out of the open jacket, was pinned above the pocket of her shirt:Stop ’n Shop. Tanya. Manager.She had a plastic sack in each hand, her fingers looped through the handles. Poking out the tops were a bag of chips, the leafy end of a bunch of celery and a cellophane baggie full of bakery rolls.
Victor strode over to the bedside and checked Pops’s neck with his fingertips, then held his hand about an inch over Pops’s mouth. “Yep,” he finally reported. “He’s gone.” There was about as much emotion in Victor’s voice as though he were reporting on the weather.
Mom stood there, frozen, the wind rolling inside like a welcome, cleansing gust that gave Hobbs a shiver. She finally pushed the door closed with her foot, but it was with slow reluctance. “Well, that’s it, then.” She leaned against it with her backside and set the bags on the floor.
Only Hannah looked sad. The corners of her mouth turned down and she worried her hands together.
Hobbs at least had the consolation prize that Pops’s last words had been for him. Whether Pops was remembering their last moment together with eerie detail or was reliving it didn’t really matter. Either way, that moment had stuck with the old man as much as it had Hobbs. Good. Now he could take that shit straight to hell.
Hannah’s hands fluttered to her cheeks. She glanced over at Pops’s lifeless form. “Oh, wow.” She sank down on the edge of the sofa bed, next to him. “He’s gone.”
Victor went to Mom, collected the bags from the floor and gestured at Hobbs with a tilt of his head toward the kitchen.
“Hey, Mom.” Hobbs opened his arms and headed her way.
She looked over, her eyes big, her gray-streaked hair curving near her chin in a smart new cut Hobbs had never seen so short. She shook herself, like breaking a spell, and closed the distance between them. “Welcome home, Chris,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Hobbs knew Victor was waiting for him in the kitchen, but Mom’s embrace was like a vise. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she repeated.
“Me, too.” He wasn’t. And he kind of resented that his mother clearly needed him right now, when she’d never been there for him. But that was no way to be. The past was the past, and one big chapter of it was finally over. Once Hobbs was able to step back, he assessed Mom’s expression. He knew how to check his mother’s face and read exactly how she felt. Right now, she was lost. Relieved, yeah. But maybe not as happy as she thought she might be in this moment.
“How long are you staying?”
“I only came because Victor drove his stupid bike a thousand miles to get me. And now the old man went and died, so this was all kind of fruitless.” Even as he spoke, Hobbs thought about that look in Pops’s eyes. Then those words.Christopher. You don’t want to shoot your old man, do you?
“Go talk to your brother.” Mom nodded toward the kitchen. “I’ll go sit with Hannah. Figure out who to call.”
Hobbs watched her walk over and settle on Hannah’s other side, both of them now sitting on the sofa bed next to the dead man Hobbs hadn’t seen in twenty years and had never wanted to see again. He felt a mixture of unpleasant emotions roll around in his gut—resentment, sadness, envy. He left them there and found Victor in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, drinking a glass of water. The green-and-white linoleum was caving in the center and the oak cupboard doors needed replacing, the edges worn and some of the hinges loose. The grocery sacks Mom had been carrying sat on the gray countertops, stained, with permanent knife marks from years of use.
“How’d that happen?” Hobbs tilted his head toward the living room. “I know you said he was dying, but...”
“If looks could kill, little brother. Guess yours did.”
“Funny.”
“You don’t see me laughing.”
“All this way.” Hobbs wanted to kick something. “For nothing.”
