Page 23 of Exposed

“MARE?” he said in a stage whisper, but that was still too loud, so she hustled him into the family lounge and closed the door behind them.

“Pop, what are you still doing here? You must be beat.”

“I’M FINE, I’M GOOD. HOW YOU DOIN’?” Her father eased into a soft chair, and Mary sat down next to him. The lounge was remarkably homey, decorated with cheery print curtains, matching soft couches and chairs, and lined with popular hardbacks and other books. The far side held a cozy kitchen outfitted with new appliances, directly across from a laundry room that held a washer-dryer, thrumming away. A flat-screen TV mounted in the corner played on mute.

“I’m good, but what’s going on? Were you here all day?”

“SURE.”

Mary felt worried about him. At home, he would have napped twice. “Is it because of Feet? I mean, that’s very nice of you to support him, but all day?”

“HE LIKES THE COMPANY. SOMETIMES WE TAKE A WALK. OR WE HAVE A CUPPA COFFEE DOWNSTAIRS.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you went home.”

“I KNOW. IT’S NOT ON ACCOUNT OF HIM. NO, HE TELLS ME TO GO. SO DOES SIMON.”

“Then why?”

“I STAY. I DON’T MIND. I LIKE IT.”

“Are you serious?” Mary couldn’t even wrap her mind around what he was saying. It seemed impossible to like it here. She thought to herself,children died here,a notion that unsettled her so deeply she couldn’t even give it voice.

“I GOT THE TV. I GOT COFFEE. I GOT THE PAPER. I DO THE PUZZLE. I GOT ALL I NEED.” Her father gestured to the newspaper, where he’d completed the Seek & Find. He wasn’t a crossword-puzzle kind of guy.

“But you could be home, relaxing.”

“I RELAX HERE.”

“What about the things you were doing at home? The bathroom floor? You were going to regrout it.” Mary liked that her father stayed active, doing projects around the house. He had been a tile setter his whole life, a fact in which he took great pride, saying his grout was like sugar. The only unfortunate result was that tile covered almost every available surface of the house, of late.

“THAT JOB CAN WAIT. WHAT’S UP WITH SIMON’S CASE?”

“It’s fine. What about Mom? She’s home alone all day.”

“SHE DON’ MIND. SHE AIN’T HOME ANYWAY. SHE GOES TO CHURCH.”

Mary let it go. His attention turned toward the TV, wherethe local newscaster was reporting on a warehouse fire, and she watched her father squint at the closed captioning from behind his bifocals. “Can you read that, Pop?”

“YEAH. I LIKE DENISE NAKANO.”

“Who?”

“THE CHINESE GIRL ON THE NEWS.” Her father gestured at the TV, then his hand fell to his lap. “SHE’S GOOD. VERY PROFESSIONAL.”

Mary smiled to herself. Denise Nakano was Japanese, but she let it go. Her father wasn’t racist and he didn’t need her to nag him.

“I CAN’T GIVE PLATELETS. I TRIED AGAIN. THEY SAID I’M TOO OLD.”

“I know.” Mary thought it came out of left field, but she felt for him. She knew it bothered him that he hadn’t been able to give blood in any of the directed donations for Rachel. She had been able to give at regular intervals because she was CMV negative, which was a rarity, indicating the absence of a common virus.

“SOMETIMES WHEN I SIT HERE, I PRAY. CHURCH CAN BE ANYWHERE. LIKE, THIS IS CHURCH.”

“Right,” Mary said, softening her tone. They fell silent a moment, then her father looked away from the TV, but didn’t turn his head to her, averting his eyes.

“I MEAN, SHE’S JUST A BABY. AND HERE I AM. AND FEET. WE’RE FINE AND SHE’S SICK. THAT AIN’T RIGHT.”

“No, it isn’t.” Mary patted his arm, touched. She thought back to the time when she and her father had taken Feet to the emergency room for a sprained ankle. Her father had been upset there, too.