Shirley Redfern was already there by the time Judy got home, which was good. Most of the time, Shirl knew exactly what to say. Judy had been worried about finding her mother hysterical and tearful, as she’d been when they found out about Grandpa, but today Mother seemed composed and the two woman had plainly just been sitting quietly and talking.

Mother rose to meet her and they embraced for a moment. When they stepped back, Judy could see she had been crying. “How are you doing?,” she asked.

“Handling it.” Mother cleared her throat. “Your father is out in the back. He said he wanted to be alone for a bit, but I think you should go see him, just to let him know you’re here. Don’t stay if he doesn’t want you to.”

He was on one of the lounges, watching the blue surface of the pool.

Judy sat beside him.

On the drive home, she’d thought of all kinds of sensible and loving things to say to him, but now she couldn’t remember a single one. All she could think of was “are you all right?” which was a stupid thing to ask because he wasn’t all right at all. That was the point.

“Dad…” she said, after a moment.

“I’m all right sweetheart,” he said. He looked at her. “Just getting my bearings. You know what I mean?”

Saying “yes,” would sound false. How could she possibly know? So she said nothing.

He closed his eyes, as if he were suddenly very tired.

“Your mother told you when she called? About what Dr. Berenson said?”

“She told me.”

“Ah.” They sat in silence for a moment. “It’s different, actually hearing the word,” he said. “I mean, I’ve been thinking it for while, trying to prepare myself but hearing it.” He tried to smile.

“That’s a whooole other ballgame. Cancer.”

“Dad… You know, there are all sorts of new discoveries being made. Advances. Did Dr. Berenson say…”

“I’d rather not talk about that right now, Judy.” He said, his voice oddly soft. “Is your brother home? Has anyone told him yet?”

“Elisha’s still at Miss Pascoe’s,” Judy said. “He’s not due back for another hour.” Judy no longer had as much time to help him with his schoolwork, so old Miss Pascoe had started tutoring him twice a week. He typically spent at least an hour in the afternoon at her house.

Dad sat up and turned in the chaise so his back to her. She thought he was going to rise, but he stayed seated, his back hunched, so still she wondered if he were in physical pain.

“When Elisha gets in, sweetheart, I’d like to be the one who explains things to him.” He said. His voice was not as quiet, but it still seemed far away.

He kept his back to her.

“Do you want to be alone?” Judy asked.

“Yes. I think I would. Just for a little while.”

She stood, then bent to kiss him tenderly on the top of his head.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered.

When she stepped back inside, she could hear her mother’s voice raised slightly, hard with irritation. “…can’t just leave it at that.”

Shirl answered, her voice very low, but Judy could make out the words “…at the radio station.”

“What do you mean ‘going on?'” Mother snapped. Judy moved to the doorway to the living room.

“I mean those two DC sharpies I told you about the other day.”

They were there this morning, going through the bookshelves, taking notes. Jean Duckert phoned me from the station to tell me.”

Judith remembered Artiste’s book, now resting on the table in the hall. She turned to fetch it.

“Because of what’s on the bookshelves there?’ Mother’s voice had gone high with disbelief, and Judy could almost hear her shake her head in dismissal “It’s none of our business anyway. Bill’s not been involved with VOA since…”

Judith cleared her throat as she stepped into the living room. She was frightened now, though she wasn’t sure exactly why. “Mother,” she said, “I meant to tell you. One of those men was at Town Hall today.”

“You saw him there?” Mother asked.

“I talked to him. He was in Dad’s office.”

“Now in the name of the twelve apostles did he…”

“I let him in.” Judith felt her face grow red. “He looked sick, thirsty. Mother, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. And — I don’t know if this matters or not, I really don’t, but he saw this…”

She held out Artiste’s book. “Dad asked to borrow it last week,” she said, handing it Mother. “I guess Tante dropped it off. It was on his desk.”

As soon as Shirley saw the title, she drew her breath in, her hands pressed to her chest.

“Oh lordy,” she said quietly.

For a moment, Mother just looked at the book in her lap. Then she looked at Judy. “You know for a fact he saw this? Just because it was on the desk doesn’t necessarily mean he noticed it.”

“I had my work spread out on the desk. Artiste’s book was buried under my textbook, my notes. I stepped out to get the man a drink of water, and when I came back, he’d moved things, uncovered it. And Mother… I know this sounds ridiculous but I think he wanted me to see that. He didn’t put anything back, and when he left he looked at me like…”

She struggled for words she wasn’t used to saying. “…like he was wishing me ill.”

“He rummaged around on your father’s desk?” Mother rose, holding the book, her voice an infuriated hiss.

“That disgusting, slimey little toad!”

Judith could hear the front door opening.

“Now, Bridge, don’t fly off the handle. You’re going to need to tread carefully,” said Shirley.

Elisha walked in, and Mother turned so quickly to face him her skirt swirled against her legs. “What are you doing here?” she snapped, marching to where he stood.

Elisha always went dumb in the face of his mother’s anger.

“ANSWER ME, Elisha! You aren’t due back for another thirty minutes at least! Why are you here?”

“Mother…” Judy stepped to her mother’s side and, with palapable relief, Elisha looked away from his mother to his sister. Judy smiled.

“Why didn’t you stay at Miss Pascoe’s Lish?”

He shrugged. “She got a phone call and sent me home.”

“You’re sure? You didn’t just leave because she went into the other room for a call?”

He shook his head, hard. “Miss Pascoe’s nice. I didn’t want to go. But the telephone rang, and she went to answer it, and she talked for a long time, and then she came back in and said I should go home and come back another day.”

“Was she upset?” Judy asked.

“I don’t know. She wanted to talk on the phone.”

“Did she say who called her?”

“I heard her say ‘Jerry’ after she picked up.”

Jerry Pascoe. Jerome. Miss Pascoe’s brother.

“That Red,” Shirl said quietly. “This is not a coincidence.”

“Can I watch tv?” asked Elisha, looking past them both at the television.

“You may not,”said Mother. “You will go upstairs and open a book…”

“Wait,” said Judy. “Mother,” she lowered her voice slightly. “Please. Don’t send him upstairs and make him read.”

“You know he hates that. Dad’s going to want to talk to him, and I think it will be easier if Lish is calm and happy.”

“Oh all right. But no tv!” Mother turned to Elisha. “Go outside for a bit. Take one of your walks.”

Elisha looked delighted. “In the hills?” he asked.

“No. I don’t want you gone that long. Take a walk — take a walk to Scavenger Park and back. And come straight back, do you understand? Your father wants to tell you something.”

“Outside!” Elisha crowed. Then he turned and dashed for the door. “I’ll be quick! Tlot-tlot!” He called over his shoulder.

“I should let Dad know when Elisha’s gets back.” Judy looked at the book her mother was holding. “Should I tell him about what happened at town hall?”

“NO,” Mother said, hugging the book to her. “I’ll tell him. Later.”

Bill had thought he knew what the expression, “It’s been a long day” meant. He’d been wrong. Never until today had he understood it.

The distance between now and the morning, his life that moment when Dr. Berenson uttered the word “cancer” was centuries long.

He’d kept up a good front at the doctor’ office. Remained calm. Asked the right questions, even joked a little.

But the minute he got home, he changed, told Bridget he wanted to be alone, and went out into the back yard. And tried to understand.

He hated crying for himself, but those first few minutes by himself that’s exactly what he’d done.

It was better now. By the time Judy told him Elisha was back, he felt he could handle himself, could talk to other people. He sat Elisha down on the bench, and decided the best thing was to be direct.

“I am going to die.” He said.

Elisha looked mildly curious. “Like Grandpa?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Like Father?”

“Yes. Like your father did.”

Elisha nodded. “Everybody dies,” he said.

“I am going to die soon.”

Elisha thought for a minute, then shook his head as if he were rejecting a suggestion to which he’d given careful consideration.

“I don’t want you to.”

“I don’t want to go either. But I have to.”

“Are you going to die tomorrow?”

“No. Not tomorrow.”

“The day after then?”

“No.”

“Next week?”

“No.”

They sat for a moment, in silience. Then Elisha let out a long breath of relief and smiled.

“So not for a while. You had me scared, Dad.”

“No, not for a while, son. But soon. Sooner than we’d thought.”

There were two ways it could go with Elisha. He could throw a fit, right then and there, or he could simply take it in, then go into the other room to watch the evening news.

To Bill’s relief, it was the latter.

He felt a little better after his talk with Elisha, but it was still like a curtain had fallen between him and everyone else. Someone surely said something at dinner, but later, he couldn’t remember a single word.

At bedtime, Bridget had brought in a tonic, not only for him, but for herself. She seemed cold to him. Distracted. They drank their tonics without looking at each other.

After he finished his, he settled down in his chair, watching Bridget go through her nightly ritual. Face cream. Hand lotion… None of the usual chatter. None of her usual comments on how the day had gone, none of her usual questions,

He felt like a ghost.

He was no longer really a participant, but a thing, now, the currents of family life eddying around him.

Bridget went into her dressing room and came out carrying a book. “I need to tell you something,” she said.

“Yes, hon?” he said in his tired new voice, the voice of a weak, senile codger.

She set it on the table beside him.

“Tante left this for you on your desk at town hall. Judy found it when she went to your office today and…”

He listened as she explained what had happened.

He asked her to repeat it.

She did. And she told him why Elisha had come home from tutoring early. And she repeated what Judy had said about the way that man had looked at her, and as she dashed away tears he saw how deeply upset she was.

“That man frightened her,” she said.

He was standing now. He put his arms around her and held her for a moment.

“Is this going to be a serious problem, Bill?”

“Yes,” he said. “I think it could be a very serious problem.”

The curtain between them had vanished. They were two adults again, husband and wife, talking seriously in a room. “Tomorrow,” he said, “I need to go into the office. Make some phonecalls. Find out the lay of the land.”

“Are you sure? I thought we’d talk to Dr. Berenson about…”

“Later. We’ll talk to him later.”

He picked up the book. “I’ve been looking forward to reading this for a while. Is the light going to bother you?”

“No. But Bill, Dr. Berenson really expects to talk to us tomorrow.”

He kissed her. “Reschedule the appointment for later this week, and we’ll go in together. Tomorrow, I have other things to do, Bridge. People to call.”

“You really think that man would…”

Bill’s response surprised even him. He was normally a patient and canny professional. He’d meant to say calmly that it was never wise to hope for the best in people like that. What came out was almost a shout.

“He’s a vicious, dangerous little rat-bastard!“