Bones of the Lost

of the room, unsure what to do. He’d lost weight and looked gaunt and haggard.
    “He expressed a desire to go south.” Pulling the cover from the cage.
    Charlie, our shared cockatiel, looked startled. But birds always look startled.
    I gestured to the dining room. Ryan set the bird on the table, replaced the cover, then returned to the parlor. I dropped into an armchair and drew my feet up.
    Ryan sat on the sofa but didn’t lean back. “Place looks good.”
    “Been a while,” I said.
    “Yeah.”
    “I’m glad to see both of you.”
    Gran’s clock ticked off a full thirty seconds. The silence felt strained and awkward.
    “How’s the birdcat?” Ryan asked.
    “Still king of the lab.”
    Ryan nodded, but didn’t call out or search for Birdie as he normally would.
    “Coffee?” I asked.
    “Sure.”
    I went to the kitchen. Ryan didn’t follow. Cranking up the Krups, I thought of the times we’d shared the task, grinding beans, measuring water, arguing the mix was too strong or too weak. What the hell had happened?
    When I returned to the parlor, Ryan was sitting forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped and hanging between them.
    He accepted the steaming mug, then turned his head to stare out the window. To stare away from me?
    I resumed my place in the armchair, legs tucked beneath my bum. Steeled for the words I was about to hear. The final severance.
    At length, Ryan’s eyes rolled my way. He set down his untouched coffee. Cleared his throat. Swallowed.
    “She’s dead.”
    “Who?” Totally thrown. “Who’s dead?”
    “Lily.” A strangled whisper.
    Saying his daughter’s name unleashed a torrent of emotions Ryan had been battling to hide. His nostrils blanched and his breathing turned ragged.
    A bubble of heat formed in my chest. Tears threatened.
    No!
    I flew to the sofa, pulled Ryan to me, and held him close. Sobs racked his shoulders. I felt hot dampness on my shirt.
    “I’m so sorry,” I murmured again and again, feeling helpless in the face of such devastating grief. “I’m so, so sorry.”
    At length, Ryan tensed. He pushed from me, sat back, and ran his palms down his cheeks.
    “Captain America, reporting for duty.” He smiled, clearly embarrassed.
    “Crying is good, Ryan.” I took his hand.
    “Man tears.”
    “Yes.”
    He drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I thought you should know.”
    “Of course.”
    Ryan yanked a hanky from a jeans pocket and blew his nose.
    “When?” I asked softly.
    “Ten days ago.”
    No wonder he’d returned none of my calls. Remorse overwhelmed me. But with undertones of pain. Why hadn’t he reached out for my support?
    “What happened?” I asked.
    I was certain of the answer. Ryan had shared his daughter’s recent history. The drug escalation, culminating in heroin addiction. The dealer boyfriend. The arrest for shoplifting. I was one of the few in whom he’d confided.
    The past year, Lily had appeared to be turning a corner. She’d seemed happy, was attending rehab.
    What do we really know about others?
    “Overdose.” Ryan patted a pocket. Remembered where he was. Dropped his hand to his lap.
    “It’s okay to smoke.” It wasn’t. I hate the smell, hate what cigarettes do to the carpets and drapes. To people. But Ryan needed a crutch to steady his nerves.
    I went to the kitchen for an ashtray, knowing I had none. Returned with a saucer.
    Ryan shook a Camel from its pack. As he lit up, I noticed a tremor in his hand.
    “Guess we each choose our own poison,” he said.
    I watched Ryan inhale hard, hold the smoke deep in his lungs, let it out slowly through his nose.
    “They found her in an abandoned duplex being used as a shooting gallery.”
    I’d been to a heroin den once, as part of a team to collect a corpse. I could still picture the horror. Stained mattress. Used needles. Bugs. The reek of urine and feces.
    “She was wearing a T-shirt we bought in Honolulu. She loved it, made me memorize the proverb.” His voice again sounded husky. “Hele me kahau ‘oli.”
    I reached out and stroked his face.
    “Go with joy,” he translated.
    “You did everything you could, Ryan.”
    A tear broke free and rolled down his cheek. He backhanded it roughly. Took another drag of his Camel.
    “Guess it wasn’t enough.” Bitter.
    What could I say?
    When Ryan learned of Lily’s existence, she was already in her teens. He’d never cradled her as an infant, never shared her joys or comforted her fears as a child. I knew he