Gaits of Heaven

shoulders and patted gently. Nothing whatever happened: there was not the slightest sign of movement, not the faintest sound of breath. After that, I was all action, ripping the comforter off, rolling Eumie onto her back, pushing up one sleeve of her pink silk pajamas to check for a pulse, feeling the cold of her skin, observing the rigidity of wrist and elbow, and yanking the cell phone out of my pocket, pushing the button that brought it to life, and punching the emergency number. Struggling to speak clearly, I gave the Greens’ address and had just finished saying that Eumie was dead when a young woman burst into the room and came to an abrupt halt.
    I recognized Caprice Brainard immediately. My cousin Leah had said that Caprice had a major weight problem. The problem, as I now saw, consisted of distribution as well as of simple obesity. Bad genetic luck or some vicious force of nature had forced excess pounds upward to her face and neck. What looked like separate pockets of fat seemed to have been cruelly inserted on the upper and lower lids of her blue eyes, on either side of her mouth, on her cheeks, and even on her forehead; and distinct rolls encircled her neck. Her body was heavy, but her torso was mercifully rounded, and she wore a long denim skirt that hid her legs and feet. Her beautiful hair seemed to mock the disfigurement of her face. She had the blond ringlets of a cherub.
    Still holding the cell phone to my ear, I used my other hand to gesture to Caprice to stop where she was. Simultaneously, I shook my head. “Wait outside,” I told her.
    Unfortunately, I was too late. Caprice’s eyes were fixed on her mother’s body. Frozen in place, she began to scream. Having finished reporting the essentials of the emergency, I gave up on the 911 call, put the phone back in my pocket, and was moving toward Caprice when Ted appeared. Instead of checking on his wife or attending to his stepdaughter, he rushed past Caprice and through the open door of what proved to be a large and luxurious bathroom. When he put the lights on, I could see tile, marble, and mirrors. Noticing my gaze, Ted hastily shut the door.
    The bang of the door silenced Caprice, but before I had the chance to lead her out of the room, a teenage boy staggered in and began shouting, “Caprice, for Christ’s sake, shut up! All I’m trying to do is get some sleep. Now shut your fat mouth!”
    His eyes were heavy, and he was naked except for a white towel wrapped around his waist. His sandy hair formed a thick mat of wiry curls, his face was pale and blotched, and his body was so pitifully lacking in muscle tone that he was at once thin and flabby. The combination of visible ribs and a swollen belly suggested some form of malnutrition more prevalent in Third World countries than on Avon Hill.
    “Wyeth, get out of here!” Caprice told him. “My mother is dead. Now, leave!”
    Simultaneously, Ted emerged from the bathroom, and Dolfo rushed into the room and leaped onto the bed.
    “It stinks of shit in here,” Wyeth said.
    “Eumie is very sick,” Ted told him. “I need to call an ambulance.”
    “She’s dead,” Caprice corrected. “Look at her elbow. That’s rigor mortis.” Seconds earlier, Caprice had been wailing. Now she was coldly clinical.
    “Dummkopf,” he said. “She’s overdone her meds.”
    Heading for the door, Wyeth said, “If she’s dead, so what? Selfish bitch. Good riddance. I’m going back to sleep.”
    The fundamental indecency of the entire scene hit me all at once. I had the power to restore decency to only one aspect of it: I could remove the dog from what was certainly a deathbed. Pulling a slip collar and leash from my pocket, I edged to the foot of the bed, where Dolfo had turned onto his back and was scent rolling in a fashion that might have been cute in a different setting but was now revolting. On the verge of gagging, I summoned the reflexes built up over a lifetime and soon had Dolfo restrained, off the bed, and out in the hall, where Caprice and Ted had moved to continue their quarrel.
    “Her trauma history,” Ted said. “The underlying suicidality! I warned her and warned her about mixing her meds. She must’ve stumbled to the bathroom and grabbed something from the medicine cabinet.”
    “My mother was not suicidal,” Caprice insisted.
    “I didn’t say she—”
    “Yes, you did.”
    “I did not. And there’s no reason to assume she’s beyond help. Why are we wasting time? I’m