Hideaway

lifted him off the sweat-soaked hospital bed, and had sat in a chair by the window, holding him close and murmuring to him until the pale, parted lips drew no more breath. Until his own death, Hatch would remember precisely the weight of the wasted boy in his arms, the sharpness of bones with so little flesh left to pad them, the awful dry heat pouring off skin translucent with sickness, the heart-rending fragility.
    He felt all that now, in his empty arms, there in the rose garden.
    When he looked up at the summer sky, he said, “Why?” as if there were Someone to answer. “He was so small,” Hatch said. “He was so damned small.”
    As he spoke, the burden was heavier than it had ever been in that hospital room, a thousand tons in his empty arms, maybe because he still didn't want to free himself of it as much as he thought he did. But then a strange thing happened—the weight in his arms slowly diminished, and the invisible body of his son seemed to float out of his embrace, as if the flesh had been transmuted entirely to spirit at long last, as if Jim had no need of comforting or consolation any more.
    Hatch lowered his arms.
    Maybe from now on the bittersweet memory of a child lost would be only the sweet memory of a child loved. And maybe, henceforth, it would not be a memory so heavy that it oppressed the heart.
    He stood among the roses.
    The day was warm. The late-afternoon light was golden.
    The sky was perfectly clear—and utterly mysterious.
     
    ----
     
    Regina asked if she could have some of Lindsey's paintings in her room, and she sounded sincere. They chose three. Together they hammered in picture hooks and hung the paintings where she wanted them—along with a foot-tall crucifix she had brought from her room at the orphanage.
    As they worked, Lindsey said, “How about dinner at a really super pizza parlor I know?”
    “Yeah!” the girl said enthusiastically. “I love pizza.”
    “They make it with a nice thick crust, lots of cheese.”
    “Pepperoni?”
    “Cut thin, but lots of it.”
    “Sausage?”
    “Sure, why not. Though you're sure this isn't getting to be a pretty revolting pizza for a vegetarian like you?”
    Regina blushed. “Oh, that. I was such a little shit that day. Oh, Jeez, sorry. I mean, such a smartass. I mean, such a jerk.”
    “That's okay,” Lindsey said. “We all behave like jerks now and then.”
    “You don't. Mr. Harrison doesn't.”
    “Oh, just wait.” Standing on a stepstool in front of the wall opposite the bed, Lindsey pounded in a nail for a picture hook. Regina was holding the painting for her. As she took it from the girl to hang it, Lindsey said, “Listen, will you do me a favor at dinner tonight?”
    “Favor? Sure?”
    “I know it's still awkward for you, this new arrangement. You don't really feel at home and probably won't for a long time—”
    “Oh, it's very nice here,” the girl protested.
    Lindsey slipped the wire over the picture hook and adjusted the painting until it hung straight. Then she sat down on the stepstool, which just about brought her and the girl eye to eye. She took hold of both of Regina's hands, the normal one and the different one. “You're right—it's very nice here. But you and I both know that's not the same as home. I wasn't going to push you on this. I was going to let you take your time, but … Even if it seems a little premature to you, do you think tonight at dinner you could stop calling us Mr. and Mrs. Harrison? Especially Hatch. It would be very important to him, just now, if you could at least call him Hatch.”
    The girl lowered her eyes to their interlocked hands. “Well, I guess … sure … that would be okay.”
    “And you know what? I realize this is asking more than it's fair to ask yet, before you really know him that well. But do you know what would be the best thing in the world for him right now?”
    The girl was still staring at their hands. “What?”
    “If somehow you could find it in your heart to call him Dad. Don't say yes or no just now. Think about it. But it would be a wonderful thing for you to do for him, for reasons I don't have time to explain right here. And I promise you this, Regina—he is a good man. He will do anything for you, put his life on the line for you if it ever came to that, and never ask for anything. He'd be upset if he knew I was even asking you for this. But all I'm asking, really, is for you to think about it.”
    After a long silence, the girl looked up