“Is that Cordell?”
Mom is the only person on the planet who still calls him that. He’s been Dell since we were two, just like I’ve been called Delia since the same time, even though technically the name on my birth certificate is Cordelia. No one ever calls me that, and I don’t think many people except Mom even know our names aren’t actually, legally Dell and Delia.
I tug the robe closed and tie it for her. “Yeah, that’s Dell. He’s talking to Dad.”
“Oh, good. About time that boy got his act together.”
I don’t correct her. “He’ll be here a few days, I think. You can go back to bed.”
She frowns. “I want to see Cordell.”
I hug her. “I’m going home. I’m not sure how long they’ll be talking.”
Mom hugs back, her arms thin and brittle and soft. “Good night, Dee-Dee. I love you.”
“Love you, Mom.”
Despite what Isaid to Mom, Dell is nowhere to be found the next morning.
Dad won’t tell me what they talked about.
Mom spends every waking second at Dad’s side, in his bed with him. They watch old movies together and don’t talk.
* * *
FIVE DAYS LATER
Dawn, or just past. Dad’s favorite time of day. Since I was a little girl, too young to tie my own shoes, I’ve been waking up at dawn to have coffee with Daddy. When I was little, it was chocolate milk in a coffee mug. By thirteen, it was actual coffee.
Past few months, we’ve had our coffee together in his bed in the study.
Today, there’s no coffee.
I bring it to him anyway. He can’t sit up to hold it.
He just attempts a smile. “I think…we can skip…the coffee…Dee.”
I set it aside. “Okay.” I hold his hand instead.
“Where’s…Dell?”
I texted him last night, called him. Told him it would be today.
Dad spent most of yesterday holed up in here with Quentin Albright Quince, the family attorney. Dad wouldn’t say about what, the only thing he’s ever kept from me, that I know of.
“He’s…he’s not here,” I whisper.
Daddy pins me with a look, and even now his blue-blue eyes can pierce, hold authority. “Call him.”
I stand up. “Okay.”
He grabs my arm, holds on. “Here. Now.”
I dial Dell’s number. It goes to voicemail. Daddy takes the phone from me, holds the bottom end to his mouth. “Dell, this is your father. I’m about to die, son, and you’re not here. This is a moment I swear you’ll regret for the rest of your life.” He pauses for a long time, catching his breath. “I love you, son. I wish I could say I was proud of you, but…I’ll be watching over you from heaven. Try…try to make me proud…Cordell. I love you. I’ll always love you, no matter what. Goodbye, son.”
That’s the only time I’ve ever heard Dad refer to him by his full name.
He presses the red end call button and the phone drops from his hand. “I’ve done all I can do,” he says. “The rest is up to him.”
