15 Chapter 15

“Fine,” he said, weakly.

“Do you want something to drink?” I asked. “I brought you a cup of tea.”

He looked medicated, his eyes glassy and drifting over my shoulder, up to the blank TV screen mounted on the wall.

“Can you hear me?” My voice trembled. “Dad?” I said softly, holding his paper-thin hand in mine, and squeezing.

His heavy gaze fell across mine, unblinking and expressionless.

“I’m here, Dad.” A muscle in my jaw trembled, and I felt myself biting against the pain and the metallic taste of blood in my mouth.

“Son?”

“Yes. It’s me, Dad.”

After a long pause, he looked away, to the far corner of the dark room, and he pointed as if somebody was standing behind us. I turned around but there was nothing there but the reflection of our silhouettes in the plate-glass window.

When I looked back at him, he opened his mouth in the shape of an O, but nothing came out. He stayed that way, speechless, until a few minutes later when he found his words again. “Janine.”