The Other Shore: Two Stories of Love and Death

body language on her part, but he's trying to take the graveness of the situation into consideration before he reads too much into anything.

  "Sy, Maggie has some news," Susannah says, tears in her eyes.

  Sy looks at Maggie, clearly not sure what to make of the situation. "What is it?"

  "I'm pregnant."

  "What? Really?" he asks.

  Maggie shakes her head, smiling, clearly happy to be able to deliver the news.

  "Oh, Maggie, this is wonderful news. What a gift this is," he says, and his face seems even brighter than before. "I... I... Well, I'd stand up and give you a hug if I weren't so damn weak," he says before Maggie leans down to embrace him.

  Simon can see from his dad's shining face that there's intense pain behind that glow. And he can see through the smile that's painted on his face that there's also the anguish of recognition that he won't ever meet this grandchild.

  "Well, this calls for a celebration," Sy says, looking at Susannah. "We should have some champagne, don't you think?"

  "You're right," Susannah says. "I'll go get some."

  "And five glasses, please," Sy says.

  "You're going to drink champagne?" Susannah asks, looking at him with a confused look on her face.

  "Just enough to feel the bubbles on my tongue," he says as she leaves the room.

  "I'll go help her," Maggie says, and walks out into the hallway.

  Simon approaches the bed again. Laura stays back against the wall.

  "Dad?"

  "Yeah," Sy says, his voice dropping to a whisper now.

  "You in a lot of pain?"

  "Always."

  "Should I get you something?"

  "After the champagne."

  Simon looks at his father, and wonders how much time is left. "Can I ask you something?"

  "Sure. What is it?"

  "Are you ready for this? Have you prepared yourself for dying?"

  "Simon," Laura says, uncrossing her arms and taking a step from the wall again.

  "No, it's alright," Sy says, holding up a hand to calm her concern. "I'm not certain anyone can properly prepare themselves for something so unknown. But when you get to the point I'm at now, you get... Tired. So, so tired. And these days, even when I'm up and aware, I'm only barely here, barely aware. I'm ready to be free of the pain and just let myself drift away, if you can understand that.

  "That isn't to say that I don't have fears. As you know, I've never been a believer in any particular gods, but I've tried to make peace with the world and hope that this isn't the ending—only one ending. Probably, it's wishful thinking, but it's a wish I've been carrying."

  "Do you feel happy, satisfied with your life?"

  "Today, I do," he says and smiles. He grabs Simon's hand.

  Susannah walks in with Maggie and the nurse.

  "Sy, Wendy's going to give you your pain meds, if that's alright."

  "That'll be fine, Susie," he says.

  Simon had not heard him refer to her as Susie until now, and—hearing the sound of it in his dad's voice—it sounded so heartbreakingly lovely to him. And he could understand why. She had anticipated his pain and always seemed to be taking care of him. And she has dealt with him with such tenderness and an obvious, deep love. And when he looked at her, it was in a way that only lovers understand—a private exchange of intimacies. It's clear, even though he's thoroughly sick and tired, he's still full of affection for Susannah.

  The nurse quickly does her work at the IV while Susannah pops the cork on a bottle of champagne and proceeds to pour the foam and bubbles into five glasses. The nurse sneaks out of the room as Maggie passes the glasses around one by one. Susannah adjusts Simon's pillow so that his head is propped up enough to have a drink.

  "To Maggie's health and to the health and good life of my future grandchild," Sy says, fresh tears decorating his eyes.

  "Cheers," Susannah says, clinking his glass.

  They all take a drink, but it no longer feels like a celebration. It suddenly feels very much like a goodbye.

  Susannah has tears rolling down her face, and, as Simon looks around the room, so does everyone else.

  "Okay, everyone. His meds will be kicking in soon. We should let him rest," Susannah says.

  Simon walks over to his dad and squeezes his hand. He thinks to say something but just smiles instead. Some things don't need to be said, and he feels like his dad knows that he loves him, that he forgives him for any wrongs that might have been done. Also, there's something about surrendering those words now that seems like admitting an ending when an ending might not quite be here.

  He walks out of the room and Maggie and Laura follow. Susannah stays behind and pushes the door shut behind them. Maggie and Simon find their way to the living room. Laura leans against the wall of the hallway, quietly crying as she sinks to sit on the floor. Simon's not sure if it would be appropriate to comfort her, but feels like it might not be. He stays in the living room where Maggie is yanking some tissues from a box on the couch's end table and moves toward the front door.

  "Where you going?

  "I need to get some air," she says, trying to compose herself.

  "You need any company?"

  "No, thanks. I just need a couple minutes alone."

  As Maggie disappears off the porch, letting the screen door bang its nostalgic goodbye, Simon turns back to the hallway. Laura is wiping at her eyes with the backs of her hands. He walks over to the couch, grabs the tissue box, and carries it down the hall. He sits on the floor across from her.

  "You look like you might need these," he says, holding out the tissue box to her.

  "Thanks," she says, grabbing a tissue from the box and dabbing it against her eyes and nose.

  "Would you like to be alone?"

  "No, you're fine," she says with the congested voice of a dissipating cry. "I could use the company. I'm just sorry I'm such a mess."

  "I think you can be forgiven under the circumstances."

  She reaches out to him, squeezes his hand. "I'm sorry that I tried to stop you earlier, when you were asking him about dying. I just worried that—"

  "No, I understand."

  She lets go of his hand, rises up on all fours and crawls down the hall to Sy's door.

  "What are you doing?"

  She puts a finger up to her mouth to quiet him and then waves him over.

  "Are you eavesdropping?" he whispers, crawling toward her.

  "No. Just wait."

  They sit there for a moment, listening. He can hear some murmuring but can't make out any of the words. It doesn't matter, though. It's not what's going on inside the room that most interests him. The door is open just enough for a little of the room's light to illuminate Laura's face. Her eyes are still young with tears, and her face is at its most beautiful in the shine.

  She looks over at him, catches him staring.

  "What?"

  "The light. It's shining right on your face, and it's… It's… I don't know."

  She smiles at him, and then sticks her finger across her well-lit lips again to quiet him. "Listen," she whispers.

  His father is softly singing to Susannah:

  "Darling, you-ooo-ooo-ooo send me.

  I know you-ooo-ooo-ooo send me,

  Darling, you-ooo-ooo-ooo send me.

  Honest you do. Honest you do. Honest you do."

  After Sy succumbed to his medication and fell asleep, Susannah left his room and everyone else scattered in their different directions. Maggie left to teach a lesson, saying she'd return later that evening. Laura left to take care of some things at the office, saying she'd return in a few hours with a pizza. Susannah stayed in the house but couldn't seem to stay in one place. She moved from room to room carrying a strange manic energy everywhere she went. She didn't seem to be doing much of anything other than busywork, which acted as little more than a distraction to the champagne she continued to drink long after everyone was gone.

  Simon returned to his dad's bedsid
e as everyone else disappeared, and this is where he's remained. He's spent at least the past hour staring out the window at the lake or tracing the lines of his dad's jagged profile. He has a magazine on his lap that he's barely read, though not for lack of trying. He grabs it every so often, starts to read, realizes he's absorbed nothing, and then places it back on his lap.

  He keeps thinking he should go out by the lake again, get out of this room. The absence of any decor or character is getting to him. When he first saw it, the lack of clutter or personal effects was almost charming, but now it feels morbid and claustrophobic, almost as if they'd already decided to drain all definition from his life, parked him in a twelve-by-twelve foot tomb.

  And it's so quiet. Other than the sound of Susannah pacing the hall every now and then, the only sound in the room is his dad's breathing. He finds himself watching the subtle rising and falling of his dad's chest, but the movement becomes blurry and more subtle by the minute, and this starts to take on its own morbidity, like he's anticipating the end, willing it even.

  After spending this much time watching his dad die in slow motion, he starts to understand why Susannah can't stand still, opting instead for constant motion and self-medication. It's not pleasant to sit in silence as death teeters above you.

  Simon stands up. The magazine falls to the floor, startles him as the noise cuts through the quiet. He picks it up, sits it neatly on the seat of the chair, and looks at his dad to see if the noise disturbed him.

  There's no reaction. Nothing has changed.

  He looks out at the water again. It's calmly moving, and if he crouches a little, the beach disappears and the water looks as though it's flowing right toward the house. And he closes his eyes, listens for the sound of