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.All these years, I didn’t think about how it’d be to see him—well, alive, like that.It was something you talked about, that you spent your share of the inheritance on, and I didn’t believe it would ever, ever happen.And now he’s there, and I know him and I don’t know him, and I don’t know what to say.”“You’ve said a lot.”“Haven’t I, though?” She tilted herself a bit away from him in order to peer up at him through her bangs.“I know I’m not making any sense.And I know this isn’t what you want from me.You must feel terrible, Jake.I’m sorry.” She held him now, and Jake felt confusion, wondering how their roles had been reversed, so that she was now the comforter.“I don’t know how I feel, Anne.Honestly.”“No?”He shook his head.His father had moved out of view, presumably to get closer to the window screen.Jake said, “It’s what I want, I think.I need to see him this one more time.Maybe I can.do something.”“But you can’t,” she said, raising her voice on the first two words, dropping it almost to a whisper on the last when she realized she spoke too loudly.“You can’t.It’s over; that’s not really Dad.You can’t change anything; you just can’t.Jake: what you have is a mass of memories.You just can’t make love to a memory.”He pulled away from her, shocked at the analogy, not considering what she’d said, only the way she’d said it.“Let’s drop it now, Anne.All right? I think we should go back in.”“You go back, Jake.I’ve got to leave.” She started away a step, stopped.“I’ve got a family, you know; I don’t need him for that, anymore.And I can’t ask him.can’t ask it.for something it just can’t give.”She left, then, slipping out the door of the apartment before Jake could call her back.The old man watching the window screen didn’t see her go.Jake decided it was best that way.Dad would never understand.* * * *Jake handed his father a tumbler half-filled with wine, a single cube of ice bobbing and turning amid the dusky red.The old man accepted the glass and held it with both hands, resting it on his lap.He watched Jake sit down across from him, and his eyes never left Jake’s face.Jake couldn’t read his father’s expression; it was a distant one, not quite parental, not quite real.Jake raised his glass, and his father raised his own, moving just a bit awkwardly.“Do you have a toast?” Jake asked.“No, Jake.It’s your wine, after all.” Smiling.Jake felt strange; he felt himself carried along.The quality of the scene was off, he knew.It existed only because of the momentum that had propelled it since his youth.He couldn’t get moving.Jake said cheers, and sipped at his wine, and the old man sipped at his, too.“How’s the book?”“All right.I’m working at it.”“Do you have a publisher?”“Not yet.”His father shook his head, quietly saying something that Jake couldn’t hear.“I think it’ll sell, Dad.I’m sure it will.”“You know best for yourself, Jake.”“You don’t approve?”“It doesn’t matter.It’s your work, and your life.”Jake nodded, and said nothing.His father took a drink of his wine, and looked about the apartment.His gaze stopped on the hologram, and his lips shifted and tightened, smiled.“Nothing’s changed, I see.You still have the picture.”“Yes.” (What else, what can you say?)“What, three years ago? No.Six, now.Has it been that long? Nothing seems to have changed.Nothing at all.”“I’ve kept it this way.”“But why? For me? Don’t be foolish, Jake.”“I did.I kept it this way, so.” (So, why? Why this way? Uncomfortable; strange.)“Speak up, Jake.What did you say?”“Nothing, Dad.”“Hmm.” The old man crossed his legs over each other, looked back at the window screen.Gray filtered in from either side of the screen, obscuring most of the picture.“That’s different, though; it wasn’t so bad, the last I saw.Been getting worse?”“Much worse.It’s hard to walk outside.”“Those filters, they work out?”“More or less.”“More or less.” His father sighed.“Now, Jake—just what is that supposed to mean? You have to be more explicit, boy.”“I’m sorry, I mean sometimes they work well, and sometimes not so well.People die.”His father made an “ahhh” sound, and continued to sip at his wine, rolling the glass back and forth between his palms when he didn’t.“What ever happened to that girl, what was her name, Susanne?”“Susan.We haven’t seen much of each other, Father.”“Not much? You mean you let it slide?”“Something like that.”“Jake, don’t you ever finish anything? You’re always caught between the beginnings and the ends.What happened with you and this girl?”“Nothing, Dad; nothing at all.”“Now, Jake.You’re going to be twenty-five soon, and twenty-five’s the age for a man to marry.You can’t keep passing by things like this.Call that girl immediately, and have her come over here, and we’ll see what can be done.Yes, that’s what we’ll do.We’ll see what can be done.”Jake shook his head; his father didn’t see the motion, wasn’t looking at Jake.He was looking away, his eyes fixed on some distant point beyond Jake, just as they were fixed in the hologram Jake kept on the desktop.“No, Dad.”“What? Why not?”“I’m twenty-seven.Three years, Dad.”“Oh? Oh.Yes.Well, call that girl, anyway.It’s not right, I tell you, Jake, for a boy your age to let things slip.Call her, right now.”“Dad, I haven’t seen her in three years.”“What do you mean, you haven’t? Yesterday—” But he stopped, seemed to flounder a moment.“That was a while ago, wasn’t it, Jake?”“Yes, Dad.”They sat for a while in silence, then, each sipping his wine, one looking at the other, the other staring into space.“Dad-”“Jake,” the old man cut in.“Jake, you haven’t forgotten her, have you?”“Forgotten who?”His father reddened.“Your mother, Jake.” He drew in a breath, let it out slowly; dimly, Jake could hear the rustle of something in his father’s chest.Something that didn’t quite sound like flesh.“You’ve been taking good care of her?”“She died a year after you, Dad.She was sick.”“You should take care of her, Jake,” his father said, continuing.He didn’t pause, hadn’t seemed to hear what Jake had told him.“She’s been good to you.And me, too, I know.Not every woman would stay with a man as long as she has.”“Dad, she’s dead.”“You take care of her, Jake; see that she never suffers like me.You’ll make sure of that, won’t you?”“Dad.” But his father wasn’t listening.No.His father just didn’t understand.“Things have changed, Dad,” Jake said, softly.His father looked up at him.The eyes were blank; he could see the light from over his shoulder glinting off them.Some sort of plastic.“Things have changed.”“Nonsense.Certainly, the smoghas gotten worse, but you? And your sister, Anne? No.You’re still the same.Both of you; just as you were yesterday, as you’ve always been.” The old man laughed, and put his wine glass to his lips, and drank.“No.No.You haven’t changed.Nothing’s changed
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