when it’s time for sleep. Each night I try, and each night I convince myself that I’m not ready. I want to return to Kelly whole.
On my way back down the hall I catch myself tiptoeing past Gracie’s and Lila’s rooms, and shake my head. In the early mornings I often think all the women in my life are still in this house. I used to love being the first one up, and hearing one sleepy pair of footsteps after another pad down the stairs.
I put on a pot of coffee and check my beard with my hand. I need to shave. It is only after I’ve poured myself a cup that I see the note on the table, propped up against the sugar bowl. Louis, I was with my mother nearly all night. I have set the alarm to wake up. Will you please pick up Ryan and meet me at the hospital? The note is not signed. Kelly is too practical to sign a note that clearly could only be from her. I always sign mine. The writing looks too unfinished and impersonal without some kind of closing. I usually close with Have a good day or Call me if you need anything. Then I add, Love, Louis.
Today I scrawl at the bottom of her note: There’s fresh co fee. Your brother and I will see you soon. Love, Louis. I carry my coffee up to the bathroom to shave. I look in on Kelly again before I leave. Asleep, she appears much younger than fifty-six. Her face is softer. This sleeping woman looks like the girl I married, in a way that she never does when she’s awake.
It is only for her that I am willing to put up with Ryan. I generally avoid him as much as I can. And if anyone had asked me, I would have told him he couldn’t come to the hospital today. After all, what good is he going to be? His inane rambling, his prayers, and his sudden cruel comments have no use. I can’t help but feel that with the number of children Catharine and Patrick McLaughlin had, someone should have cut their losses somewhere along the way. I couldn’t expect Catharine to do it, because how do you turn away your own child? But there is no reason for Kelly or her other siblings to deal with this sick person who refuses to take his medication or be anything but a burden to the people around him. He should be living in a home with people of his own kind. But Kelly won’t listen to any negative talk about her youngest brother. She won’t discuss him in any light. It is as if Ryan is a given in her life, as elemental as her arms and legs. He’s not hurting himself, is all she’ll say. Yes, but he’s hurting you. You don’t need to waste your energy on him.
I am accustomed to Kelly not listening to me, not allowing me to help her. The drive across Ramsey to his apartment building—my apartment building—calms me down. I pass a few buildings I own, and a few others I am interested in buying. I note the decay of the building Ryan lives in as I ride the elevator up to his apartment. The elevator itself is a kind of death trap. It has the old metal gate you pull across the opening that could easily catch fingers and toes. And the motor makes some bad noises, accompanied with abrupt stops and starts between floors. I am sweating by the time I reach his floor, wondering whether I should just tear this building down and sell the land. I’d hate to have my men working here among the hidden landmines of rotting floors and faulty electricity. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night.
I will tear it down, I decide, as I knock on Ryan’s door. I will move in with a crane and some heavy trucks and in no time this building will be gone. That’s the only way to ensure everyone’s safety. The decision immediately makes me feel much better. It will be easier now for me to be patient and pleasant with my brother-in-law.
“How you doing, Ryan?” I say when he opens the door. I scan the apartment. It is disgusting. A fat white bird eyes me from on top of the television, and an even fatter yellow one is perched on a bar in an open cage