went as well as I’d hoped.”
“Then why did she die?”
“I wish I knew, but I don’t.”
“Is that what your lawyers told you to say?”
“No,” Paul responded evenly, “it’s the truth. I thought that’s what you’d want to hear. If I could give you an answer, I would.”
Robert brought the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled. When he exhaled, Paul could hear a slight wheeze, like air escaping from an old accordion.
“Did you know she had the tumor when we first met?”
“No,” Paul said. “I didn’t.”
Robert took another long drag on his cigarette. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, shaded with memory.
“It wasn’t as big then, of course. It was more like a half a walnut, and the color wasn’t so bad, either. But you could still see it plain as day, like something was wedged under her skin. And it always bothered her, even when she was little. I’m a few years older than she was, and I remember that she always used to look at her shoes when she walked to school, and it didn’t take much to know why.”
Robert paused, collecting his thoughts, and Paul knew enough to stay silent.
“Like a lot of folks back then, she didn’t finish her schooling because she had to work to help the family, and that’s when I first got to know her. She worked at the pier where we’d unload our catch, and she ran the scales. I probably tried to talk to her for a year before she said a single word to me, but I liked her anyway. She was honest and she worked hard, and even though she used her hair to keep her face hidden, every now and then I got the chance to see what was underneath, and I’d find myself looking into the prettiest eyes I’d ever seen. They were dark brown, and soft, you know? Like she’d never hurt a soul in her life because it just wasn’t in her. And I kept trying to talk to her and she just kept ignoring me until I guess she finally figured that I wasn’t going to let up. She let me take her out, but she barely looked at me all night long. Just kept staring at those shoes.”
Robert brought his hands together.
“But I asked her out again anyway. It was better the second time, and I realized that she was funny when she wanted to be. The more I got to know her, the more I liked her, and then after a while, I started to think that maybe I was in love with her. I didn’t care about that thing on her face. Didn’t care about it back then, and I didn’t care about it last year, either. But she did. She always did.”
He paused.
“We had seven kids over the next twenty years, and it seemed like every time she was nursing one of ’em, that thing grew more. I don’t know if it was true or not, but she used to tell me the same thing. But all my kids, even John—the one you met—thought she was the best mom around. And she was. She was tough when she needed to be and the sweetest lady you ever met the rest of the time. And I loved her for that, and we were happy. Life here ain’t easy most of the time, but she made it easy for me. And I was proud of her, and I was proud to be seen with her, and I made sure that everyone around here knew that. I thought that would be enough, but I guess it wasn’t.”
Paul remained motionless as Robert went on.
“She saw this show on television one night about a lady with one of those tumor things, and it had those before and after pictures. I think she just got it in her head that she could get rid of it once and for all. And that was when she started talking about getting an operation. It was expensive and we didn’t have insurance, but she kept asking if there was some way we could do it.”
Robert met Paul’s eyes.
“There was nothing I could say to her to change her mind. I’d tell her I didn’t care about it, but she wouldn’t listen. Sometimes, I’d find her in the bathroom touching her face, or I’d hear her crying, and I knew she wanted it more than anything. She’d lived with this thing her whole life, and she was tired of