Part 3 (1/2)

Anthony's father pointed toward the startlingly lifelike images from forty-six years earlier. ”That's the present.”

”Is there anything you'd like to do?”

”Go to Marian.”

So Anthony drove him to the mausoleum, where his father stood for a long time in front of the niche that contained her urn.

”One instant she's alive. The next...” Tears filled his father's eyes. ”Take me home.”

But when Anthony headed north of the city, his father put a trembling hand on his shoulder. ”No. You're taking the wrong direction.”

”But we live at-”

”Home. I want to go home.”

So Anthony drove him back to the old neighborhood, where his father stared at the run-down house that he had once been proud to keep in perfect condition. Weeds filled the yard. Windows were broken. Porch steps were missing.

”There used to be a lawn here,” Anthony's father said. ”I worked so hard to keep it immaculate.”

”I remember,” Anthony said.

”I taught my son how to do somersaults on it.”

”You taught me.”

”In an instant.” His father sounded anguished. ”All gone in an instant.”

Anthony peered up from his breakfast of black coffee, seeing his father at the entrance to the kitchen. It had been two days since they'd spoken.

”I wanted to tell you,” his father said, ”that I realize you made an enormous effort for me. I can only imagine the pain and sacrifice. I'm sorry if I'm... No matter how confused I feel, I want to thank you.”

Anthony managed to smile, comparing the wrinkle-free face across from him to the weary one that he'd seen in the mirror that morning. ”I'm sorry, too. That you're having such a hard adjustment. All Mom and I thought of was, you were so sick. We were ready to do anything that would help you.”

”Your mother.” Anthony's father needed a moment before he could continue. ”Grief doesn't last just a couple of days.”

It was Anthony's turn to need a moment. He nodded. ”I've had much of my life to try to adjust to Mom being gone, but I still miss her. You'll have a long hard time catching up to me.”

”I...”.

”Yes?”

”I don't know what to do.”

”For starters, why don't you let me make you some breakfast.” Anthony's wife was defending a case in court. ”It'll be just the two of us. Do waffles sound okay? There's some syrup in that cupboard. How about orange juice?”

The first thing Anthony's father did was learn how to drive the new types of vehicles. Anthony believed this was a sign of improving mental health. But then he discovered that his father was using his mobility not to investigate his new world, but instead to visit Marian's ashes in the mausoleum and to go to the once-pristine house that he'd owned forty-six years previously, a time period that to him was yesterday. Anthony had done something similar when he'd lied to his mother's second husband about being at the library when actually he'd been at the cryofirm visiting his father. It worried him.

”I found a 'For Sale' sign at the house,” his father said one evening at dinner. ”I want to buy it.”

”But...” Anthony set down his fork. ”The place is a wreck.”