Dancing Naked at the Edge of Dawn by Kris Radish

Author:Kris Radish
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Bantam Dell
Published: 0100-12-31T22:00:00+00:00

Tomas is a mixture of meditation and gladness when he comes to get me. I know enough of him already to realize that something must be roaming through his head, that he is hesitant, anxious, excited.

“Tomas,” I say as we head south, and not north, in the direction of his father's home and where I expected we would travel. “You are sad.”

His eyes are as big as the hound's that I could not lift off the ground a day ago at the dance. I suspect he has been crying. The sadness balancing on the edge of his heart is a weight that drifts over toward me.

“My father,” he tells me. “I think the time is coming fast. He will not go to the hospital. He wants to sit in the place he loves. We have brought in a nurse.”

“Tomas, I am so sorry.”

“It could be months, weeks, days, but it will be before the seasons change and . . .”

His words trail off. He wants to tell me something. Boldly, I reach over and bring his face toward mine.

“Can I tell you?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“I think he is relieved that you came, that he saw you, that you have the house and know about everything. I think it has helped him let go.”

Sweet Jesus God Shit.

Tomas pulls the Jeep to a stop right in the center of the highway, which doesn't matter because there is absolutely no traffic.

“Was it wrong to tell you?” he asks, moving one hand to his chest as if he is holding back something that is lodged very close to the edge of his skin.

“Oh, no, Tomas! It was right to tell me, it just—well, it needs to settle. One part of me thinks that I am now going to be responsible for a man's death and the other part of me is very happy that someone who is obviously very wonderful can die in peace.”

Tomas lets out a sigh.

“You know,” he tells me quietly like you would after all the bad news has been spoken out loud, “it is a relief for me to talk to you also. This is not something I can share with anyone and it is not good to grieve alone, I think, not good.”

“I think I can handle anything. Tell me what you need, Tomas. My world has flipped over about fifteen times the past few months. I am a mother, daughter, friend—I cannot think of anything that would be impossible for me to handle.”

“Well . . .” He laughs to help break the spell. “This is a bit much. Death and life and love and what might seem to many others as infidelity. I am glad you have come into my life, Ms. Meg. But promise you will let me know if it is too much.”

“Okay,” I say, and then we drive and hold on to each other's hands, which I take as a simple sign of acceptance of this wonderful deal that we have just completed.

I have tried hard not to imagine what this house must look like.

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