The Weight of Heaven: A Novel by Umrigar Thrity

Author:Umrigar, Thrity [Umrigar, Thrity]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2009-04-01T16:00:00+00:00

BOOK THREE

Summer 2005

Ann Arbor, Michigan

CHAPTER 16

The world had never seemed crueler in its bounty and largesse than it did the day Frank sat fidgeting in his plane seat. Come on, move it, he thought, his hands gripping the seat rest as he leaned forward, as if the sheer momentum of his impatience could force the jet to fly faster. He remembered how, when Benny was little and rode in the back of a car, he used to dig his feet into the front passenger’s seat and push, believing that the action made the vehicle go faster. Benny. Just the sound of his son’s name on his lips made Frank’s heart tremble with love and fear. Nothing could possibly go wrong with Benny. Nothing. He’d never be able to survive it. Hell, he had almost passed out when Ben had broken his wrist at the playground a few years ago. Just the thought of his lovely boy being in any kind of pain brought out something in Frank that he had no name for. And also, a feeling that he did recognize—a sense of failure. After all, the boy was his to defend and protect. His job, his responsibility, his precious cargo. He was more than a father—any asshole could be a father, and didn’t he know all about that? He was a dad. And dads did anything to protect their families, paid any price. Which he was willing to do. Pay any price, with his life if need be. But please, dear God, Benny had to be okay. Had to be sitting up in bed and laughing, eating a quart of ice cream by the time he got home.

Not home, he corrected himself. To the hospital. That’s where Benny was. They’re talking of moving him to the ICU as soon as he’s stable, Ellie had whispered during her first phone call from the emergency room. And Frank, they have a breathing tube up his nose. He had hated her then, for saying those words. Felt an anger that was new and old. New because he’d never felt anger toward Ellie before. Old because it was how he’d felt toward his mother in the months after his father had left. If you’d loved him more, he wouldn’t have left, he’d once spat at her, and was mortified and pleased to see his mother go pale in the face. Now he felt that kind of anger toward Ellie. For giving him this news on the phone at six o’clock on a quiet Bangkok evening. He’d been sitting in the hotel bar having a drink with Mr. Shipla, who was HerbalSolution’s man in Thailand. “Hi, hon,” he had answered brightly, pleasantly surprised that Ellie was calling him this early in the evening, forgetting for a second that it was not even dawn in Michigan. And then, listening to her quiet, worried voice, the gin that he’d been sipping suddenly burned in his stomach. And he felt that sharp, helpless anger toward Ellie, as

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