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“No,” she said. “That’s all him.”
We sat for a while. Finally, I broke the silence. With the thing that had been lurking in the back of my mind for the last twenty-four hours. I shouldn’t have been thinking about it. I should have been a devoted son, and let no thoughts other than the death of my father take hold, but today might still hold yet another loss, and I couldn’t bear losing them both.
“I can’t do this without her.”
“The funeral?”
“The funeral. Ministry. Life.” I scraped at a paint splotch on my knee. I’d worn my blacks to the house, as if I was on duty. It was second nature now.
George had lent me a set of his old, non-stretchy, hospital issue scrubs—apparently ones he’d painted in at some point. They squeezed my thighs uncomfortably. “I pushed her into this, thinking I was being selfless. I thought I could recover from losing her, because making the moral choice would give me comfort. Now that I had a glimpse of her being gone, even for just a few hours, I can’t possibly… she’s changed my life so much that without her, it would be nothing, just… empty.”
“She needs to hear that from you.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Sure you do.Decca, I love you. Please don’t leave me.Easy.”
“It’s not.”
“Yes, it is. It’s only your pride and your ego telling you otherwise. Or maybe a little devil on your shoulder.” She smirked. “Is that doctrinally sound?”
“If your doctrine is Looney Tunes. But the concept is… surprisingly valid.”
“Stop pushing her away, Gus. Stop trying to convince yourself you’re standing in her way. When people fall in love, they want different things. Priorities shift. That’s how it’s supposed to work. If we all chased childhood dreams, I’d still be modeling.”
“Did you stop modeling for George?” She stood up and dusted off her butt.
“No. And Decca’s notnottaking the directorship for you. She’s doing what she wants. You need to accept thather loveand her desires might just conveniently coincide withyour loveand your desires.”
“You really think this is what she wants?”
“You still think she pity-married you?” she asked.
“Not pity, exactly. She thought it would grow into love. We both did.”
“Oh, Gus, it was always there. The love you have for each other. Stop lying to yourselves. You’re both so ready to burn down the world for each other, but neither of you need to sacrifice a thing, because what you want is the same. That little house with the big garden, the bonfires out back. Each other.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Gus, it’s been that obvious from the first moment you looked at her.”
Gus, Three Days Later, the Makaria
I ascended the stairsto Ma and Dad’s room. The room that still housed his hospital bed, his half-drunk water, folding chairs pulled up from the rooms below, now stacked against the wall.
Holy God. Holy Mighty. Holy Immortal. Have mercy on us.
Holy God. Holy Mighty. Holy Immortal. Have mercy on us.
Holy God. Holy Mighty. Holy Immortal. Have mercy on us.
I stood in the doorway and made the sign of the cross three times for every intoned line of the thrice-holy prayer: the prayer that was repeated in nearly every ceremony in the Greek Orthodox faith, the prayer that venerated God according to His simplest, yet most profound qualities.
Holy. Mighty. Immortal.
Yet He still imparted mercy on us sinners.
The house had been filled with family and friends for the viewing, with more coming and going during the last two days, dropping off casseroles and sandwich platters—like Ma would ever forget to feed us. It had been chaos, and I’d barely seen Decca.
