In the kitchen, Dad sat at the breakfast table, reading a paper.
"We should wash that window," he said, indicating it with a slight backward tilt of his head. A lifetime ago, when I had my first car, Dad had washed the windows inside and out when I visited. Afterward, when I sat in the driver's seat and saw through the clear windshield, I was shocked that I'd never realized how dirty it had gotten.
We got the Windex and some rags from under the kitchen sink. I found a step stool in the garage. We went outside. The Windex lasting only a few seconds each time, the streaks cutting only a little into the grime that I had never noticed was there. I felt tired after only a few minutes of rubbing. I did not have as much energy as I used to. Perhaps, too, I knew that the longer the window stayed dirty, the longer my father would stay.
While I stepped off the ladder to rest,he kept spraying and rubbing, refolding the cloth to hide newly blackened segments. I watched him while he slowly rubbed the whole window clean.
Back inside, we admired the window. Now the trees outside looked greener, the sky an unadulterated blue. Sunlight flooded through the glass, falling on the breakfast table, the white circle of its surface now almost unbearably bright.
"That's much better," Dad said, nodding at his work. Steady and calm, like always.
"Time for me to get going," he said.
"No." My voice was sharp and panicked. Dad smiled gently at my tone of anxiety. He was used to my usually insubstantial fears—lightening, odd diseases, unlocked doors.
"Anna, don't worry so much."
"You can't leave me here alone."
"What are you talking about? You're not alone."
I watched as he looked for his keys on the kitchen counter and found them under a shopping list. I trailed him as he left the kitchen and walked toward the front door. He put his hand on the knob.
"Dad."
He turned around and I flung myself at him, taking in his scent, pressing my cheek to his shirt. He hugged me briefly and then stepped back.
"Okay," he said, sounding a little confused at my vehemence. He went outside and got into his car. I stood there in the open door with my arms crossed and pressed hard into my chest. I watched as he backed out and drove away.
*
A week ago I was old; now I feel older still. The lilies have withered. The bright breakfast table blinds me. I sit in lonely silence, adrift without my ghosts.
THE END
