"Stop him from what?"
"Kicking Mother on the floor," she said, and then she repeated it because it was the part of the story that so many people would leave out later on. "She was pregnant with Bertie then."
On the night that Phan died, they knew it was over before it happened. Phan couldn't speak anymore but there were sounds that he made, crying, infant sounds. Sounds from the back of his throat in a pitch unlike anything they had heard before. You could hear them no matter where you were in the house, even though they were soft, and they froze you to that spot and broke you there. Phan was blind by then; he could not sit up. All he knew for sure was pain and fear. And he knew that Parsifal was there. Parsifal was not beside the bed, but in the bed. He took off his shirt so that he could hold Phan against his skin. He held him all day that last day, through the stink and the sounds and the terrible fear of what he knew was coming for him, too. He held the man that he loved, rocked him and kissed his hair as he had rocked him and kissed his hair on the first night they were together. Parsifal was afraid of death but he was never afraid of Phan. He loved him. Every minute he loved him.
"Why didn't your mother tell me?"
Kitty bit down on her lip harder than was thoughtful. She was trying to understand and trying to explain simultaneously. "I'm only guessing, but I imagine at first she didn't want to scare the hell out of you. She wanted you to like her, to like us. She wanted you to come here. My mother does what she has to. She's got experience in that. Then later, she let it slip her mind. Why think about it, you know? This isn't something we talk about. Even then we didn't really talk about it." Kitty closed her eyes, shook her head. "Would you have come if you'd known?"
There, in that second, the exhaustion came, broke down like a wave the way it did on the nights Sabine worked so late. "Christ, I don't know. I would rather have known about it when I was home. I wish I could go and get into my own bed now. I would rather have known about all of this a long time ago, mostly so I wouldn't be hearing it now."
"Guy was the best man I ever knew, even when he was a boy. It was an accident, how he killed him. He didn't mean to."
"I'm sure he didn't mean to," Sabine said. Sure of what? Of nothing. She ran her hands up and down the sleeves of Phan's white cotton pajamas, pajamas she'd picked out herself for him to wear in a hospital in Los Angeles.
"When it happened, when he fell, I thought, God, let him be dead, because if he's not dead he'll get off that floor and kill us all. Mama and Guy, they were half out of their minds, but I went over to him, knelt down on the floor and touched his neck and I felt his pulse kicking away. His eyes were open, not that he was looking at anything. My mother propped up on her hand and she said, 'Is he okay?' And I said, 'He's dead.' I believe those were the last words my father heard, me pronouncing him dead. I said it because I wanted that much for it to be true, so he wouldn't kill Guy for hitting him. Then it was true. Just like that."
"Where," Sabine said, but she couldn't quite make it into a question.
"Where what?"
"Did this happen."
Kitty looked around the room as if trying to remember exactly, and Sabine felt something like a small hand, a child's hand, creeping up the back of her throat. It laid a tiny finger against her tonsils. Kitty pointed, the nondescript corner of green linoleum near the back door. A broom stood in that corner, a pair of snow boots, one turned on its side. "There."
It must have made an excruciating sound, a hollow crack of contact that would have precluded anyone crying out. There would have been the sound that any man would make falling to the floor… There was Dot, on the floor herself. And where was Guy then, the boy who Parsifal was? Standing above them? Was the bat still locked in both hands, raised above his head while he waited to see what would try to lift itself up, or did the bat swing limply at his side? Did he lean on it, drop it? Did he back away? Cry out? "Why did you stay?"
"Stay where?" Kitty pulled the elastic out of her hair and nervously reshaped her ponytail.
Sabine redirected Kitty's attention by turning her head to that side of the room. "You didn't move."
"Houses in small towns where boys kill their fathers are tough to sell. Kids weren't allowed to walk down our street for months, and when they were allowed, they didn't anyway. And there wasn't any money and there wasn't anyplace to go and when there was, if there was, years and years after that, hell, we didn't even care anymore." Kitty put out her cigarette, though she'd barely smoked this one at all. "Forgive me, but I think I need to stop this now. We can start it again later, but right now I think I'm at my limit."
"It's so late," Sabine said, not having any idea what time it was but knowing instinctively it was no time to be up. "You must need to get home."
Kitty stood up. She was tall but not as tall as Sabine. "I'm home for tonight."
"You're sleeping here?"
"For tonight," Kitty said. That was another story, a story that neither of them had the energy for. She picked up the saucer and dumped the ashes in a trashcan under the sink. Then she washed the saucer with hot water and soap and put it in the rack to dry. "You go on to bed."
"I'm sleeping in your room."
"No, you're not. I'm on the couch. It's only a few hours. I have to be at work in the morning. It's a good couch."
Sabine had slept on so many couches. In dressing rooms and Parsifal's old apartment and the hospital waiting rooms. She was too bred to even consider hunting up blankets, a spare pillow. Too tired to think of someone else having to do it. "Come on and sleep in your room. There's another bed."
"I'm fine," Kitty said, and raised up her hand.
"I won't talk anymore," Sabine said. "Sleep in your room. I'm going to sleep. It doesn't matter to me."
Kitty meant to decline, but, like her mother and her sister, she was unable to refuse what she wanted. "Maybe then we won't have all those dreams," she said.
They walked down the hall together, dragging their long tails of information. They did not turn on the light and Sabine got into the bed that was unmade and as cold now as the snow on the windowsill. She pulled up her knees, shivered. Kitty took off her jeans and got into the other bed wearing a sweatshirt and anything else she had on. She was lying on her back, and Sabine could see her profile clearly in the light that came in under the door. She recognized it.
"I'm sorry about this," Kitty said.
"I would have found out sooner or later." Sabine turned on her side to face her.
"Who knows, maybe not. You made it this far."
There were so many other things to say, but sleep was pushing Sabine down under the water with both hands. Questions struggled to shape themselves into half sentences, but she didn't have enough energy left to form her mouth around them. Already Kitty's breathing had become regular and deep. Sabine thought that there would be someone waiting for her on the other side. She thought there would be information, but when she went to the snowy field, she waited and waited and she was alone.
Before her eyes opened, Sabine's hand skimmed the crumpled bedspread, looking for the warm bundle of rabbit fur that usually slept near her stomach. When her fingers found nothing there, she remembered and opened her eyes. This was a boy's room, brightly lit because the rolled shades had not been pulled down the night before. There was sun covering the beds and the desk. Sun coming off the hot tin of the baseball trophies and washing over the red plaid rug. She was alone in the room and there was no indication that she hadn't slept there alone all night, never waking, barely turning over. The other twin bed was neatly made, so exactly as it had been when she arrived yesterday that for a minute it seemed that nothing had happened. It wasn't snowing now. Outside the window was divided into two planes, blinding blue and blinding white. The snow was snapped down over the field like an ironed bedsheet. It was a clean, orderly world.