It was evening. The sun was almost down.
The four of them sat at the dining room table. The dinner dishes were stacked on the far side, out of their way.
Bruce and Amelia sat together. Bruce’s mother sat across from them, besides his father. Her face was flushed as Amelia told a story. Bruce was quiet, his head low. His father sat upright in his wheelchair, secured to its back by straps. His face wore a grimace as he received nutrients through the feeding tube.
“Bruce,” his mother said suddenly. “You aren’t listening. You sit there not listening.”
“I’m listening.” He looked at her, trying to smile.
“Then what was Amelia talking of?”
“I was thinking about work,” Bruce said. He started. “I think I’m going to step outside to watch the sunset.” He looked at Amelia and his mother, his breath suspended. “Maybe Dad wants to come out with me.”
“Don’t bother your father with that. It’s too cold out there for him.”
“It’s a perfect summery night,” Bruce said, trying to smile.
“Why would you make him?” his mother asked. “Bruce, you haven’t been polite this evening. Amelia has been talking for you. All you do is mumble. What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m a little tired,” he mumbled. “It’s been a long day.”
“I hope he starts feeling better by the time you get married,” his mother told Amelia, winking and grinning.
“Bruce sometimes gets into moods,” Amelia said with a happy sigh. “I don’t blame him, with how hard he works.”
“I think I’m going to go watch the sunset,” Bruce said again. “It’s been a long day.”
“The sunset? How funny!” His mother laughed. “What’s wrong with you.”
“There’s nothing wrong.” He stood.
“I wish you would listen to Amelia’s story. It’s not polite of you.”
“I think I’m going to go watch the sunset.” He stood and brushed his pants. “I’ll take Dad out too. He might like to see it.”
“Don’t move your father. He’s already so tired and –”
“He might like to see it,” Bruce said.
“Don’t move him.”
“Bruce has been working so hard, I don’t blame him for being sleepy,” Amelia said.
“But it’s not polite.” His mother shook her head. “I want to hear the rest of your story.”
“I’m going to go out and –”
“You sit, Bruce, and wait for Amelia to finish the story.”
“The sun is almost down.”
“No.”
“I think Dad would like it. The breeze is perfect on such a night.” Bruce took his father’s wheelchair by the handles. His hands shook as he pivoted the wheelchair back from the table and turned it to the corridor.
Pushing his father ahead of him down the hall, he heard his mother whisper something to Amelia. Bruce stopped for a moment, wondering what it was. Then he heard the two of them giggle, and he swallowed and kept on. Amelia knew how to make his mother feel better. She was one of the best girls he’d ever met, and he would marry her.
“I can’t be wasting all my time in there, can I?” He laughed once they were outside.
The sky was a cool blue and the breeze had picked up since the afternoon sun. He’d taken the day off, had walked down to the sea, then up the hills, taking his time, until he went back to the apartment to pick up Amelia for dinner. She was dressed well and she made him throw some water on his face but she let him wear his worth clothes because they were running behind. They’d come over at the usual time, his mother finishing the chicken dinner as they drove up.
“It’s a tough one,” Bruce said and he sat on the curb beside his father, his feet in the street. “I was thinking all day about how nice it would be to sit in a little apartment room and not do anything all day, not even watch the television, or eat. Maybe one day.”
His father looked up at the sky with his usual dead expression.
Bruce talked to him a while about Amelia and how it would be once he got married. He hoped maybe the doctor would be wrong and that they could have children one day. Different ones said different things. Back when he was a kid, a doctor said his father wouldn’t ever walk and talk again, that he was deaf too. Later, a different doctor said the opposite.
Hunter Prichard is a writer from Portland, Maine.
