Irises Read Free

museum,” Renata complained over the phone. “My mom is all set to take us. She’s looking for the car keys right now.”
    â€œKate had to go to Simon’s to study for a test. We can go next week, can’t we?”
    â€œI can’t next week. My mother’s forcing me to go to my aunt Luisa’s birthday party. I can’t believe how much you let Kate push you around.”
    â€œI know,” Mary admitted. It was hard to argue with Renata, especially over the phone. “Can you come over later this afternoon?”
    â€œI don’t know. I’ll call you. Bye.”
    The best thing about Renata, Mary thought, was that as much as she liked to pretend she was angry, it was always just pretend.
    The only telephone in the house was on a TV tray in the hall between Mary and Kate’s room and their father’s office. The girls liked to joke that their father placed the phone there so he could monitor their conversations, and since there was no place to sit, the conversations tended to be short. Mary returned the receiver to its cradle and walked to her parents’ bedroom.
    Mama lay calmly on one of the two single beds, her unfocused eyes barely open. Papa was on the bed next to hers, on his back with his shoes still on. Mary sensed something unusual as soon as she saw him. She stopped as if she had heard a noise in the dark. The sounds of labored breathing that her father made when he was asleep were not there.
    She walked over to her father’s bed, sat on the edge, and put her hand on his silent chest. The realization that he was dead sent a shuddering shock through her body. She restrained a sob and, after a few moments, she closed her father’s eyes and combed his white hair with her fingers. A soft radiance glowed from his body. She watched the light slowly dim and then disappear. Then she let herself cry.
    Simon’s telephone number was inside the address book Kate kept in the middle drawer of her desk. Simon’s mother answered first, and then Kate came to the phone.
    â€œWhat do you mean Father’s dead?” Kate shouted into the phone.
    â€œI went to check on Mama after you left and he had died.”
    â€œOh, oh my —” Kate stopped herself. “Did you call 9-1-1?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDo it now! Never mind, I’ll do it! I’ll be right over.”
    Mary hung up the phone. She examined Kate’s words carefully, the way she examined an object she was about to paint. Why didn’t it occur to her to call 911 right away? Why hadn’t she panicked when she saw that her father was not breathing? There, by his side, she felt that his soul needed time to leave his body quietly. She was sure she had acted the way Papa would have wanted. But would Kate understand?

 
    K ate arrived as the paramedics were trying to resuscitate her father’s body. She held Mary’s hand while one of them jolted her father a few inches off the bed with the shock of the defibrillator. After a few more tries, the paramedic shook her head and began to pack the equipment. “His body is still warm,” she told them. “We might have saved him if you’d called us earlier.”
    Kate glanced quickly at Mary and released her hand. She walked to her father and touched his forehead with the tips of her fingers. A wave of sorrow settled in her throat but did not materialize in tears. Surely, the tears would come later when there was no one looking.
    Kate left the room to call Dr. Rulfo and the funeral director. She glanced again at Mary, who was now holding their mother’s hand. Why hadn’t Mary called 911? Why had she let Father die? She was immediately glad that she had not asked Mary those questions. She could feel some weird chemistry taking place in herself, transforming sadness into blame.
    â€œSimon!” she said when she saw him in the hall. She hugged him, and he wrapped his strong arms around