I apologized to Charlotte for bringing it. Morrie hadn’t chewed food like this in months, we both knew that, but it had become a small tradition.
Sometimes, when you’re losing someone, you hang on to whatever tradition you can.
I waited in the living room, where Morrie and Ted Koppel had done their first interview.
I read the newspaper that was lying on the table. Two Minnesota children had shot each other playing with their fathers’ guns.
A baby had been found buried in a garbage can in an alley in Los Angeles.
I put down the paper and stared into the empty fireplace. I tapped my shoe lightly on the hardwood floor.
Eventually, I heard a door open and close, then Charlotte’s footsteps coming toward me.
“All right,” she said softly. “He’s ready for you.”
I rose and I turned toward our familiar spot, then saw a strange woman sitting at the end of the hall in a folding chair,
her eyes on a book, her legs crossed. This was a hospice nurse, part of the twenty-four-hour watch.
Morrie’s study was empty. I was confused. Then I turned back hesitantly to the bedroom, and there he was, lying in bed, under the sheet.
I had seen him like this only one other time—when he was getting massaged—
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색