Chapter 6: Harbor House

The old man in room nine died at ten past five on Saturday morning, with the window going grey and his son holding his hand.

Niall had not left the chair all night.

He had taken off his jacket and rolled his sleeves to the elbow, and he sat with his father's hand folded between both of his.

Maeve stood at the foot of the bed with her fingers on the old man's wrist.

"He's going," she said softly.

"I know."

"He can still hear you. Hearing is the last thing to go."

Niall bent his head close.

"I'm here, Da," he said, and his voice cracked in the middle. "I'm not leaving."

The old man's chest rose, and held, and fell.

It didn't rise again.

Maeve waited a full minute.

"He's gone, Niall," she said quietly. "I'm sorry."

Niall didn't move.

She had seen families scream, and faint, and fight about the will in this room.

She had never gotten used to the quiet ones.

She came around the bed and put her hand on his shoulder.

He reached up without looking and covered her hand with his own.

His palm was enormous and shaking.

He held on for a long time.

"You told me the truth," he said at last.

"I did."

"The first day, when I called from the road, nobody else would say how long.

"You said weeks, maybe less, and you didn't make it sound like a lie."

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