Lahat ng Kabanata ng BLOOD AND ABSOLUTION: Kabanata 61 - Kabanata 70

The lobby of 14 Alder Court smelled of boiled cabbage and floor wax. Half the mailbox labels had been scratched out and rewritten, and Mira reached 3B at nine twenty five with her hands wrapped around nothing.Inside, everything stood in its place. A narrow couch with a folded afghan. One armchair angled toward a window that gave onto a fire escape. A kitchen table with two chairs. On a shelf above the radiator a child's electric keyboard sat wrapped in a dish towel, batteries removed, the towel tucked at the corners like a blanket.Elena poured tea into mismatched cups without asking and set a plate of plain biscuits between them. She had dressed for it. A gray cardigan buttoned to the throat, hair pinned, shoes on."He is never late," she said. "Nine fifty eight, nine fifty nine. He stands on the mat until ten, then he knocks."They waited. A pipe knocked in the wall. Mira drank half her tea without tasting it. Her eyes kept going to the keyboar

The rain had stopped by the time they reached the church. Nico stood on the wet steps with a paper grocery bag in his left hand and counted the bricks beside the door until Marco said his name."Walk in. Do not speak until the names are done.""And then.""Then she will tell you."The door stuck at the bottom. Marco put a shoulder to it. Inside, the air smelled of wet wool and old coffee, the light was green and flat, and a dozen people sat in a circle of folding chairs, and every one of them turned to look at him and then, one at a time, turned away. A big man with glasses on a cord dragged a fifteenth chair into the circle without a word. It went between a man in a work jacket and Mira.The man in the work jacket looked at Nico, and moved his own chair six inches away.Nico sat. Mira did not smile. She moved her coat off her knee so that it did not touch his, and that was all.Elena Marino sat directly across, in a gra

Bellwood House smelled of boiled carrots and lemon disinfectant, and the carpet in the long corridor had been chosen to hide spills. Mira signed the visitor book at the front desk, her name and Saint Agnes beside it, and watched Nico sign below her and Marco below him with only a surname. It was Saturday, ten past nine. In the day room a television played a cooking program to nine residents in a half circle of chairs, none of them watching. Her eyes ran down the room without being asked. A woman with a resting tremor in her left hand. A man asleep with his mouth open. An aide moving among them with a tray of tiny paper cups. She could not turn hospital eyes off in a place like this. Aldo Ferraro sat by a window in a tweed cardigan buttoned one hole wrong. He had been a big man once, and the frame was still there with the flesh gone off it. A tremor worked in his right thumb and forefinger, and his face had the faint stillness of a mask. Parkinsonism, she thought. Fluctuating atte

Room Three looked as he had left it. That was the first thing wrong, and he did not see why until Mira laid a hand on the back of a waiting chair and said, "Someone has been cleaning."It was dawn, gray in the storefront windows, and a bakery truck idled at the end of the block with its hazards blinking. The molded chairs stood squared in their row, the magazines fanned on the side table, the lighthouse print level on its nail. The clock above reception said ten past six and was five minutes fast. Nico had built this room out of a catalog and a nurse's description of what a hospital felt like, and he had not set foot in it since the night he sat on the exam table and let her stitch his side. He had told Marco to lock it and forget the key.His key still turned."The floor has been mopped," Mira said. "Days ago. The wax is not old."She crossed to the exam room and stopped at the wall. The oxygen ports he had never thought about, polished, labeled, disconnected. Tonight one of them had

Mira stood on the third floor landing of 14 Alder Court at ten past one on Sunday with her hand raised to knock and her phone still warm in the other. She had sent Nico one line from the car.I am telling her. Daniel asked me to. Do not follow.His answer had come before she reached the lobby. I will not.She knocked twice. Elena opened the door in her church coat, hatpin still in place, umbrella already in her hand as if she had been about to go out again. Her face did the small quick sum of a woman who had not been expecting anyone."It is not the first Friday.""No.""Then it is something worse." Elena stepped back. "Come in before the neighbors hear you breathing."The kitchen smelled of fresh bread. A loaf cooled on a rack by the window and the radiator knocked in the wall."I do not bake," Elena said, following her glance. "I woke at five and made bread, and I c