"To what? To mourn? Is that what you're going to say?"

"Yes, Sir. And this is not the place to do that. Only death lives behind those doors, and it is not pretty."

I handed him back the file, but did not let go when he tugged.

"You have scissors?" I asked.

"Yes, Sir . . . ?"

"I need you to do something-since you're so damn adamant about this not being a good idea."

"What do I need scissors for, Sir?"

"I need a lock of her hair."

He backed up. "Sir ..."

"Fine, I'll do it myself." I turned toward the doors, but he grasped my arm.

"I'll . . . oh God! . . . I'll do it! Damn it. Damn it. Damn it." He huffed, but I stuck my arm out in front of him.

"Don't touch her with the anger you'd like to inflict on me. When you touch her hair, you touch her as if she's an angel bearing the grace of a God who will freely smite you for thinking anything less than something kind. Do you understand, Rich?"

He nodded and pushed through the doors. After a moment, I was handed a lock of golden hair, and shoved it deep down inside my pocket. I then traded him a picture from my wallet, and told him to tuck it in her hands, folded over her chest.

TWO HEART BEATS.

My sanity relied on him going right to sleep.

Beside me I felt him wriggle under the covers stirred with the feeling that something was amiss in his innocent, tiny world. I came home to find Marta with him, and it suddenly made sense. My father had been waiting for her to arrive as he cooked. The rest of the story was a fabrication for my benefit. So his quiet stirring beside me was only an extra punch of guilt to my gut. He deserved to know. He deserved to be comforted and not just kept quiet. But I wasn't ready to speak those finalizing words and bring them to light.

"Pop?"

I was grateful for the darkness of the room. It helped me hide the face of a coward.

"Just sleep okay."

But he was only a kid and needed to know. "Is mom sick again?"

I covered my face and prayed he was none the wiser. "No, she's fine now."

"Then why isn't she here with us at home?"

"She's home," I said, the anger already escaping through my tone. "But not our home."

"Will she come home tomorrow?"

"Andy. Sleep. Now."

He stilled and when I reached my hand to feel where he was I only found a small scared boy curled into his pillow unsure of why his father was angry. I pulled him to my chest and said I was sorry. He just picked at the cotton fibers of my shirt and resisted sleep.

"It's a soft goodbye, right?"

My ears perked. "What's a soft goodbye?"

"What Grandpop says happened to Grandma Julep. When someone you love goes away but you still feel them in your bones."

I held him tighter to me. "Grandpop is a smart man, so if he told you that it's true."

"But how can it be true? How can someone live in your bones?"

"It's a figure of speech. He just means you still feel their love even if they're gone." I put my hand on his chest. "You know how mom said you were her second heartbeat? Well, it's kind of like that. I can still feel her because I have you."

"Were you one of mom's heartbeats?" he asked.

"I feel confident in saying yes, but she only officially gave you that title."