The bus pulled out of the terminal at 8 AM.
Maya sat by the window. Her mother sat next to her. The seats were worn. The air smelled of recycled oxygen and old coffee.
"You don't have to do this," Elena said.
"I know."
"We can turn around at the next stop."
"We're not turning around."
Elena was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "I haven't seen him in twenty years."
"I know."
"I don't know what I'll say."
"Then don't say anything."
Maya looked out the window. The city gave way to suburbs. The suburbs gave way to highway. The highway gave way to trees.
---
The ride was twelve hours.
They stopped twice. Once for gas, once for food. Maya bought a sandwich from a vending machine. The bread was stale. The turkey was grey.
Her mother didn't eat.
"You need to eat," Maya said.
"I'm not hungry."
"Eat anyway."
Elena took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed.
"It's terrible," she said.
"I know."
They sat at a plastic table in a rest stop. The fluorescent lights buzzed. A family ate burgers at the next table. A child cried.
"What do you remember about him?" Elena asked.
Maya thought about it. The father who left. The door closing. The silence afterward.
"He used to take me to Coney Island," Maya said. "We rode the Cyclone. He bought me hot dogs."
"That's all?"
"He taught me to draw. He said I had a good eye."
Elena nodded slowly. "He was a good father. Until he wasn't."
"Why did he leave?"
Her mother looked at the table. The plastic was scratched. "I don't know. He never told me."
"Did you ask?"
"Yes. He didn't answer."
Maya picked at the sandwich. The bread was falling apart. "I used to think it was my fault."
"It wasn't."
"I know that now. But I didn't know it then."
Elena took her hand. "It wasn't your fault. It wasn't my fault. It was his."
Maya squeezed her mother's fingers. "I know."
---
The bus arrived at 8 PM.
The station was small. A parking lot. A convenience store. A bench.
Maya and Elena stepped off the bus. The air was cooler here. The sky was wider.
Her father lived in a nursing home on the edge of town. Elena had the address on her phone.
They took a taxi. The driver was a woman with grey hair and a kind face.
"Visiting someone?" the driver asked.
"Her father," Elena said.
"Ah. The hard ones are always the hardest."
The driver didn't say anything else.
---
The nursing home was a low building. Brick. One story. A ramp at the front.
Maya stood in the parking lot. Her hands were cold.
"We can still leave," Elena said.
"We're not leaving."
They walked inside. The receptionist was a young woman with bright pink hair. She asked for names. She checked a list.
"Room 117. Down the hall, to the left."
The hallway was long. The walls were beige. The floor was linoleum. It smelled of disinfectant and old age.
Maya stopped in front of room 117. The door was open.
A man sat in a wheelchair by the window. He was thin. Bald. His skin was yellow. An IV dripped into his arm.
Maya didn't recognize him.
"Dad?" she said.
The man turned. His eyes were the same. Brown. The kind of brown that used to catch light.
"Maya," he said. His voice was a whisper.
She walked into the room. Elena followed.
The man looked at Elena. His eyes widened.
"You came," he said.
"Don't sound so surprised," Elena said.
He almost smiled. It was a sad smile. "I'm surprised."
Maya stood next to the wheelchair. She didn't know what to do with her hands.
"Sit down," her father said.
She sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress was thin. The sheets were rough.
"I'm dying," he said.
"I know."
"I wanted to see you. Before."
"Why?"
He looked at the window. The parking lot. The streetlights.
"Because I was a coward," he said. "Because I left. Because I never explained."
"So explain now."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "I was scared. Of being a father. Of being a husband. Of being responsible."
"That's not an explanation."
"It's the only one I have."
Maya looked at her mother. Elena's face was hard. Her eyes were wet.
"You could have called," Elena said. "You could have written. You could have done something."
"I know."
"But you didn't."
"No."
"Why?"
He looked at his hands. The hands that used to draw. The hands that used to hold Maya's. They were thin now. Trembling.
"Because I was ashamed," he said. "Because every day I didn't call, it got harder to call. And then it was twenty years."
Maya stood up. Her legs were weak.
"I used to dream about you," she said. "You were standing in the doorway. You were leaving. I couldn't move."
"I'm sorry."
"I used to think it was my fault."
"It wasn't."
"I know that now. But I didn't know it then."
He reached for her hand. His fingers were cold. She let him take it.
"I'm sorry," he said again.
"I know."
She pulled her hand away.
---
They stayed for an hour.
Her father talked. About his job. About his illness. About the nursing home.
Maya listened. She didn't ask questions. She didn't offer comfort.
Elena sat in the corner, silent.
When the hour was up, Maya stood.
"I have to go," she said.
"Will you come back?" he asked.
"I don't know."
He nodded. "I understand."
She walked to the door. Elena followed.
"Maya," her father said.
She turned.
"I loved you. I still love you. That never changed."
She looked at him. The thin body. The yellow skin. The brown eyes.
"I know," she said.
She walked out.
---
The taxi ride back to the station was quiet.
The driver didn't talk. The streets were dark.
Maya sat by the window. Her mother sat next to her.
"Are you okay?" Elena asked.
"No."
"Me neither."
They held hands. The taxi hummed. The lights flashed past.
---
The bus station was empty.
They sat on a bench. The next bus to New York left at 6 AM. Ten hours.
"We should get a hotel," Elena said.
"There's no hotel. It's a small town."
"Then we sleep here."
Maya leaned her head on her mother's shoulder. The bench was hard. The lights were bright.
"I don't feel anything," Maya said.
"That's okay."
"I thought I would feel something. Anger. Sadness. Relief."
"Those come later."
"How do you know?"
"Because I've been where you are."
Maya closed her eyes. The station hummed. The clock ticked.
---
She dreamed of Mrs. Patterson.
The old woman was on the roof, watering the garden. The tomatoes were red. The basil was green.
"You came back," Mrs. Patterson said.
"I never left."
"You left the building."
"The building is gone."
"The building is in you."
Maya sat on the milk crate. "I saw my father today."
"How was it?"
"Sad. Empty. Like a room with no furniture."
Mrs. Patterson set down the watering can. "That's what forgiveness looks like sometimes. Not a party. Not a hug. Just an empty room."
"I don't forgive him."
"You don't have to."
"What do I have to do?"
"Keep living. Keep drawing. Keep watering the garden."
Maya woke up. The station was still empty. Her mother was asleep next to her.
She looked at the clock. 3 AM.
She closed her eyes.
---
The bus left at 6.
The sky was grey. The highway was empty.
Maya sat by the window. Her mother sat next to her.
"I'm not going to see him again," Maya said.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Elena nodded. "That's your choice."
"I know."
They rode in silence. The landscape changed from trees to suburbs to city.
---
The bus arrived at 6 PM.
Leo was waiting at the terminal. He stood by the door, his hands in his pockets.
Maya stepped off the bus. She walked to him. She put her arms around him.
"I'm home," she said.
"Welcome home."
He held her. The terminal hummed. The crowd flowed around them.
Elena stood behind them. Leo looked at her.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine."
"Both of you?"
"We're fine."
He nodded. "Let's go home."
---
They took the subway to Crown Heights.
The train was crowded. Maya stood holding a pole. Her mother stood next to her. Leo stood behind them.
At the apartment, Elena went to her floor. Maya and Leo went to theirs.
The living room was dark. The painting was on the wall. Mrs. Patterson on the milk crate.
Maya sat on the floor. Leo sat next to her.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.
"No."
"Do you want to draw?"
"No."
"Do you want to sit here and do nothing?"
"Yes."
They sat in silence. The radiator hissed. The city hummed.
---
The next morning, Maya went to the courtyard.
The garden was dead. The tarp was covered in frost. The birdbath was frozen.
She knelt in the dirt. The cold seeped through her jeans.
She pulled back the tarp. The soil was hard. Dark. Waiting.
She didn't plant anything. She just sat.
Leo came down. He sat next to her.
"It's winter," he said.
"I know."
"The garden will grow back."
"I know."
"Then why are you sitting in the cold?"
She looked at him. "Because I need to remember what it feels like. The cold. The waiting."
He put his arm around her. "You're strange."
"You're stranger."
They sat in silence. The wind blew. The sky was grey.
---
Maya called her mother that afternoon.
"Are you okay?" Maya asked.
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine."
"I'm not fine. But I will be."
Maya sat on the floor of the studio. The desk lamp was on.
"I've been thinking about the drawing," Maya said. "The one of Mrs. Patterson."
"What about it?"
"I want to draw my father. Not for him. For me."
Elena was quiet for a moment. "Then draw him."
"I don't know what he looks like anymore. The man I saw in the nursing home wasn't my father. He was a stranger."
"Then draw the stranger."
Maya picked up her pencil. She drew.
The thin body. The yellow skin. The brown eyes.
When she finished, she looked at the page.
It wasn't perfect. The proportions were off. The shading was too dark.
But it was him.
---
She put the drawing in a drawer. She didn't show it to anyone.
Not Leo. Not her mother. Not Dr. Vasquez.
It was hers. A record of something she didn't have words for.
---
That night, Maya dreamed of the roof.
The old roof. The water tank. The painted eye.
Mrs. Patterson was there. She was sitting on the milk crate, drawing.
"What are you drawing?" Maya asked.
"You."
"Why?"
"Because you're worth drawing."
Maya sat next to her. "I saw my father."
"I know."
"He's dying."
"I know."
"I don't feel anything."
Mrs. Patterson set down her pencil. "That's not true. You feel something. You just don't have a name for it."
"What's the name?"
"Grief. Not for him. For what you never had."
Maya looked at the sky. The stars were bright.
"I'm tired," she said.
"Then rest."
"I can't. There's too much to do."
Mrs. Patterson took her hand. "The work will always be there. You only have one body."
Maya closed her eyes.
---
She woke up.
The room was dark. Leo was asleep next to her.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. No crack. No river. Just white paint.
She got up. She went to the studio.
She turned on the desk lamp. She opened the drawer. She took out the drawing of her father.
She looked at it for a long time.
Then she picked up her pencil. She started again.