Marcus asked.
Maya took his hand.
“All of us are here, Dad.”
Not literally.
Camille gone.
Andre gone.
Renee gone.
Family wider.
But she understood question beneath arithmetic.
Nobody abandoned.
Nobody secretly excluded.
Everyone who could be there was there.
Marcus relaxed.
“Good.”
He slept.
The following morning he woke briefly.
Only Maya was in room.
Jordan had gone shower.
Eli coffee.
Marcus looked at her.
“Little blue sweater.”
Maya froze.
“What?”
“You wore blue.”
The day.
“Yes.”
“Backpack.”
“Yes.”
His eyes were cloudy but focused.
“I should have told you sooner.”
“Told me what?”
“That nobody gets to vote you out.”
Maya’s face collapsed.
“Dad.”
He squeezed weakly.
“Nobody.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
Then after a moment:
“Did I do okay?”
Maya cried openly.
“Yes.”
“Perfect?”
“No.”
Marcus smiled.
“Good answer.”
He closed eyes.
Marcus Reed died that afternoon.
Ninety-five years old.
His three children present.
Not all holding hands theatrically.
Jordan was talking quietly to nurse.
Eli sat near window.
Maya held Marcus’s wrist because she liked feeling pulse even though she knew it was fading.
The breaths grew farther apart.
Then stopped.
No dramatic final sentence.
He had already said enough.
For several minutes nobody moved.
Then Eli whispered:
“Count?”
Jordan looked confused.
Maya understood.
She looked around.
Three children.
Marcus.
Then toward empty chair where Camille would have sat if life obeyed wishes.
Maya said:
“We’re all here.”
And that was enough.
The funeral was crowded.
Marcus had lived long.
People accumulate.
Former colleagues.
Jordan’s students.
Eli’s restaurant employees.
Maya’s scientists.
Grandchildren.
Great-grandchildren.
Neighbors.
June from residence, using walker.
No one knew everyone.
That felt appropriate.
Family had expanded beyond original five.
Maya spoke.
She considered telling vacation story.
Then remembered Marcus’s life.
She began differently.
“My father believed he fixed a printer the day he met Camille.”
Laughter.
Good.
“He did not.”
“Apparently he pressed restart.”
More laughter.
“He built much of his identity around fixing.”
“Cars.”
“Companies.”
“Schedules.”
“Problems.”
“People, when we unfortunately let him.”
She smiled.
“Then life taught him some things are not fixed.”
“They are listened to.”
“Apologized for.”
Adjusted around.”