“There was a call for you,” Esther said. “Doctor McCrae at Cresheim Valley Hospital.”

“McCrae.” Josh frowned. “Is he the intern?”

“Yes.”

“What would he want from me?”

“He sounded hesitant, as if he were afraid to ask.”

“If he has anything to say, why not say it to the Averys? Why me of all people?”

“For all we know, he might have tried and been turned away. Or he might be even more scared of them than of you. That would make sense.”

“What should I do?”

She knew what she would do, but it was not she he’d called. There was but one answer. “What would Edie have you do?”

Josh knew instantly. He reached Calvin at the nurses’ station.

“May I call you back right away?” Calvin answered. A minute later the phone rang. “I’m at a pay phone. I really appreciate your returning my call. I was afraid you might not.”

“What is it you wanted to tell me?” Josh asked, keeping his voice as even as he could.

Calvin hesitated. “I know this is an imposition, but I don’t know any other way. Would you be willing to talk with me? In person, I mean. It would be a great favor.”

He couldn’t answer without consulting Eden.

“Mr. Rabin?” Calvin thought they might have been disconnected.

“We can meet.”

“How about Thursday night in the statue gardens on Kelly Drive, near Boathouse Row?”

“What time? And how do I recognize you?”

“Seven-thirty OK? I drive a green Nova. And I’ll recognize you, from the service.”

Josh hung up. So McCrae had been there. Evidently a doctor’s duties include attendance at the funeral. That would explain it. Yes, Doctor Rosenberg had been at Uncle Milt’s.

A light rain fell on Thursday. Josh called to confirm their rendezvous.

“I don’t mind getting wet,” Calvin said. “But it’s your choice. You’re doing me the favor.” Josh agreed. There’d be fewer people, which might be good.

By evening only a drizzle remained, but the parking area was muddy and the grass wet. Josh recognized the car, next to which stood a man about his height in a plastic raincoat, his  wet hair flat against his head. They nodded to each other and began to walk.

They came to the first of the three statue gardens. Josh read the inscriptions: “Laborer, He Wrought Miracles. Scientist, He Weighed the Stars.” Stars. He felt a tightness in his abdomen. “Let’s go on,” he said. In the second garden were renditions of ploughman, miner, immigrant, and slave. He sat on a stone bench facing the river. Right away the wetness seeped through the seat of his pants, but he had expected it. Calvin sat down on his right and took a deep breath.

“I’m very grateful to you for seeing me.”

“I probably saw you at the service too,” Josh replied, “but I didn’t know who you were. Were you sitting near Truck Mack?  The big guy who spoke right after me?”

“Yes. Father Conley was between me and Mr. Mack. He and I came together.”

Another unexpected presence.

“Perhaps you’re wondering what he was doing there,” Calvin said. “I’ll explain it later.”

Josh waited. Looking upriver he saw the Girard Avenue bridge and, partly hidden behind it, the railroad bridge. A bus was traveling eastward. Calvin’s voice cut short his observations.

“God forgive me if I hurt you with what I’m about to do. I don’t know where else to turn. You’re grieving over Eden Avery’s death. I can’t remotely imagine the depth of your pain, and yet I must ask you to help me.”

“Before you go any farther, if this has anything to do with a lawsuit, I can’t. A lot of people have been offering opinions about malpractice. That’s up to her parents. Besides, I don’t want my memories of Eden to be stained by a lawsuit.”

“They needn’t be. I may or may not be drawn into a suit. It’s out of my control. What I’m up against is much more threatening, and no judge or jury has any power over it. I’m talking about myself. If any of the medical staff or their lawyers knew what I’m doing here, I’d be in even bigger trouble. But that’s a risk I have to take, because if I can’t make peace with myself I might as well give up medicine. God only knows what the lawyers’ll come up with, but I can’t imagine defending myself. What happened was my fault, pure and simple.”

They were sitting next to each other, periodically wiping their faces. Both looked across the river as they talked. Under the cloud cover, night was falling prematurely but, undeterred, eight oarsmen gracefully propelled their skiff toward the boathouses. “Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night . . . ,” the motto of the United States Post Office came back to Josh. He had memorized it when visiting his grandparents in New York.

“What is it you want me to do?” he asked.

“I told Father Conley, my priest, that I wanted to do penance in a significant and painful way, hoping if I punished myself enough I could feel I’d paid my debt. Like resigning my internship, because I had so much pride invested in being a doctor. Father Conley wouldn’t hear of it. He said that was punishing my patients. So what was I supposed to do? He said the only way I’d ever find peace would be to make amends. I asked him, how could I ever do that? Nothing would bring Eden back. He said my job was to support her parents, that support is what makes grief bearable. The more I think about that, the harder it gets. I saw at the service how much support Eden’s parents have, how you and they lean on each other. So I come to the bitter truth that I’m the one in need. I, who have not lost a loved one, need help.”

“Surely you don’t expect them, or me, to see you that way. So OK, you feel bad about what you did, but are we really supposed to believe your need is greater than ours? We could be furious with you or brush you aside as bad luck. But you’re looking to us for sympathy?”

“No, your sympathy I don’t deserve. And neither would it help; I’d hate myself that much more. If I can’t give something, help somehow, I have nothing to hope for. That’s my need.”

“What could you possibly give? If the Averys want money, they’ll go after it through a lawsuit. I have no idea what they’re planning. I’ve already said I want nothing to do with recriminations. As for your need, I haven’t a clue. Right now the Averys and my family support each other as best we can. What can you, a stranger, offer us?”

“I’m not a stranger, Mr. Rabin. I’m the person who brought this on you. I should be the object of your loathing, contempt, or demand for retribution. That I could accept. It would represent a measure of justice. What I couldn’t bear would be for you to think of me as irrelevant from here on.”

“As far as I personally am concerned, you are. I don’t speak for anyone else, but I can’t imagine anything you can do to make me feel any better. Eden’s gone. I’ll have to get used to it. Your interfering would only make it harder.”

Calvin did not answer and Josh had said all he was willing to. For a minute they sat side by side, still looking across the water. Then Calvin slowly got up.

“Despite what you said, Mr. Rabin, I’m still grateful to you for being willing to meet me. Even that much helped. You’ve been more than generous. Good night and God bless you.”

Josh did not move or reply. By the time he turned his head, Calvin was no longer visible. Josh walked around the statues to the parking area. The green Nova was gone.

He approached his car and discovered, to his surprise, that his hands were shaking. During the conversation on the bench, he had felt composed, holding McCrae, who was clearly agitated, at arm’s length. Now Josh too was agitated. Why? Was it having to deal all over again with Eden’s death, just when he was learning to live with it? Was it McCrae’s presumptuousness in calling on him for help? The hypocrisy, or sarcasm, of that parting “God bless you”? Is this what Eden would have wanted him to expose himself to?

He withdrew his hand from the door handle and walked along the riverbank. Twenty minutes later he felt calmer, but the questions still dogged him, along with a new one: What if McCrae meant what he said, without hypocrisy or sarcasm? If he really needed help and didn’t know where else to turn? Well, that was his problem; Josh had enough of his own.

His parents were out for the evening. He walked straight to the kitchen and sat down with a glass of milk. Debbie came in to find him staring at the wall. She sat down opposite him.

“How did it go?” she asked.

His eyes came into focus. “I don’t know.” Debbie waited respectfully.

He continued. “I can’t figure it out. He said a lot of stuff about punishing himself, and his priest not letting him. He wants my help. What that would be, I don’t have the foggiest idea.”

“He was that vague?”

“We didn’t get to specifics. I don’t think I’m ready to talk much about it, Deb. I’m not being coy, I just found the whole thing pretty upsetting. I need time to sort things out.”

She wished she’d been part of the conversation with Doctor McCrae. She felt excluded, and realized that she had lost claim to being Eden’s best friend. But she was also sensitive to Josh’s bereavement and rejected her jealousy as unseemly. “If there’s anything I can do, . . .”

Josh gave up trying to make sense of the evening. He went to bed.

Next morning he told the story of his encounter.

“This Doctor McCrae sounds like a pretty unusual fellow,” said Max.

“Why?” Esther said. “Don’t you think it’s normal for a doctor to have pangs of conscience if he feels responsible for someone’s death?”

“Oh, I agree with that all right. What strikes me is the intensity. Doctors are different from the rest of us. Death is part of their everyday experience. Maybe it’s him being new at the job; he hasn’t become hardened yet. But still, he’ll turn out to be his lawyer’s nightmare if he doesn’t learn to clam up. I’m surprised he hasn’t already been told to be quiet—”

“He has,” Josh said, “and he knows what he’s risking by talking out.”

“OK,” Max continued. “That alone takes courage, or recklessness ― same thing, I guess. But to approach you directly. . .  By the way, how did he know about you and Edie?”

“He was at the service.”

Max’s eyes widened. “I’d have guessed he was Catholic.”

“So what?” Esther asked.

“You’re right, that’s not the point. But going to the service does fit the picture. Either his conscience drove him to it, or he went hoping to find someone he could talk to. Obviously, he heard you speak there, how hard you took Edie’s death.” He paused briefly. “But that makes it all the more remarkable for him to come to you. The easy thing would have been to stay away. That’s what his superiors ― not to mention the lawyers ― would have advised.”

Debbie looked up from her cereal bowl. “Maybe him being a Catholic does have something to do with it. I mean, coming to you and confessing like that.”

“Except they usually confess to their priest, through a screen, don’t they?” Esther said.

“Some of the kids at school go to confession every other week. Then they have to do something by way of a penalty—”

“Penance,” Josh corrected her.

“I know, but it’s like a penalty. They say special prayers, perform a service, or deny themselves some pleasure, to make up for whatever they did wrong. I think it’s sort of neat.”

“What’s neat about it?” Josh asked irritably.

“Well, they make it sound like it helps calm their conscience.”

Josh looked at her with mock amazement, as though she had come up with the answer to a child’s riddle. Undeterred, she continued: “I’m serious. If we do something wrong, either we get caught and have to pay up, or we get away with it. But it only seems that way. I don’t think people ever really get away with anything. At least not if they have a conscience. It bothers them, unless they can make some sort of amends, or at least apologize.”

Josh realized she was right, and to make fun of her would only make him look silly.

Max turned to him. “What did you say to him?”

“Nothing encouraging. It could be that he was trying to feel me out about a lawsuit. I have no idea what the Averys are planning. He said he was guilty and there was no excuse.”

“My goodness,” Esther said. “That really does sound like a confession.”

“Did he sound as if he meant it?” Max asked. “Or do you think he was putting on an act?”

“I’m used to dealing with honest people. I don’t know if I’d recognize someone putting on an act.”

“How did you leave it?” Max went on.

“He thanked me for meeting with him, said ‘God bless you,’ and left.”

“No plans to meet again?” Esther asked.

“Neither of us said anything about meeting again.”

“So he had the last word, didn’t he?” Max said.

“I suppose so,” Josh answered, “― if it matters.”

Max slowly tilted his head from side to side, weighing options. “Maybe it does. In the sense that it’s an invitation to reply any time without waiting for him to speak again.”

Josh looked at his father. “Is there anything for me to say?”

“That question’s for you. I’m just saying you can if you like. What do you think, Esther?”

“I agree. And I’d also say you should take time to think it over. He has no choice but to wait. But so much depends on your appraisal. Was he sincere? What is it he wants from you?”

“He could have been sincere,” Max said, “but still just wanting to unload.”

“You mean, that the process of unloading alone serves his need?” Esther asked. “Just apologizing, like Debbie said? That there isn’t anything else?”

Max wiped his hands on a napkin and rose from the table. “If he had anything in mind other than unloading, he himself doesn’t know what, or he’d have said so.”

Esther nodded. “And if he doesn’t know what he wants, he’s looking to you not only to help him but even to come up with a way.”

“That’s a hell of a thing to ask of me, don’t you think?” Josh asked.

“Yes, it is,” his mother said. “And it’s either monumental chutzpah or a great tribute, depending on how you look at it.” She laid her hand on Josh’s, got up, and said, “Just take your time.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Next morning Calvin called Father Conley. “We met last night.”

“How did it go?”

“Not well. He listened, he was polite, but he couldn’t hide his hostility. He thought I was trying to feel him out about a lawsuit, and he said he’d have nothing to do with it. I told him I wouldn’t defend myself in a lawsuit, but he didn’t seem to care. Fact is, Father, I don’t know what to ask him for, and he doesn’t seem in any mood to help me.”

“Understandable. How did the meeting end?”

“I thanked him for being willing to meet with me.”

“Good, good. It’s in his hands now, and in God’s. You kept communication open. Good.”

“I wish I could feel that good, Father. I said ‘God bless you,’—”

“Good! Excellent!” Father Conley said with even greater enthusiasm.

“No, Father. I can’t even say I meant it. So I lied.”

“What do you mean, can’t say you meant it?”

“I was disappointed with how it went, and I may have been angry too. So how could I be sincere asking God’s blessing on him? I’m no saint.”

“None of us are. Just strive to be a good human being. I can’t look into your mind; only God Himself can do that. But my hunch is that anger is the part you didn’t mean, not God’s blessing. Did either of you mention another meeting?”

“No. He just stayed sitting there as I left.”

“Give him time. And don’t lose faith.”