When Frank got back from the wake, he sat down on the sofa and put his hands in his lap, palm up. The grooves and wrinkles of the skin looked like wrapping paper that had been balled up and then spread out.
Fran sat down next to him, reached over, and took his hands in hers. "Dad?" she asked. "Are you okay?"
He reluctantly pulled his gaze up to her face. "Yes, kiddo," he said. "I'll be fine."
Her lips screwed into a small frown.
"No, really, Franny. I'll be okay."
"You went from 'fine' to 'okay' in five seconds."
"They mean the same thing, Dear," Lil said from the rocking chair. Her eyes were focused on her needlepoint as she kept a good rhythm with the chair. "Did I ever tell you that your father didn't want to name you after him, but I did?"
"Not now," Frank said. "Maybe later."
Fran's frown grew deeper. "Dad, do you need me to stay tonight? I'm sure that the others won't mind."
"Sweetie, I'd be delighted to have you stay over!" Lil replied, setting down her needlepoint. "Let me turn down the bed for you, and you can stay there."
Frank stood up. "I'll turn your bed down, you stay there."
"Dad, you do know that I don't have a bed here anymore, right? And I'm not going to kick you out of your bed. I'll use the couch." Fran patted her father's hands.
Frank glared at Lil. How like her to make him forget.