“Just don’t touch any please.” As he wandered off Anya asked softly, aware of her son’s proximity and acute hearing, “How are you going to approach him about the box contents?”
Dan leaned in closer. “Planned to wing it, depending on how he is today. The doctor tells me he has bad days and sometimes worse days. It’s not the sort of thing you just drop into a casual conversation. ‘Hi Dad, how are they treating you, what’s the food like, oh and did you know there was a dead baby in the walk-in wardrobe?’”
At that moment the door opened and the sister pushed her patient along in a wheelchair. The man sat slumped to the right, but his frame was large.
The senior Brody was clean and neatly dressed in a checked shirt, corduroy trousers and a hound’s-tooth squire’s cap. By the gnarled fingers and flexed wrist, William Brody had suffered an extensive stroke paralyzing the whole of his right side.
The nurse turned the chair to face away from the sun and placed the brakes on. Bending over to make eye contact with the old gentleman, Nurse Gillespie said, “I’ll leave you to catch up with your son and his lovely girlfriend. If you need me, just press the buzzer around your neck. Okay?”
She waited for a response.
William Brody stared at her with his pale blue eyes and raised his left hand, but not in a dismissive way.
“Oh, and here’s your notebook so you can write things down.” She explained to Ben. “William can’t speak words any more, so he writes them down. That’s pretty impressive, isn’t it?”
Ben ran over to check the pad, then returned to a pile of stones near the wall.
With that, the nurse straightened and headed back inside.
Dan moved forward and awkwardly hugged his father.
“It’s great to see you settled in. Hope you’re not giving the nurses a hard time.”
The older man reciprocated with his good arm for longer than Anya had expected. Dan was the one to break the hold.
“Dad. I’ve brought someone with me to meet you. This is Doctor Anya Crichton.”
Mr. Brody looked across at Anya and smiled, revealing a droop to one side of his mouth. He removed his hat, placed it in his lap and extended the functioning hand. Anya shook it and felt the strength of his grip. Despite his disabilities, his eyes had a rare sparkle to them. She liked him already.
Dan reached into his daypack. “I’ve got some fresh pajamas and toiletries and a copy of the latest Edinburgh military tattoo on DVD. The staff told me over the phone you can watch DVDs in the common room. Maybe we can watch it together next time. Oh, and I was going through some of Mum’s things and found this. Thought you’d like to keep it by your bed.”
He placed the silver frame in his father’s lap. Anya could see that it was a photo of the couple’s wedding day. In it, a young couple smiled with the promise of a new life together. William Brody touched the photo and Anya thought she could detect a slight tearing of his eyes.
“I found something else, Dad, and I’m not sure how to explain it. I asked Anya to come along to help.”
The senior Brody frowned and his eyes darted from Dan to Anya and back again.
“There’s no easy way of saying this. I found an old sealed box under the floorboards in the wardrobe.”
William tightened his grip on the photograph and looked down.
His son bent forward to meet his father’s eyes. “Did you hear what I said? It had been there for years.”
The old man resisted looking up. For a moment Anya wondered whether the recent stroke had affected his ability to understand. She decided to try a more gentle approach.
“Mr. Brody, I’m a pathologist. Dan asked me to take a look at what was inside because it was so unusual. I had to notify the police-”
With that, William looked up, eyes wide open, and shook his head. Anya realized he understood exactly what they were saying.
“Dad, are you all right? Do you understand?” The lawyer looked at Anya for support. “God, I wish you could just talk to me.”
“It’s okay,” Anya said. The part of the brain responsible for speech was separate from the writing center. Mr. Brody still had the ability to write his innermost thoughts. She held the paper and replaced the pen in his bony fingers.
The new words he wrote were shaky, but clear.
“Why? Dad, are you trying to tell us that you know about the box and what was in it?” Dan stood and ran his hand through his hair. “I can’t believe you kept this a secret. A real skeleton in our closet.”
Ben had found a small lizard to distract him and, to Anya’s relief, was paying no attention to the conversation.
Dan whispered. Mr. Brody’s hearing had to be better than most elderly people’s.
“What were you thinking, keeping a dead baby quiet? I grew up in that house and am supposed to be an officer of the court. So were you.”
Anya studied Mr. Brody. “Notifying the police is just procedure. There isn’t going to be an investigation, or media attention, if you’re worried about a scandal tarnishing the family name.”
William looked down at the photo again as Anya continued, “We ordered a DNA test on the remains.”
Dan bent down, seemingly more aware of Ben in the background. “Dad, we know it was Mum’s.”
Again, the left hand tried to hold the pen steady.
Dan returned to the bench, read and reread the note. His jaw tensed.
“Please, no more secrets. We know that you weren’t the father.”
The old man stroked the photograph and tears dropped on to the glass. Minutes passed before he picked up the pen and wrote.
Dan sat forward. “I can’t believe it. You always said that you two were childhood sweethearts, never been kissed by anyone else. And now you’re saying she got pregnant by another man? And you knew she buried the baby? God, Dad, what other secrets have you been keeping? When I think of all the self-righteous lectures you’ve forced me to listen to.” Dan’s voice grew louder, as if trapping a suspect in a trial. “Does the real father know?”
The old man shook his head but looked at Anya, almost pleading with his eyes. There had to be more to the story and his son wasn’t giving him a chance to explain.
“Dan, would you mind taking Ben inside for a few minutes, I’d like to talk to your father, and I’m sure you could use a drink of cold water.”
The lawyer hesitated, but breathed out. “Ben, how about we see if they have any jelly in the fridge?” Ben stood up, wiped the dirt from his knees and, after a nod from his mother, grabbed Dan’s hand and headed inside.
Anya knelt close to the chair. “Do you know who the father was?”
Mr. Brody blinked his eyes and nodded.
He wrote again.
“Is this man still alive?”
He nodded again.
So William Brody knew the mother had a relationship before him, and married her anyway, perpetuating the story that they were both first loves.
“You don’t have to answer, but your son will want to know. If the baby was buried in your home, you must have been there when it was born…”
The old gentleman touched Anya’s shoulder and tried to mouth something. Words would not come. The pain
