Page 45

BRADLEY

Frederick Harrison lived in a retirement village. The tiny condo was cluttered in a homey way. Family photos were displayed on every surface: bald baby pictures; a young Devra with her brother in front of an amusement park archway, the two siblings hugging, their cheeks pressed together; a middle-school-aged Devra in front of a blue background with a wide, missing-toothed grin. There were no pictures of Devra as an adult, as if she’d gone missing in early adolescence—or there were no more happy memories worth immortalizing.

The living room chairs were adorned with crocheted blankets. Several well-matched throw pillows decorated the sofa. The scent of freshly baked cookies wafted in from the adjoining kitchen.

Bradley’s initial impression was that the room possessed a motherly touch, but he quickly acknowledged his bias—which was to think of his own mother and not Devra’s. By Devra’s account, her father had played the role of both parents for most of her upbringing, and the welcoming nature of this man’s cozy abode left Bradley imagining Frederick Harrison had done a pretty good job of it too.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr. Harrison.”

The man was wearing a ribbed mauve sweater and beige slacks. He dropped into a well-worn armchair with a small groan that reflected both comfort and the aches of old age. Gesturing for Bradley to take a seat on the sofa across from him, he said, “Please, call me Freddy.”

“Freddy, then.” Bradley settled onto the sofa. “As you know, your daughter asked me to come see you.”

“Yes, but her messages were rather vague.” He flashed a cheeky grin that gave Bradley a glimpse of the handsome man he must have been before wrinkles and age spots dominated his features, a face as well-worn as the chair he rested in. “You’ll forgive an old man for his outdated hopes and dreams, but I don’t suppose you’re here asking me for permission to marry my daughter? I know, I know, she’s a career woman, and that’s just fine these days—couldn’t be prouder—but no father wants to see his children spend their lives alone.”

Bradley warmed to the straightforward, compassionate way the man spoke. “No, sir. Unfortunately, that’s not the reason I’m here.” He was suddenly self-conscious of his choice of words—unfortunately? He cleared his throat. “I’m here to talk to you about your family curse.”

The man’s smile lines vanished, replaced by vexed creases. He shifted in his armchair. “Always about that damned curse,” he muttered.

“Yes, sir.”

“Freddy,” he reminded him, more clipped this time.

“Yes, Freddy. I’ve been doing a lot of research. And I’m trying to discover the origin of your curse. Maybe see if it’s possible to—”

“Because a well-mannered, fine-looking young man such as yourself has nothing better to do than waste his time investigating an impossible phenomenon?”

Now it was Frederick’s choice of words that had Bradley stumbling. “You…don’t believe the curse is real?”

“I believe my children believe it’s real. Devra, especially.” Again, he pushed up uncomfortably from his chair. “That girl is a stubborn one. In a good way, mostly. She was determined to be top of her field, no matter how many mentors overlooked her talents, no matter how difficult it was for her to secure an internship. Even as a young girl, she was admiringly and strangely analytical about the world, processing and sorting her emotions like sheets in some filing system. It was Devra who first declared that our pattern of bad luck defied random probability. And she was right, in some ways. It is shockingly improbable. But by no means does that lead me to the conclusion that we are cursed.”

Bradley leaned closer. “You’ve never tried to convince her of that?”

“Of course I have. A hundred times. But you’ve met my daughter. It’s difficult to argue against her logic. And this obsession of hers, this belief, was cemented so early on in her development. At some point, I worried that if I continued denying her version of the truth, it would only push her away. At the end of the day, whether I believed it or not, it became her reality. Sometimes all a father can do is try to support his child’s reality as best he can.”

“I can understand that,” Bradley said. “Sometimes what a kid needs most is support, to simply have their parents in their corner, no matter what.”

“You’re a wise one, son.”

The compliment nuzzled into Bradley like a much-needed hug.

“But let me tell you, it’s a strange day when you decide the best thing you can do for your child is to stay away from them.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was so relieved when she called me asking if we could get together to celebrate the holidays again a couple years ago. I thought, Finally, she’s outgrown this fear of hers, and we can start being a real family again. Then this damn ticker of mine”—he thumped his chest—“chooses that exact moment to take me down.”

Bradley had been so fixated on the curse, the questions he needed to ask, he’d forgotten that the person sitting across from him was ill. Or maybe he’d forgotten simply because Frederick Harrison didn’t look like a man who was sick. Sure, some of his mannerisms suggested aches and pains, but his face was full, his eyes alert. It wasn’t the image that had appeared in his head when Devra shared her father’s diagnosis.

“How, um…how are you? Since the heart attack?”

Frederick batted a hand. “I’m perfectly fine. They have me on some beta blockers, and they’ve taken away half the fun an old man has left to live for with their, and I quote, ‘lifestyle modifications.’ But I’m managing just fine. Following all the rules. Devra, of course, behaves like I have an expiry date stuck to my forehead. But the doctors are bloatedly confident I’ll live to be a very old man. You make sure to tell her that. Get her to stop worrying all the time.” He paused, swallowing. “She thinks it’s her fault, you know? My heart attack.”

“I know,” Bradley replied softly.

“I keep telling her it isn’t, but…Well, you must know how it is, given you’re here and all.” Frederick’s eyes seemed drawn to a point on the far wall. “Hell, during some of the tougher days, even I started to question whether this crazy curse idea might actually be real.”

“I believe it’s real.”

Frederick’s gaze snapped to Bradley. “You do, do you?”

Bradley nodded. “I do.”