I.
Several days later, Rick was out in the driveway placing some boxes on the small pickup truck that he'd rented to transport his father's important belongings back to New York with them. It had been a struggle to get him ready to leave; none of the items in the house seemed important to him and after a lifetime of holding his music and the things he needed to create it on a pedestal, it was strange to see how indifferent he was now.
Rick pushed the last box into place and walked into the house. Ricky stood in the living room, where Rick had covered the furniture with white clothes in order to minimize the accumulation of dust. Rick put his hands in his pockets. "The truck is ready. How about you?"
Ricky breathed quietly. "Your mother loved this house. She loved it from the moment she saw it. I never saw her want anythin' more in her life." He looked at his son. "Well…besides you."
Rick looked at the floor for a moment before returning his eyes to his father. "I know," he replied quietly.
Ricky walked to the fireplace, where his conga drum was propped up against the brick. He lifted the strap to carry it across his shoulder, remembering that it had been with him since he left Cuba, always on his back, wherever he went. Where he and his drum would end up now seemed even more uncertain to him than it had when he got on the plane and left the island. "I'm ready."
II.
The ride to New York had been mostly quiet. Music flowed into the truck from the radio as Ricky looked out the window at the trees that whizzed past them on the rural highway. It was the same highway, he remembered, where they'd driven from New York to get married. And it was the same highway where they'd driven, this time with their little boy and his little dog, when they moved from New York and into the house that Ricky had purchased for his wife.
Eventually, the countryside gave way to the urban sprawl of the city. Ricky mused over how the city had changed since he'd first arrived in 1940. Some businesses had come and gone, others that had started out small and local were now considered iconic. More and more cars and taxis clogged the streets. Idlewild Airport had been renamed to honor an assassinated president. Just when it seemed that there was not an empty space left on any street, another skyscraper was being built. When the World Trade Center tower had been built the year before, New Yorkers marveled at its height and Ricky couldn't believe that there were plans to build an identical building right next to it. But there it was, surrounded by immense scaffolding as it was constructed magnificently toward the sky.
But for all the things that had changed, so much remained the same. Hot dog vendors still settled on highly traveled corners. Thousands of city dwellers still disappeared beneath the streets to ride the subway. And you could always tell when a tourist was among the crowd, because everyone else was annoyed that he wasn't walking fast enough. Ricky chuckled, for the first time in quite a while. He truly did love New York. But he covered his mouth to suppress the emergence of this happy reaction to the sight of it; he felt guilty, as though it was a betrayal to the tremendous grief in which he was still buried.
Rick noticed, having heard the small laugh and feeling glad for it. "You want a meatball sub? You love that deli down the street from the club…"
Ricky thought a moment. He was hungry. He was sure he'd lost weight in the last two weeks because his lack of desire to eat had outweighed his body's calls to do so; many times, Rick begged him to choke something down. And he did love that deli. When it had opened, he went there for the first time with Lucy. He'd had his first meatball sub before he really knew what to call it. "Yes, I'll share one with you."
III.
Rick carried a twelve inch meatball sub to the booth where Ricky sat looking out the window at the passersby on the street. He set it in the center of the table and sat across from his father. "It's really hot," he smiled as he cut it down the center with a plastic knife.
Ricky grabbed a handful of napkins from the dispenser at the end of the table, dividing them between himself and Rick. He picked up his half of the sub and bit into it carefully. As he swallowed the first bite, he sighed, his stomach grateful, finally, for the substantial food.
Rick watched him eat approvingly before taking a first bite of his own. "Do you want to go to the club?"
Ricky glanced out the window again. "Do you need to go today?"
Rick set his sandwich down and wiped his hands. "I don't HAVE to. It can wait until tomorrow, I just thought you might want to go."
Ricky nodded. "I'll come with you tomorrow." His eyes widened and he seemed to catch his breath as he continued looking out the window.
Rick followed his gaze out to the street. A young woman with curly red hair was standing with her back to them, hand outstretched as she hailed a taxi. From their vantage point, she could certainly have been mistaken for a young Lucy. But when she turned to look down the street, any resemblance to his mother disappeared quickly and he looked back to see his father deflated. Of course, there could've been no possibility on Earth that it was really her, but Ricky had clearly not allowed that reasoning to crush his hope.
Ricky turned to his son. "Do you think I'm goin' crazy?"
Rick swallowed another bite of his sub. "No, Dad, I don't think you're going crazy. I just think you need some time."
"Time," Ricky repeated. "I thought we'd have more of it. I met her so suddenly and that's the way she left me."
Rick folded his hands in front of him, conflicted about whether talking about his mother was good for Ricky or if it pressed him further into depression. He decided it would be better to encourage his father to remember her. "How did you meet her? No one ever told me." Rick was gratified in his decision when a smile crossed his father's face.
"I was appearin' at The Tropicana for the first time and I saw her in the front row while I was performin'. Ay, she was beautiful." Ricky continued, seeming to forget that Rick was there. "I'll never forget the way she looked that night. She had on a blue dress, but it wasn't as blue as those eyes of hers. As soon as the show was over, I looked for her, but she was gone! I went all over lookin' for her and it turned out that she was lookin' for me too, because we walked right into each other." Ricky laughed. "We spent the rest of the night talkin' and dancin' and…well, I fell in love with her right away. We got married two months later." He looked down at his hand and at the wedding band that he still wore with no intentions of taking it off. "I talk to her at night. My favorite time of day was when I got home late at night and we'd talk and…" He trailed off. "So I talk to her at night but I dunno if she hears me."
Rick looked at his father sadly. "I'm sure she does."
The two finished their shared sub in silence.
IV.
Ricky sat in the small spare bedroom in Rick's apartment. It was modestly furnished with some furniture that Rick had obtained in a hurry for his father, since the room hadn't been used before. Ricky didn't mind; it had everything he needed: a small desk and chair, a dresser, a closet and a bed. He put his clothes in the dresser and the closet and opened the boxes he'd brought, putting his sheet music on the desk, some small items on the dresser and his drum and guitar in the corner.
He'd tried to prove to Rick that he no longer felt that he should end his life and was grateful that he'd been prevented from doing so. But for now, at least, Rick watched him when he shaved and kept the blades in a location unknown to him. Ricky accepted it as a consequence of his actions for the time being.
Ricky lay on the bed, the soft, dusky light of sunset illuminating the ceiling. It was a nice apartment, he thought, but this could only be temporary. He would need to either face the house and its contents once again or he'd move into his own place close to his son. The decision was too daunting at the moment.
He heard the door to Rick's bedroom down the hall close. The sound was followed by the soft strains of a guitar shortly after. "Our son is always composin'," Ricky said out loud. "It's been a long time since I wrote a song. I dunno if I have it in me anymore. I can't find the music anymore."
His fingers passed over the wedding band on his left hand. "I miss you. I always thought I'd die before you. That's why I put so much money away for you and Ricky. I wanted to leave you with somethin'. I'm glad that he'll be taken care of when I go, but…aw, honey, if you were here, I'd put the world on a platter for you. What would I give for you to be next to me right now? What would I give just to know that you hear me? I love you. I'll always love you, I dun't care about 'til death do us part' or none of that. I love you, do you hear me? I love you…"
Ricky repeated the phrase a great number of times, as the sky outside turned dark and the room fell into blackness. As he fell asleep with the words on his lips, he didn't notice the silhouette of a blue jay sitting quietly on the ledge outside the window.