The old man stood rooted in the doorway. Had Alekos been awake, Andreas would have strode purposefully into the room, giving nothing away; but since the boy slept, he allowed himself a little time. He had not watched his son sleep since he was a child. He had not seen Alekos at all in five years. That last visit they had put some of the past bitterness behind them, reached some understanding common to their shared sadness. Yet a truce was not a friendship. They had not made the effort to know each other years before, and it was impossible to bridge the distance all at once. With the ocean between them, they had grown apart once more. Perhaps there had been another revelation of past shame, from Fotis, or from Irini, the wife. Perhaps it was simply old hurts that had been picked at again and festered.

Matthew went around the bed and stood by the window. Andreas could not see what the boy saw, but he knew from the turns they had taken that he faced east, toward the river. From the back, his grandson-broad shoulders, round head, black hair-looked like his father. The resemblance was otherwise slight, nor did Matthew particularly look like his mother. His grandmother, Andreas thought, not for the first time: my wife. The boy looked just like dear, dead Maria.

“Babás.” A dry whisper from the bed. The old man turned to face the narrow-eyed gaze of his son. Had he been awake all along?

“Ne,” Andreas answered. He did not trust himself to move swiftly, so he shuffled like an invalid to the bed.

Alex tried to pull himself up. Desperate to help, the old man hesitated for fear of a rebuke. Matthew came over instead, dragging his father upright. Andreas quickly rearranged the flattened pillows, and Matthew set Alex back against them. The sick man pointed to a cup on the bedside table, and Matthew filled it with water from a white plastic pitcher. Alekos took it with a steady hand and sipped slowly without looking at them, in no hurry to speak further. Andreas’ legs trembled, but he would not sit.

“How is that silent sister of mine?” Alex finally asked, in English, for Matthew’s sake, though the boy’s Greek was good.

“Well. The children keep her busy, you know, and the husband is no help.”

“Always defending her.” But Alex smiled, a tiny lift at the corners of his mouth.

“When I am with her, I defend you.” And then, as an afterthought: “She will be coming to see you soon.”

“Yes, as soon as you report on my condition. I have no doubt they will all be at my bedside, with holy water and a priest. I will count on you to keep the priest away.” Andreas knew better than to answer, and Alex looked to his own son. “You picked him up at the airport?”

“Fotis did,” Matthew responded.

“Of course. The conspirators.”

“He sends his best.”

“You must send mine back, at the next planning session.”

Matthew laughed. “What are we planning?”

“God knows,” Alex rasped. “Ask your Papou.”

“He sent a man to get me at the airport,” Andreas said. “I was not expecting him. I haven’t seen Fotis in years.”

“How was today?” Matthew asked quietly.

His father’s hand flipped palm up, then palm under, a gesture both of the others recognized.

“The same. They did some tests. They say I may go home soon. Babás, sit down.”

Andreas nearly fell into the hard chair. He unbuttoned his coat and put his hat in his lap.

“That’s great news,” Matthew answered. “So your blood looks better?”

“A little. It’s not worse, anyway.”

“But in that case, shouldn’t they go on with the therapy? How do they know it won’t continue to improve?”

“It might. They tell me it might, but they don’t believe it, and I don’t believe them.” Alex spoke without anger. Profound weariness seemed to be the controlling tone in his voice. “Anyway, I can’t take any more of the therapy now. I need a rest. I can’t rest in this place.”

“Of course not,” Andreas insisted. “You should be home.”

“Well now. I think you may be the one who needs a rest, old man. You look worse than me.”

Andreas could only manage to stare at his son, as at a car wreck, unable to take his eyes away, aware of all the naked emotions on his face but unable to hide them.

“I am well. It’s the airplane. I have never gotten used to them.”

The look on Alekos’ face was more gentle than Andreas had seen since his son was a child, and the past overtook him just then in a numbing wave. He reached to unbutton his coat and realized he had already done so; he unbuttoned the collar of his priestly white shirt instead.

“Matthew, get your Papou some water,” Alex commanded.

“No,” Andreas said. “We passed a coffee machine in the hall, you remember?”

“You sure you want coffee this late?” The boy’s concern was kindly, but anger rose in Andreas instantly.

“You think I’m some old woman? I will get it myself.”

“No, it’s all right.”

“Black, no sugar,” Alex said from the bed.

“Yes,” Andreas agreed, “your father knows. Thank you, my boy.”

Then Matthew was gone, they were alone together, and Andreas no longer knew why he had schemed for this chance, what he had intended to say.

“Fotis told me you would not see him at first.” He spoke Greek now.

“Are you surprised?”

“So much time has passed. Why do you cling to your anger?”

“Do you think these things go away because time has passed? You would like to think that, wouldn’t you? That there is some clock on your sins, and when so much time elapses…”

“We were not discussing my sins.” Andreas heard the hardness come into his voice, despite himself.

“No? What were we discussing? My mind wanders, you see.”

“Your happiness.”

“My happiness, yes. Always a great concern of yours. Anyway, I saw him, so why hound me?”

“Rini made you.”

“I became too tired to fight about it, just like I am too tired to fight with you now.”

“I don’t want to fight. I am grateful to you for seeing me.”

Alekos seemed almost shocked, or played well at it.

“You’re my father. You’re family.”

“Fotis is family.”

“Fotis is a relation. You are blood. Anyway, what am I going to say to Matthew, ‘Tell your grandfather to wait in the hall’?”

“Once you might have done that.”

“I had strength then.”

“So is that the reason I am here? For Matthew’s sake?”

“You know, this isn’t about you, old man. This is not about your forgiveness. This is about me. You came, God knows why. I don’t want to know your other reasons. You’re here. It’s right that you should be. Leave it alone now, don’t ask for anything else.”

Alex slumped back on his pillows. Fool, Andreas scolded himself, stupid ass, exhausting him this way. Leave it alone, indeed.

“Fotis is involving him in something,” Alex said. “About that damn icon. You know about it?”

“I learned about it today.”

“You’re not involved?”

“No.”

“How the hell would I know if that’s true?”

“It’s true.”

“Keep him out of it. Leave my son alone. Tell the schemer to leave my son alone.”

“It’s for the museum. There is no harm in it that I can see.”

“You think Fotis hasn’t arranged it somehow? The man has his fingers in everything.”

“I do not see where the gain is for him. The museum getting the icon would be the end of his hopes for it.”

“How can we know if it is that simple? Who told you about Matthew’s involvement?”

“Fotis.”

“And how did it seem to him? How did he feel about it?”

Alex had a scientist’s mind, untrained in the ways of deliberate misdirection. This was no doubt one reason that he resented his father and uncle: not just because duplicity was so much a part of their lives, but because he himself was so easy to dupe.

“Pleased,” Andreas answered.

“I am not a spy, of course, but when that man is pleased about something, I worry. Keep my boy out of it.”