Eli opened the door. When Dana said the name Frank Mooney, his face went flat and cold. "He's dying," she said. Eli laughed once, with no humor in it. "Good," he said. "Is that all?" But he didn't close the door.
"He wants to see you," Dana said. "He says he wants to apologize." Eli leaned on the doorframe. "An apology has a half-life," he said. "It gets weaker every year you wait. His ran out a long time ago." Still, he asked which hospice.
Eli came to the hospice the next afternoon, alone. He stood in the doorway of Room 14 a long time before stepping in. Frank tried to say sorry, but the words came out tangled and small. Eli watched him struggle, then surprised himself. "Stop," he said gently. "You don't get to feel better. But I'll sit here a while." He pulled up a chair, and they sat in silence until dark.