"You know," her mother said, breaking the uncomfortable silence, "your father always believed you'd come back one day. When he was in that hospital room, broken and dying, he knew he wasn't going to live long enough to see that day, but he knew it would come."
Amy was standing with her back to her, one hand gripping the mantelpiece hard. She was glad she had come, but at the same time the emotions that were racing through her were ripping her to shreds, and she just wanted them to stop.
"Kennedy helped us out, and your father made a holovid so he could say goodbye properly."
Amy was surprised. Her family couldn't afford to make a holovid. Kennedy had helped again. Her eyes fell on a small urn a few inches from where she grasped the mantel, and she felt a fresh wave of pain as she abruptly realized what it contained. Or, more accurately, who.
She had to get this over with, had to get out of here, into the comfortable, familiar world of violence and near escapes and theft, of drinking and forgetting.
"Well," she said, surprised at how steady her voice was, "that was nice of Kennedy. Can't say I'm surprised, though. Where is this holovid Dad wanted me to see?"
"Right there, besides his ashes," her mother said, confirming what she already knew. She looked over and, sure enough, there was a small personal-sized holoprojector and a disk. It was an older model, clunky and unrefined, but it would get the job done.
"I keep it there so I can see him now and then," her mother said. "The recording was for you, not me, but… well, I'm sure you wouldn't mind if your old mother got a little comfort from seeing her husband sometimes."
The lump that suddenly filled Amy's throat rendered speech impossible. Turning, she gave her mom a faint, strained smile who nodded, reaching for her iced tea.
"Go on, play it, Amy. I've wanted to watch this with you for a long time now."
She turned back, inserted the disk, and pressed the button.
Her father appeared. He was in a hospital bed, and the camera was jumpy: probably the ever-reliable Kennedy had filmed it himself. Amy could barely see her dad through all the things that were hooked up to him. He seemed almost lost in a jungle of tubes and hanging bags. He looked terrible, and his voice was faint.
"Hello, baby," he said, managing a smile. "I sure wish I could be looking better for my only holovid recording, but these damn doctors say I need all these things. Won't for too much longer, at any rate. And that's why I'm making this for you, Amy. Because I know in my heart that, one day, you're going to come back. I'm just sorry I won't be around to tell you this in person when you do.
"I love you, Amy. You're my daughter, and I always will love you. I use to think I could also say, 'I'll always be proud of you.' But I can't honestly say that anymore."
Amy looked down, hot shame and grief filling her, but continued to listen.
"You're walking down a dark path, Amy. A path I never could have foreseen for you, and one I simply cannot respect. We love you, but we can't take your money. That's blood money, baby, and that's not how you were raised."
There was a rustling. Amy looked up again to see her father struggling to sit up and lean forward, peering earnestly into the recorder.
"Do you remember what I used to tell you? A man is what he chooses to be. It's not how he's born, or how he's raised, that makes the man. It's his choices. Right now, you're choosing to walk this dark path I can't condone. But you can turn your life around with a single thought, a single decision. You can always choose to be something new. Never forget that."
He eased back down, the effort clearly having exhausted what little strength he had. His face was pale and he was trembling, probably from pain. "I love you, Amy."
The recording ended.
For a long moment Amy simply stood, breathing hard, trying to process what she had just witnessed. She took a steadying breath and turned to face her mother.
She sat where she had left her. The iced tea had spilled in her lap, the empty glass lying on the upholstery beside her. Her face looked less drawn, and her eyes were closed. There was a slight smile on her lips.
"Mom," Amy said, tears filling her eyes. She went to her, gathered her in her arms, and sat with her for a long, long time.
