Cruel as the Grave by Dean James Page A

struggled with the memory of what had happened twenty-five years ago. She clasped one of his hands, and he held it like a lifeline.
    “I looked up,” he continued shakily, “and there she was at the head of the stairs. She was still very weak, much too weak to be out of bed. She was propped against the banister, because she didn’t have the strength to come all the way down the stairs. Everything about that moment seems so vivid, even after all these years.” He took a deep, steadying breath. “Both Father and I were speechless. I think the sight of her shocked us both back to reality. Then, before either of us could move, she jerked forward suddenly, fell, and started rolling down the steps. By the time I reached her she was dead. The blow on her head when she fell had killed her.”
    He was crying silently now, the tears slipping carelessly down his face. For a long moment Maggie was paralyzed by a vision of herself rolling down those cold marble steps. Shakily she reached out to encircle her father’s shoulders with her arms, and the two clung to each other for several minutes until both felt somewhat steadier.
    Maggie had no idea what to say. She had never imagined anything like this. But she had to say something to her father. “Did your father”—she couldn’t call him “Grandfather” right now, she just couldn’t—“actually hold you responsible for what happened?”
    Gerard looked squarely at her. “For a long time, we both held me responsible. The last words I ever heard her say were ‘Gerard, stop!”’ His shoulders slumped in self-reproach. “How could I blame my father, when I considered myself just as guilty as he did?”
    But Maggie could tell from the sound of his voice that Gerard had wanted all along for his father to absolve him of that guilt. Obviously, something had happened during their conversation this afternoon to lessen something of Gerard’s sense of responsibility for his mother’s accidental death, but he wasn’t completely free of the old feeling yet.
    “Dad, it was an accident. A very tragic one, but nevertheless it was an accident.” Maggie stroked his arm. “You aren’t to blame.”
    He shook his head. “Maybe not. But I didn’t improve the situation any by the way I behaved. ‘Pride goeth before destruction,’ and all that. I was too proud to try to make peace with my father.”
    “And it sounds like he was just as bad, refusing to acknowledge your right to choose your own path in life,” she said heatedly. “Why is he any less at fault than you?”
    “I know that,” Gerard said quietly. “The rational part of my mind has been telling me that for years, but the irrational part can never forget the way my mother looked just before she fell down those stairs.” He looked away for a moment, toward the portrait of his mother. “But, thank God, this afternoon my father and I did what we should have done years ago. We talked it out, and I guess we more or less forgave each other for what happened.” He laughed sadly. “Age finally accomplished what nothing else could. He’s mellowed, at least a little bit.”
    “I’m happy you’ve been able to make your peace with him after all these years.” She hugged him, and he squeezed her back.
    “If we both hadn’t been such stubborn jackasses we could have done this a long time ago and saved everybody in the family a lot of grief.” The sudden pain in Gerard’s face made Maggie hurt also. “All the years we lost simply because of pride, not to mention what it cost you—the opportunity to know your family.” He laughed shortly in an attempt to lighten the mood a little. “At least I came by it honestly—my stiff neck, I mean.”
    She weakly smiled back, not knowing quite what to say. The reconciliation with his father meant so very much to him, but—and this was the most awful aspect of the situation— even knowing that it had been an accident did little to abate completely the feelings of