Uncle Leo had taken a turn for the worse. There wasn’t much time left. He lay in his bed in a dimly lit room, attended by the few relatives who could arrive on short notice. Felice, his niece, had called them. She greeted each one quietly and pointed them toward the chairs lined up against the wall.

It didn’t look good, she explained—or texted, in Mel’s case. Her instructions were simple: speak briefly to Leo, then sit down. Ralph, visiting from Cleveland and sniffling through his sinus problems, went first. Leo’s nephew Claude followed, blowing his nose just as loudly. Rayette, who had taken time off from her nail salon, wore a pink dress, hoping it might lift the mood.

When Mel arrived, Felice whispered that Leo was resting comfortably.

“I came as fast as I could,” Mel said.

It was how he put it, though he was the closest relative by distance.

“Has he said anything?” Mel asked.

Felice shook her head. No one spoke as Mel crossed the room and approached the bed.

“Uncle Leo?”

Should he raise his voice? No. His uncle stirred, if that was the right word, and opened his eyes. Shapes hovered along the wall. Chairs. People. Leo focused long enough to recognize Felice as she leaned over him, straightening the sheets.

“Look who it is, Uncle Leo,” she said. “Mel’s here.”

“Who?”

“It’s me,” Mel said. “Uncle Leo.”

“Mel, huh?”

“Yeah.” Mel nodded. “You’re looking pretty good.” He paused. “Have you said anything today?”

Leo frowned, lines deepening across his face. He scanned the room again. At least Felice made sense. Mel, maybe.

“Felice,” he said, “who invited Mel here?”

No one answered. Leo shifted, then propped himself on one elbow.

“Mel?”

“Yeah.”

“Come closer.”

Mel stepped forward until he was nearly at the bed.

“Did you ever pay me back the fifty dollars I lent you?”

“It was thirty,” Mel said.

Leo snorted. “Always shorting me.”

Felice stepped between them. “There will be time for that later,” she said.

Mel returned to his chair and leaned toward Rayette. “It really was only thirty.”