in, passing a house where a few children run through a sprinkler while moms drink and watch from folding chairs nearby.
I’d thought this would be my life with Eleanor. We married when I was twenty-eight and she was twenty-two. Just babies, really. I assumed I’d work to earn us this kind of life—the suburbs, a few kids, a minivan in the driveway. A full life, loud and full of laughter. Not the quiet one I now lead, just me and … work.
Our dreams, which I think were really just my dreams, went sideways, and for a few years we tried really hard. Or, I tried really hard. Eleanor … sometimes tried. After several trial separations, we finally divorced seven years later so she could be with one of her lovers. I wasn’t sure which one. He didn’t last long, so it didn’t matter if I remembered the names of the men she cheated on me with.
Why am I thinking about Eleanor? Oh, right. The suburban life I won’t ever have. There are perks of being single and wealthy. I don’t have many restrictions. My life is free and open.
And you’re completely lonely.
I ignore that voice, pulling into Nancy’s drive and unlocking the front door with the key I keep on my ring.
“Nancy?” I call, closing the front door behind me.
I hear a faint moan from deeper in the house. All the shades are drawn, and the house has a … smell. Kind of a mix of dust and something a little worse.
As I pass the kitchen, I have to cover my nose. Clearly, the trash needs to be taken out. Maybe something else too. A gray tabby cat appears, meowing with surprising volume and wrapping around my ankles, almost tripping me. I am not a cat fan. I don’t want to kick them or anything, but I’d be fine never seeing them outside of funny YouTube videos.
The cat suddenly breaks off and darts through a doorway, hopping up onto a bed that has a Nancy-shaped lump in the middle, her gray hair just visible over the covers. There’s a smell here too, and I do my best not to show any reaction in my face as Nancy peels down the covers.
“Kevin? Is that you?”
Kevin? I tilt my head, studying her face. Her cheeks are flushed still, and her eyes look glazed and glassy. “It's Gavin. I came to check on you. How are you?”
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” she says, and I blink.
I may have a house key. Nancy might be like a grandmother to me, but she’s never called me sweetheart. And I’m for sure not Kevin.
“Come and give your aunty some sugar.” She pats one red cheek, as though waiting for a kiss.
Not happening. “Uh, sure. Just a second. Let me go …”
But her eyes have already drooped closed and she’s snoring lightly. I step closer to the bed as the cat takes up residence on her chest, tucking its paws underneath it and staring intently into her face.
I wonder how close Nancy was to being eaten by her own cat. Based on its narrow yellow eyes, I think I’ve gotten here just in time.
I place my hand on her forehead and she’s burning up. A few bottles of pain relievers are on the bedside table, along with crumpled tissues and a tube of lip balm.
A few minutes later, I’m bagging up the trash in the kitchen as I talk to Nancy’s sister, Patty, on the phone. “I think she needs a doctor. Or at least someone here with her. She thought I was Kevin?”
Patty sighs. “My brother's son. He passed from cancer a few years ago.”
“Wow. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“That’s okay, sweetie. I’ll be on my way. Do you think you could stay there until I can get there? If I leave now, it should take three hours.”
Three hours in a house that smells a few degrees from death with a hallucinating Nancy and a cat who wants to eat her? Sure. No problem. But Patty and Nancy are essentially family, so I stay.
I manage to extricate the possibly murderous cat to the kitchen by opening a can of cat food. I may have dry-heaved once or twice. With a glass of water and a cool cloth for her head, I return to Nancy’s room.
The afternoon sun shines low through the cracked blinds. I can just barely see Nancy’s hair puffing out from under the blanket like some kind of animal pelt. She hasn’t so much as taken