tufted and messy, his blue knit pullover stained from something red. Punch or Red Zinger tea, probably.
He’d made tea? “Did you remember to turn the stove off?”
“I might have. I was really enjoying this show on that decorating channel. A woman gettin’ all in your face about cleaning up stuff.” He grinned, his lemony teeth a testament to years of stinking up the local sheriff’s office with the stench of Marlboros. And yet he lived while his wife had been the one buried by cancer. And his daughter…
Will pushed that thought out of his head.
“I think she was named Nicey. Smart lady.”
Will just stared at him. “Who are you talking about?
“The lady on TV,” Guy said. “She says the secret to happiness is a clean house.”
Will glanced around at the piles of crap. “Looks like you’re a long way from happiness in this house.”
“That’s the thing, Will! That’s the thing about the show. This crew comes in and takes your house apart, sells your stuff in a yard sale, and cleans it so everything is perfect.”
“Everything was perfect,” Will said, picking up a bright-yellow dress sized for a young girl. Had he ever even seen Jocelyn in this dress? “Why do you still have this stuff?”
Guy gave him his blankest stare, and God knew he had a shitload of different blank stares. “I don’t know, son.”
Son.
Will had long ago stopped trying to convince the old man that was a misnomer. “C’mon, bud. Let’s make you some dinner and get you situated for the night.”
But Guy didn’t move, just kept looking into the closet wistfully. “Funny, I couldn’t find any of your old clothes. Just girl stuff. Your mother must have thrown them out before she died.”
His mother had moved to Bend, Oregon, with his dad. “Yeah, she must have,” he agreed.
“Do you think they’d come here, Will?”
“Who?”
“The Clean House people. They say if you want to be on the show, you just have to call them and tell them you want a clean house.” He dragged out the words, mimicking an announcer. “Would you do that for me?”
“I’ll look into it,” he said vaguely, reaching to guide Guy away from the mess. “How ’bout I heat up that leftover spaghetti for you?”
“Will you call them?”
“Like I said—”
“Will you?” Eyes the steel gray of a cloudy sky narrowed behind crooked glasses on a bulbous nose.
“Why is it so important?”
“Because.” Guy let out a long, sad sigh. “It’s like starting over, and when I look through this stuff it just… makes me feel sad.”
“Some memories do that,” he said.
“Oh, William, I don’t have any memories. I don’t know what half this stuff is.” He picked up a rose-patterned sweater that Will remembered seeing Mary Jo Bloom wear many years ago. “It all just reminds me that I don’t remember. I want a fresh start. A clean house.”
“I understand.” He managed to get Guy down the hall with a gentle nudge.
As he sat down in his favorite recliner, Guy reached for Will’s hand. “You’ll call those people.”
“Sure, buddy.”
In the fridge Will found the Tupperware container of spaghetti, but his mind went back to the yellow dress upstairs.
The thought of Jocelyn pulled at his heart, making him twist the burner knob too hard. He dumped the lump of cold noodles into a pan, splattering the Ragu on his T-shirt.
“Where’s the clicker?” Guy called, panic making his voice rise. “I can’t find the clicker, William! What did you do with it?”
Will pulled open the dishwasher and rolled out the top rack, spying the remote instantly. At least it wasn’t at the bottom of the trash, like last week.
“I’ve got it.” He checked the pan of noodles and took the remote out to Guy, who’d given up and turned on the TV manually, stabbing at the volume button so the strains of Entertainment Tonight blared through the living room.
Again with the crap TV? Alzheimer’s didn’t just rob him of his memories, it changed every aspect of his personality. The bastard county sheriff had turned into a little old lady obsessed with celebrities and home crafts.
Will gently set the remote on Guy’s armrest, getting a grateful smile and a pat on his hand.
“You’re a good son, Will.” Guy thumbed up the volume and the announcer’s voice shook the speaker.
“… with more on this shocking breakup of Hollywood’s happiest couple.”
God help him, couldn’t they watch ESPN for just one lousy dinner? But the trash TV blared with an excited announcer’s voice, hammering at his headache.
“TMZ has identified the