He closed his eyes slowly. I looked at that short little word and felt something close to what I’d felt when he first said my name. Something sharper than joy, something that catches in your throat.
“You’re welcome, Harold,” I said. “Use it all you want.” Kevin and Regina came in May.
They visited about twice a year. Always announced it ahead of time. Always came when it suited them, with the air of people fulfilling an important obligation.
Regina came into the entryway in a long coat, taking in the house with a quick glance that seemed to assess the level of cleanliness. She took off her coat as if she were doing the coat rack a favor. That time she went into Harold’s room carrying a bouquet of bright chrysanthemums wrapped in crackling plastic.
She stood by the bed, smiled, and said, “Hi, Dad, how are you?” Not as a real question. More like a line. Then she immediately took out her phone.
She took a selfie beside Harold. Looked at it. Fixed her hair. Took another. Then she stepped into the hallway and said quietly to me, “It smells in there. You should air the room out more.”
I aired it out every morning. But yes, it smelled. That’s how rooms with very sick people smell, and no amount of fresh air changes that completely.
I didn’t answer Regina. Kevin stayed with his father about forty minutes. Most of that time he talked.
About business, a new project, how difficult permits were these days. Harold lay there staring at the ceiling. Then Kevin shifted his tone a little, softer now, almost warm.
“Dad, listen, your condo is just sitting empty. You’re not going back there, so what’s the point? Let’s transfer it to me. I can rent it out, bring in some income, or sell it if that makes more sense. Whatever you want.”
Silence. “Dad?” Kevin said. Harold slowly turned his head.
Not toward his son. Toward the wall. He simply turned away. No tablet, no words.
Just turned away, and in that one motion was everything he thought about the idea. Kevin sat a little longer. Then stood up.
“Okay, Dad. Feel better,” he said, and walked out. In the hallway he asked me, “Does he even understand what’s going on?” I said, “Yes, Kevin. He understands.”
“He’s gotten strange,” Kevin muttered. They left an hour later. On the way out Regina asked if I needed help with caregiving.
I said no. She nodded with visible relief. Nick came more often alone, without Linda.
He’d sit in the kitchen, drink tea, talk about life. He always had some story. About an unfair boss, a car breaking down at the worst possible time, neighbors drilling at seven in the morning.
He knew how to complain in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, with a little self-mockery, and in another life he probably would have been easy company. That time he went in to see his father for about ten minutes. Then he came back to the kitchen with the look of a man who had business to handle.
“Kate, listen, I’m a little short till payday. About $600. Can I borrow it from Dad? You okay if I ask him?”
“That’s not my call, Nick,” I said. “It’s his money.” “Right, right, I just wanted to let you know,” he said, and went back into the room.
Through the half-open door—I wasn’t eavesdropping, the house was just small—I heard him say, “Dad, I need a little help till payday.” Then a pause. Then the number.
Another pause. Then Nick came out with the look of a man who’d gotten what he wanted. Harold had money on a debit card.
I helped him with payments, knew the PIN because he couldn’t manage it himself anymore. He always gave me the signal when I asked for confirmation. I transferred Nick the money.
Nick thanked me and left. He never paid it back. That same time, just as he was about to go, Linda called.
He answered in the hallway but had her on speaker by habit, or maybe forgot to switch it off. “You still there?” came Linda’s voice, sharp and fast. “How much longer?”
“I’m leaving now, hold on,” he said. “Did you get the money?” “Yeah.” “Good. And ask about the lake cabin too. We need to get that transferred while he’s still mentally there. Later will be too late.”
There was a pause. “Linda, not now,” Nick said quietly. “Then when? You always say ‘not now.’”
“Kevin’s dragging his feet too, and then what, it all goes to the state?” she snapped. “I’ll call you later,” he cut in. He put the phone away and gave me a quick guilty glance.
“Okay, see you, Kate. Thanks for the tea,” he said, and the door shut behind him. I went to Harold.
He was looking out the window. The fingers of the hand resting on the armrest were clenched—not in a spasm, but deliberately, slowly, the way people make a fist when they don’t want anyone to notice. I didn’t say anything.
I just moved his glass of water a little closer. He glanced at me. I caught his eye.
There was something in that look that made me want to walk out and not come back. Not run from him—just leave all of it behind for a while. Some evenings, after Ethan and Harold were asleep, I called Irene.
We’d been friends since college. She studied special education, I studied speech pathology. We met during our practicum.
Irene was one of those people who tells the truth without making it about herself. Not pitying. Just clear. “Kate, you haven’t called in forever. How are you?”
