Late August

John eased himself into the driver’s seat of his Nova, parked in the lot behind Jack’s Burger Grille. He removed his sneakers and socks and felt some relief with his feet now bare. Rubbing his sore heels, he needed little convincing a man his age should not be on his feet all day.

The smell of grilled meat hung in the air outside, smoke pouring from the restaurant’s roof.

He didn’t mind his job, although he never imagined he’d end up working so late in life. And certainly not in a restaurant.

But there wasn’t much work out there for someone his age.

He slipped his key in the ignition and was about to close the door when he heard his name called. When his boss, Beverly Carter, started toward him, he slipped his sneakers back on and stuffed his damp socks under the seat.

Beverly walked across the gravel parking lot and appeared to have a hard time in her high-heel shoes, the way her ankles wobbled like they were going to snap. She always dressed nicely, as if she ran some fancy restaurant—not a burger joint down the road from the beach.

“John?” she called, as if he hadn’t heard her the first time. She held up a white envelope. “You forgot your tips.”

He stepped out of the car, shaking his head. “If I wanted them, I would have taken them. Why should a guy flipping burgers get tips?” 

“That’s how we do it,” she said. “I pay the waitstaff well as it is. Everyone shares the pot.”

John said, “You know, if I was the one out there waiting tables, nobody’d end up with any tips at all.”

Beverly Carter laughed. “We all work as a team here, John. So if you don’t—”

“Save your speech for the kids,” he said, but right away knew he’d crossed the line with the way it came out. He removed his Red Sox hat and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry. I’d think the kids… They need the money more than I do.”

“Then why do you work here, if you don’t need the money?”

John paused to think about it, then shrugged a shoulder. “What else am I going to do?” 

The truth was, he worked because he did need the money. But the extra few bucks wasn’t going to make enough of a difference. John slid back behind the wheel and pulled the door closed, arm hung out the open window. “I gotta get going,” he said, turning over the engine.

But before he drove off, Beverly tossed the envelope on his dashboard and walked away. “Do what you want with it. It’s yours.” She continued across the gravel lot toward the kitchen door, but stopped once again. “John?”

He had shifted into drive, but held his foot on the brake and poked his head out the window. “Yeah?”

“Are you coming to the party? You’re the only one who hasn’t said whether you are or not.”

John paused, knowing he hadn’t given it much thought. “I don’t think so.” He drove off slowly without another word, exiting the parking lot. 

After another mile, he drove past Sand Hill Cove, enjoying the salty air as he glanced at the entrance. There were still a lot of cars parked in the lot. He thought about all the times Marie used to take the kids to the beach, and how sometimes he’d stay home to cut the grass, or come up with some other reason why he was too busy to go with them.

By the time he was home, the sun was already going down. The August days were getting shorter. It was cooling off outside, but still humid, especially inside the house. He closed and locked the front door, but went around and opened all the windows.

With the Red Sox game on the radio, he placed the cast-iron pan on the stove to make a grilled cheese. He’d already picked what few red tomatoes he had in his tiny garden and placed one on the cutting board and cut off a couple of slices. He buttered both pieces of bread and placed each with a slice of cheese on top in the pan.

There was a knock at his door.

He looked out from the kitchen, past the table, to where he could see outside. But he didn’t see anybody, and wondered if he was hearing things. 

He didn’t bother to go over to see if anyone was there, and went right back to tending his grilled cheese. His stomach hurt, he was so hungry. He checked the bottom of each slice of bread with the spatula. The butter had melted, but neither side had browned. The cheese had melted when he again heard a knock at the door. 

“What is it?” he yelled, wiping his hands on the kitchen towel. He unlocked the interior door and opened it, peering out through the screen door.

Outside at the bottom of his steps stood a woman and a little girl. 

The woman, dressed like a nurse, straightened her white skirt and appeared nervous or frazzled and perhaps even out of breath. Whispering something to the little girl she held by the hand, she gave a look toward John as if she hadn’t noticed he was standing there.

“Can I help you?” he said, looking down at the woman and this child. The woman, he thought, looked like a kid herself.

The woman seemed to lose her train of thought, the way she appeared to freeze. “Mr. Greenbrier? Hi, um…” She cleared her throat and smiled at the little girl, a thin line between her lips. “This is Chloe.”

The little girl kept her eyes down and didn’t look at John.

He glanced out through the screen. “Is there something you want?”

The woman was clearly hesitant as she glanced over her shoulder into the street at a faded brown Chevy Camaro. It was still running. “We met a few weeks ago, and—”

“You met who? Me?” John shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

The woman’s face turned red as she pointed somewhere to her right. “I rent the house two doors down. You were outside getting the paper when Chloe and I walked by and we—”

“I’m sorry. But I don’t recall meeting either of you,” John said. “But that’s neither here nor there. What is it you want? I’m not interested in cookies, if that’s what you’re selling. In fact, my dinner’s on the stove right now. So, if you don’t mind…” He was about to close the door.

The little girl lifted her gaze to John as her lips started to quiver and she took a few quick, short breaths. Tears filled her eyes.

The woman put her arm around the little girl and pulled her closer. “I have a work emergency. I mean, well, I have to go to work.” She checked her watch. “I’m late now. My sister was supposed to be here by now, but she called a few minutes ago and said she’d be late.”

John had already figured out where it was going. “What’s this got to do with me?”

“Um, well, as I was saying, my sister’s working late. She’s going to be here as soon as she can. But the problem is I can’t wait any longer. And I was wondering if—”

“Are you asking me to watch your kid?” John laughed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, miss, but you gotta be crazy, leave your kid with some stranger you’ve never even met.” 

“I know. You’re right. But I thought—”

“You thought what? That it’s a good idea to leave your little girl with some old man you don’t even know?” John started to close the interior door.

“Wait!” the woman said. “Please. I can’t… I can’t take the night off. I can’t afford to. And besides, we’re short staffed at the hospital as it is. I tried to get someone to cover for me, but...”

John looked her over. “You work at the hospital?”

The woman nodded, and appeared as if she too was about to cry. “I’m a nurse.”

“I can see that.” John pushed open the screen door and stepped out onto the top step. He gave the little girl a look, with her moist, hazel eyes staring back at him. He turned to the mother. “Can’t you ask any of the other neighbors?” 

There were only seven houses on the cul-de-sac, and most of them had new owners. John didn’t know many of his neighbors, all much younger than him with loud kids of their own. In fact, he was the only one of the original homeowners in the neighborhood. Everyone else had left, moving to retirement communities or condos or going to Florida to escape the long Rhode Island winters.

The woman said, “I knocked on a couple of doors, but you’re the only one who answered.”

“Lucky me,” John said, observing the Camaro out in the street. He could smell the exhaust. “Is it a good idea you leave your car running like that?” 

“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “I’ve been having trouble with it lately. Sometimes it doesn’t start. I’m afraid if I turn it off, it won’t—”

“Shit!” John said, turning and hurrying into the house. The screen door slammed behind him. He made it into the smoke-filled kitchen where his grilled cheese was practically on fire, smoke rising up from it. He used an oven mitt to grab the pan, but the heat went through it and burned. He slammed the pan into the sink and ran the faucet over his smoking sandwich. “Goddamnit.”

He turned from the sink, and the woman and the little girl were on the other side of the counter, watching him.

“Is everything all right?”

John clenched his teeth and chose not to answer. He raised the window over the sink and turned on the exhaust fan on the hood above the stove, hoping to clear the smoke and odor. Shaking his head, he said to the woman, “I’m sorry. I can’t do it.” 

The woman placed her purse on the counter and unzipped the top. “I’m not asking you to do it for free. I’ll pay you whatever you—”

“No. I don’t want your money. I’m not a babysitter. I’m a tired old man who wants to eat his damn dinner and listen to the ball game.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I...” She lowered her head and started to turn for the door. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

John noticed the little girl’s sad, scared eyes watching him. He wiped his hands with a towel and examined his palm, red and sore from the hot pan he’d grabbed from the stove. “I think it’s a bit odd for a mother to leave her kid with a complete stranger. I don’t care whether you met me or not.”

“I know. You’re right. But I would’ve never asked if I wasn’t in a desperate situation.” She glanced at her daughter. “She’s a good girl, right Chloe? I promise, she won’t be any trouble.”

The announcer on the radio said something about a home run, but John didn’t hear who had hit it. He shifted his gaze to the clock. “Your sister will be here in an hour, right? I go to bed as soon as the game’s over.” That, however, wasn’t exactly the truth. Sometimes he drank coffee after dinner and stayed up to watch Johnny Carson.

The mother dug through her purse and took out a pen. “Oh my God, thank you so much. You don’t know how much I…” She started digging deeper into her purse. “Do you have a piece of paper?”

John paused, wishing he could take back his offer. But it was too late. “How come you don’t know anyone else around here who can watch your kid?”

“I know a couple people, but mostly from work. That’s all. My sister and I… and Chloe—we recently moved up from Florida.”

“To come to Rhode Island? For what?”

“For work.” She smiled. “I always thought it would be nice for Chloe to grow up with all four seasons. And have a real winter.”

Chloe quietly watched her mother.

“A real winter? Ha! That won’t last long. Trust me. You’ll regret it once you wake up and it’s gray outside, and it lasts six months. Wait til you have to spend your whole paycheck on oil so you don’t freeze to death!”

The smile dropped from the mother’s face.

It wasn’t that John didn’t like living in Rhode Island. But he’d also never lived anywhere else. He often wondered if the grass was greener elsewhere. 

Everything’s still in boxes,” she said. “I guess I don’t know. Part of me wonders if it’s all going to work out.”

The little girl’s gaze was still fixed on her mother.

He could see the uncertainty on the woman’s face. There was a time he and Marie had planned to move elsewhere, back when the kids were still young. But they both got cold feet and, looking back, John was glad they never left.

Opening a small drawer under the counter, he took out a handful of pens and pencils, two pairs of scissors, a plastic bag filled with paper clips and dozens of twist ties for the garbage bags he never used. There was a roll of string he believed went to a kite he bought the grandkids, but didn’t remember flying it with them. 

He reached deeper into the back of the drawer and took out a phone book with a floral cover, business cards and scraps of paper falling out of it. Placing it on the counter, he reached into the drawer and took out a small pad. He looked at what was written on the top sheet. It was a grocery list Marie had written. 

He tore off the next clean piece of paper and after gazing at Marie’s handwriting one more time, he stuck the pad and everything else he’d removed back into the drawer. 

As soon as he placed the paper he tore from the pad on the counter, a breeze came through the window over the sink and blew the paper to the floor. When John bent over to pick it up, the little girl did too. And the two nearly cracked heads. 

 “Watch what you’re doing!” he snapped. 

The girl handed him the piece of paper. Tears flooded her eyes.

The mother stared back at John with her mouth hung open, and John knew he’d made a mistake, losing his cool. 

 “I’m sorry about that.” He handed the woman the piece of paper, then forced a smile, looking down at the girl. “Thank you, Chloe.” He turned to the mother. “See? I’m not cut out for this. I’m a little short-tempered. Probably not someone you want watching your kid.” He ran his hand through his thinning hair and sighed. “Honestly? I need to eat something. I haven’t had a bite since lunch.”

The mother had a look on her face, as if she were torn about what to do. “Maybe I should call my boss, tell her I can’t make it in. I’m afraid I...” Her gaze went to John’s. “I really need the money.”

He was embarrassed now. “As long as you’re sure your sister will be here soon enough?”

The mother nodded, then reached into her purse. She removed a five-dollar bill and held it out.

John waved her off. “I don’t want your money.” Turning to Chloe, he said, “Looks like you’re stuck with the old man next door?”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Greenbrier.” The mother kneeled down and squeezed her daughter in a hug, closing her eyes as she kissed her on the head. She whispered, “Mommy loves you.” 

But as she started for the door, Chloe grabbed her by the hand. “No mommy! I don’t want you to go!”

“Believe me,” John said. “That makes two of us. But you and I are going to have to deal with each other for a little while.” The mother met his gaze and had an unsure look on her face.

Pulling her hand from Chloe’s grasp, the mother gave her daughter another kiss on the head before turning for the door.

The screen door closed behind her, and the little girl started to whimper. John regretted he answered the door in the first place.

He felt weakness come over him, as if his blood sugar had started to drop. His skin felt clammy, and with his mind in a fog he knew caused him to snap at the little girl. He needed to eat.

Chloe was at the window now, looking out as the mother’s car revved and pulled away. John read the paper and saw she had written her name—Pamela—along with a phone number he assumed was at the hospital. Good thing. For whatever reason, she hadn’t even told him her name. Maybe she’d forgotten, the way she was hurried and clearly in some kind of frantic state.

John watched Chloe standing there at the window, even though it was quiet outside and the Camaro was gone. But the girl hadn’t moved.

“She’ll be back soon enough,” he said. 

It was getting dark out. He’d already been feeling the way he did nearly every August, with a sense that summer was quickly slipping away. It wasn’t that he loved summers. Certainly not the heat and humidity. But it was still the time of year where life was different. More relaxed. Late August felt like the end of the party. 

Or like a Sunday.

Even though he loved the fall, he hated the shorter days. And he knew, soon enough, he’d be driving home from work in the dark, to his quiet, empty house.

Chloe turned to him with a doll in her hand. He hadn’t even noticed her with it before. But as she stared back at him without a word, her lower lip rolled out from her mouth, and it again began to quiver. Her eyes flooded with tears.

Unsure how to handle it, he pointed with his thumb toward the kitchen. “Listen, if I don’t find something to eat, I’m going to end up eating your doll.” He hoped the girl would find it funny. 

She didn’t.

Chloe squeezed her doll against her chest with both arms wrapped around it. Her sad, tearful eyes turned angry. “No!” she snapped.

John laughed. “I’m only joking around with you. I don’t eat dolls.” He felt a little foolish, although he’d be the first to admit he was never very great with other people’s kids. It may have been true with his own too. He hadn’t even spoken to either of them in weeks, and neither came to visit him. Not since Marie’s funeral. And now that the grandkids were getting older, involved with their own friends or school or sports, visiting a cranky old man wasn’t very high on anyone’s list.

Of course, he could visit them alone. But he knew how out of place he’d feel without Marie being there with him. When she was alive, they’d go down to visit the kids once or twice a year, usually during the holidays. But he couldn’t even remember the last time they’d been.

Once she got sick, each kid would come visit her, but they’d leave the grandkids behind.

Chloe hadn’t said a word since her mother brought her over, and John started to wonder if she even knew how to talk. Opening the refrigerator, he took out another package of cheese. It was Swiss cheese, which he liked. But not on a grilled cheese. He didn’t even remember buying it, although luckily it hadn’t expired. With only three slices left, he was afraid there wasn’t enough for both of them. What if the girl was hungry? He didn’t have much food, other than the bread and cheese and some peanut butter. He turned to her with the package of cheese. “Do you like cheese?”

Chloe was sucking her thumb now, her eyes red and glossy. She gazed back at John for a moment before shaking her head.

“What? How do you not like cheese?”

Chloe shrugged, looking up at him.

“Did you already eat?”

She waited before answering, until she nodded.

“Are you hungry?”

She paused again, then shook her head. 

“No? Well then why are you eating your thumb?” John grinned, and the cracks of a smile showed up around the thumb fully inserted in Chloe’s mouth.

“Okay, well I need to eat. So suit yourself,” John said. He washed out the pan from the sink and prepared his grilled cheese once again. He left it on the stove, and opened the freezer door. “How about ice cream? I bet you like ice cream, huh?”

He turned to Chloe standing behind him now, her eyes wide as she pulled her thumb from her mouth with a slurp when she removed it. She didn’t exactly answer him, but he could tell by the look on her face she wasn’t going to turn down ice cream. What kid would?

John reached into the freezer and came out with a pint of vanilla and one of chocolate, showing them both to Chloe so she could choose one. “I’ve got vanilla and chocolate. You can have both, if you’d like?” He reached into the cupboard and took down a bowl before she answered.

“Chocolate,” she said, her thumb back in her mouth, still holding her baby doll tight. 

“Good choice,” he said, putting the pint of vanilla back inside the freezer that was nearly empty other than a bag of frozen peas and carrots and three ice trays. When he turned from the freezer, the little girl wasn’t there. He was about to call for her, but for a split second almost said his own daughter’s name by accident. He took a moment to make sure he had the girl’s name right in his head, then called for her. “Chloe?” 

He stepped from kitchen and there she was, standing by the shelves on the wall around the corner, to the right of the TV.

She had her back to him, looking at framed pictures on one of the shelves. When Chloe turned, she had the picture of John’s dog, Ross, when he was a puppy.

“Puppy,” she said, holding out the framed photo.

John still missed his dog.

He remembered his grilled cheese was on the stove and hurried around the counter into the kitchen, where smoke was once again rising from the cast-iron pan. “Are you kidding me?” He took it off the pan with the spatula and dropped it onto a plate. Luckily, it hadn’t burnt at all. Maybe a little dark, but it was perfect. 

The Red Sox announcer came over the radio, said the Sox were down by five. John grew frustrated not only by the score, but by the fact he couldn’t relax and listen to the game over dinner, as was his plan before that knock on his door.

How did he end up being this kid’s babysitter? He still didn’t remember meeting either one of the two. But even if he had, he didn’t know either one from Adam. What the hell was the lady thinking, leaving her kid with him? 

He sliced the sandwich diagonally, then picked up half and leaned over the plate. He was about to take a bite, but stopped.

Chloe was standing in front of him with another framed photo in her hand. 

This time, it was the one of John and Marie. 

John felt a hint of pressure in his chest looking at his wife in the photo. He remembered it as if it were yesterday, even though it had been taken more than twenty years earlier. It was from when they’d taken a short trip to Maine for their twenty-fifth anniversary, one of the few they took. 

Looking back, he wished they had traveled more. He could count their family vacations on one hand. But money was always tight. And it was easy to make the excuse that living in Rhode Island, and especially Narragansett, meant the ocean was never far from their front door. 

“Be careful with that,” he said to Chloe, grabbing a napkin and wiping the butter on his hands from the grilled cheese.

“Is she your girlfriend?” Chloe asked, still holding the frame but carefully with both hands. She’d placed her doll on the counter.

John laughed. “My girlfriend?” He thought about it, and laughed some more as he reached for his grilled cheese and took a bite without thinking about it. But the cheese was so hot, he felt it burn the roof of his mouth. He dropped the sandwich and pursed his lips as he sucked in air. It didn’t help. 

He stuck his head over the sink and gulped water straight from the faucet, then swished the water around his mouth. “Jesus Christ,” he murmured. He wiped his mouth with a kitchen towel. His eyes watered.

Chloe watched him as if unsure of what was happening. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine. Not too bright, however.” He remembered the chocolate ice cream he’d left out on the counter. He removed the cover—it had only melted a little on top—then placed two soft scoops in the bowl. 

Chloe held onto the framed photo of John and Marie. “Do you want me to take that? So you can sit over there at the table and have some ice cream?”

She handed him the photo, took her doll from the counter and placed it on the chair on the end of the oval-shaped table where John’s wife used to sit.

“She was my girlfriend, at one time,” he said. “But then she became my wife.”

Chloe smiled, showing off at least two missing teeth. “You have a wife?” Her eyes widened. She looked quite impressed.

John was about to answer yes. But he still hadn’t quite figured out how that worked. Was Marie still his wife? Was she his wife, past tense? He hated to think of her that way—someone from his past. But these were the things nobody ever explained.

He put the photo of him and Marie on the table and turned on the light hanging over it. It was the chandelier with the orange and green flowered glass bulb that’d been there since they bought the house 48 years earlier.

They were just kids at the time.

Chloe climbed up on the same chair at the end of the table with her doll and sat up straight, her eyes almost even with the edge. Resting her baby doll on her lap, she  tried to reach for the spoon inside the bowl. But the bowl almost tipped.

John imagined the ice cream all over the place, including on Chloe’s dress. “Hang on. That’s not going to work.” He got the thick Yellow Pages and the White Pages from under the counter. “Why don’t you climb down for a moment.” He showed her the two phone books. “You can sit on these. Then you can reach your ice cream.”

Chloe was still, as if she had to think about it. But then she put her doll on the table and climbed off the chair.

John placed the two phone books on the seat of the chair, but knew there was no way she’d be able to climb on top. He felt funny, like it wasn’t his place, to pick up this little girl he hardly knew. But he had little choice, lifted her up and plopped her on the chair. “How’s that, better?”

Chloe smiled, nodding. She could at least see her bowl now. Reaching for the spoon, she scooped a good helping of ice cream into her mouth. Swinging her legs under the table, she smiled as the chocolate dripped down her chin.

John wiped her mouth with the kitchen towel and handed her a clean napkin. Placing the photo of him and Marie on the table between them, he took his place in his chair at the other side of the table. Eating his grilled cheese, he watched Chloe shovel one spoonful of ice cream after another into her mouth. 

When she was halfway done—there was a lot of ice cream—she turned her eyes to the picture. “Where is she?”

John assumed she was asking about her mother. Or maybe his mother’s sister, who he figured was the kid’s aunt.

But then Chloe clarified: “Where is your wife?”

John chewed the bite of his grilled cheese, slowly as he thought about how he was going to answer. “She’s not here right now.” He hoped that would be enough to satisfy the girl’s curiosity and leave it at that.

No such luck. Chloe wanted an answer. “Where is she?” She reached for the framed photo.

John finished his grilled cheese and wiped his hands, thinking about what he’d say. “Well? I suppose, uh, my wife has gone to heaven?” He could have, of course, been a bit firmer in his response. But it came out more like a question than a statement. Because, the truth was, he was the first to admit he had no idea where she was. He hoped she was in a place like heaven. Or a place with clouds and happy people with no pain or sadness. It certainly sounded better than being buried in a box six feet in the ground surrounded by dirt. Or sprinkled on some beach somewhere.

Chloe kept right on eating her ice cream, and John worried maybe he gave her too much. That’s all he needed was a kid throwing up in the house.

The radio in the kitchen got loud, and all John could hear was something about a home run. But when the announcer said the score—Red Sox down nine to nothing—it was painfully clear the home run was hit by the other team. He got up and turned the radio off.

As if out of nowhere, after a few moments had passed, Chloe gave John a look. “Does she know my daddy?”

John had eased himself into his chair and wanted to make sure he heard what Chloe had said. “What did you say?”

Chloe had chocolate all over her face now, but licked some of it away. She wiped her face with her napkin. “Does the lady know my daddy?”

John gazed across the table with a blank look on his face. He said nothing, as if he heard nothing.

Chloe ate another spoonful of ice cream, and appeared at first as if her question had little significance to her. And when she finally finished her ice cream, she stuck her thumb back in her ice cream-covered mouth and turned to look toward the door.

She was clearly hoping her mother, or maybe her aunt, would soon walk through. “Are you finished?” He took the mostly empty bowl and his own plate to the sink. “How about some water?“ He grabbed a glass and filled it from the faucet before she even answered. “Funny how ice cream makes you thirsty, isn’t it?” 

Chloe watched John place the glass for her on the table. Grabbing it with both hands, she took a few big gulps and let out a sigh, easing the glass down. Her eyes looked sleepy.

John had no idea how old she was, but assumed old enough she didn’t wear diapers. The mother didn’t give him any instruction—not that he would have offered to change anyone’s diaper. And as far as he knew, she had yet to use the bathroom. It had been a lot of years since he had his own kids to take care of. But back then Marie did most of the work. Even with the grandkids, he was mostly hands-off. He said to Chloe, “Do you need to use the bathroom?” He pointed toward the hall. “It’s right down there, if you need it.” He didn’t know how else to put it. 

Chloe climbed off of the chair before John had noticed. One of the phone books hit the floor with a loud thump and fear filled her eyes, as if she’d done something wrong.

“I got it,” he said, picking the phone book off the floor. He grabbed the other from the chair and put them both back under the counter. 

The girl held still, sucking her thumb, the doll in her grasp. “I need to go potty.”

“You do? Well, then, go ahead. I told you, it’s right down the hall.” He flipped on the hall light. “Second door.” Could the girl count? He assumed so.

Chloe was still for a moment, before walking down the hall and into the bathroom. She left the door open.

John went back to the table and picked up the framed picture of him and Marie. He felt a sudden sadness. Not more than usual. 

He thought of her every day, and wondered if a time might come when he didn’t. Eleven months later, he still walked in the front door of their house expecting her to be there, waiting.

He cleaned his dish and the ice cream bowl in the sink, then washed the cast-iron pan with the cheese hardened and stuck to the surface. He chipped it away with a butter knife.

Wondering what was taking Chloe so long, he dried his hands and stepped out of the kitchen. Peering around the corner into the family room, he saw her sitting on the couch with her doll on her lap, thumb in her mouth.

“What are you doing over there?” He took a step closer. Her eyes had closed. 

He grabbed the piece of paper off the counter and thought about calling the mother. He was tired, and wouldn’t be able to even rest his eyes if he wanted to. 

Chloe had fallen to her side with her head rested on the armrest of the couch.

John felt a chill in the air coming through the open windows. He grabbed the green wool blanket—one he’d had since he served in the Reserves—and draped it over Chloe. Then he went around and closed most of the windows, leaving the one over the sink open by a couple of inches hoping the smell of the burnt grilled cheese would disappear. 

He went to the door when he heard a car outside, and saw headlights shine in through the windows. It was the Camaro. 

John couldn’t have been more relieved to see the mother. He opened the front door and watched her looking at herself in the rearview mirror, checking her teeth.

It was dark out now, and he’d left the porch light off to keep the bugs away.

“Hi there,” she said, closing her door as she stepped out of the Camaro. She’d turned the engine off this time.

“What happened?” John said, wondering why she wasn’t at work.

“My sister called me. She wasn’t coming home.”

John rolled his eyes and looked in through the window at Chloe. “She’s asleep.”

The mother walked up the steps, appearing as frazzled and nervous as she had when she was there earlier. Peering through the same window toward the couch, where Chloe was asleep with the green wool blanket over her, and smiled. “I’m sorry about all of this. My sister’s just…” She sighed, shaking her head. 

“So you left work?” 

She shrugged, then nodded. “One of the other girls came in to cover the rest of my shift.”

“Oh,” is all John said.

“My sister’s never been the most reliable person,” the mother said.

John slapped a mosquito that landed on his arm, turning his hand over and seeing a spot of blood with the squashed bug on his finger. “Most people aren’t reliable.” He held the door for the mother and followed her inside, closing the door behind them. He hadn’t noticed how much the mother and Chloe looked alike until then.

The mother started toward the couch. “Let me wake her up, so we can get out of your way.”

John thought about it for a moment. “I was going to make coffee, if you’d like some?”

The mother stood close to Chloe, but didn’t wake her. Turning to John, she appeared to be caught off guard by his kind gesture. “Oh, uh… Thank you, but I think we’ve troubled you enough already.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” John said.

The mother paused with a small smile. “Okay. I guess… Yeah, I could use some coffee.”

John stepped into the kitchen. “Go ahead and have a seat at that table.” He opened the cupboard and took out the jar of Folger’s. “I hope instant is all right?” Even though he had a coffee maker under the sink, he never used it.

“Anything is good.” She sat at the table, in the same chair as Chloe had. 

Marie’s seat.

John put the water on and went over to the table where ice cream had dripped on top and some on the edge in front of the mother. He grabbed a wet cloth and cleaned it up, then took his seat across from her. 

For a moment, they were both quiet, and the mother didn’t look like she knew what to do with her hands, with the table being wet in front of her.

John said, “I hope it’s all right I gave her ice cream. I probably should have asked you before you left, but—”

“Oh, no. That’s great. Chloe loves ice cream.”

“Who doesn’t?” John said.

There were another couple moments of silence between them. The whole house was so quiet, the only sound came from the pot of water hissing on the stove.

John gathered his thoughts and leaned with his elbows on the table, hands folded. “I know this is probably none of my business, but Chloe said something about, well… She asked where my wife is, and I when I told her she was in heaven, she—”

“Oh, no,” the mother said. “I’m… I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I mean, I wondered if she—” The woman cleared her throat. “I’m sorry Chloe… She shouldn’t have asked you about that.” The mother came off as nervous at the idea of the question, as if death was something personal one shouldn’t discuss.

“No, it’s all right,” John studied his wrinkled dry hands with the brown spots he never had when he was young, and the way the veins were so thick, bulging like worms under his thin skin. He raised his gaze and cleared his throat. “She also asked if Marie, my wife, knew her daddy.”

The mother leaned back in her chair and with a tight-lipped grin gazed back at John, then lowered her eyes for a couple of moments. “I only told her the truth about him recently. I mean, I tried to explain it. But honestly, she doesn’t understand. How could she? What else do you say, other than he’s somewhere, up in…” She turned in her chair to check on Chloe sleeping on the couch. “We don’t go to church or anything like that, so, I don’t know. Maybe if we had, it would make it easier.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” John said. “I went for a little while after Marie was gone. To church.” He paused. “We went when the kids were young and all, but…” He shrugged, shaking his head. “How long’s it been?”

“Since we’ve been to church?”

“No, I mean, since you lost your… Since her father died?” He assumed the mother and Chloe’s father were married, but didn’t want to say for sure. 

“Three years.” She peered toward the kitchen and gazed around the small house, as if hoping for something else to talk about. “Everything is so neat. I mean, your house. And your kitchen. It’s so clean.” She sighed, followed by a small laugh. “If you saw our place… Everything’s still in boxes. It’s almost like I’m afraid to take it all out.” She lowered her eyes again.

John thought about how he’d been in the house, the same place, for almost all of his adult life. He no longer thought about moving and probably couldn’t, even if he wanted to. 

He got up and took the picture of him and Marie off the shelf. “This is Marie. My wife.” He handed it to the mother. “We were a lot younger then, of course.”

She took the frame from him and brushed the glass with a gentle touch. “She’s beautiful.”

She certainly was. She was always so beautiful. The most beautiful person in any room, as far as John was concerned. But he regretted the fact he’d stopped telling her how he felt about her, the way he did so often when they were young. 

John’s eyes went toward the closed front door. He rarely kept it open at night. But he went over and opened it, standing there for a moment. Looking out into the darkness surrounding the neighborhood, he felt the cool air coming in. He liked the way the temperatures dropped at night in New England, especially later in the summer. He remembered being down south, when they’d visit the kids, and it didn’t matter if it was morning or night, the heat never seemed to let up.

The water boiled and John went back to the kitchen to fix the coffee. “You want cream? Or sugar?”

“Just a little cream,” the mother said.

He grabbed the quart container from the refrigerator and poured some into each cup of coffee he’d poured. He didn’t take sugar either. Not anymore.

Placing one cup in front of the mother, he sat across from her with his. The framed picture on the table was turned to where he could see it. He said, “So, it’s just you and her?”

The mother held her gaze as she raised the cup to her mouth. “Me and Chloe?”

“Over at the house,” he said, nodding. “I mean, is it only the two of you?”

“Oh. No. My sister. That’s why she’s usually home at night. She works days, but has been working overtime. She’s usually home by the time I’m leaving for work.” She sipped her coffee. “What about you?” She eyed the shelf of framed photos, as if looking for something. “Do you have kids?”

John put up two fingers, nodding. “They’re older now, of course.” He brought his cup to his mouth and felt the warmth from the steam and the hot rim against his lip before he took a sip. “Six grandkids,” he said. “Nobody lives around here. Kids left for college, years ago and never came back. Both got married, raised their families. Can’t blame them for not coming back, really. I’m sure they had their reasons. Cost of living alone up here, makes it hard nowadays.” He finally took a sip of coffee, but it was still too hot. “Marie always used to tell them we’d sell the house, move down with the grandkids.” He took a glimpse toward the window when he heard a car, the glow of headlights stretching through the darkness and across the neighbor’s houses before it disappeared from the cul-de-sac.

“Where are they?” she said.

“My kids? Georgia. Outside Atlanta, in one of those overbuilt suburbs out there.” He grinned. “I used to think my yard was small. Down there, they all got these big houses, few strips of grass.” 

“You’d never move down there?”

“For what?” John shook his head. “I’m the first to complain about Rhode Island. I always did. But, nah. I’ll die in this house. I guess if we’d sold it back when Marie was alive, might’ve done all right. Narragansett’s not cheap, like it used to be. I’m sure you figured that out.”

Chloe’s mother sipped her coffee and pushed her cup aside. “I can’t compare my relationship, or my marriage to my husband, with… with what you and your wife had, but—”

“Says who?” John said. 

She paused. “I’m just saying, we were only married for a year. I got pregnant, and, well… It all went so fast. I’ve never been able to catch up. I’m not even sure I grieved the way I was supposed to.” She swallowed, her eye on John across from her. “Sometimes I feel like I hardly knew him.”

John sat, silent, nodding. Why was she telling him this stuff? He didn’t know what to say. “I don’t know how it’s all supposed to work,” he said. “Nobody does, you ask me.” He noticed Chloe sitting up on the couch. “Oh, look who’s awake.”

Chloe jumped from the couch with her thumb in her mouth, holding her baby doll, and ran into the woman’s arms. She rested her head on the mother’s shoulder and closed her eyes. 

The mother gave her a kiss. “Let’s get you home.”

But Chloe’s thumb fell from her mouth and her arms hung limp by her side.

The baby doll fell to the floor but John hurried over and picked it up, handing it to the mother.

“Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”

John led the two to the door and out into the cool, dark night. He remained on the top step and watched the mother buckle Chloe in the back. Once the woman was in the driver’s seat, she started the engine with a rumbling roar. He wondered why she drove such a car.

The headlights came on and John turned for the door to go back inside, but decided to wait. He sat on the top step as the Camaro drove off and turned into the driveway two doors down. He still called the house she rented the Townsend’s house, even though they’d moved away eleven years ago.

It wasn’t long before he went back inside to the odor of burnt grilled cheese hanging in the air. It wasn’t a good smell. He lifted open more windows, even though it was too cool. But he couldn’t handle the smell, and didn’t notice it as much until he went out and came back in. 

The empty cup was there, on Marie’s place at the table. John stared at it for a moment, as if he’d forgotten it was Chloe’s mother who drank from it. He grabbed both cups and took another sip of his—he hardly drank it—and placed them both in the sink.

The clock on the wall said it was five-past-nine.

John went into the other room and folded the green blanket and left it there on the couch. Quiet fell over the house, and he felt the same loneliness he’d been afraid he may never escape. But he knew he’d made some decisions that weren’t going to do him much good.

He went into the kitchen and grabbed the phone book from the drawer and opened it. All the names and addresses and phone numbers were in Marie’s handwriting. He went back into the other room with the phone book and sat on the couch. Reaching for the phone on the side table, he rested the base of it on his lap and dialed. 

Three rings later, someone answered.

“Hello?”

John noticed the glow from the lamp and his own reflection on the console TV in front of him.

“I hope it’s not too late for a call?” 

There was a brief pause on the other end. “Dad?”