I watched my wife leave our neighbor’s house, her empty hands shoved deep in the pockets of her red anorak. She came inside through our carport. I met her in our kitchen.
“Beverly was really happy for the soup,” she said. “Honestly, it was a little sad. She said no one else has brought food, and he’s going to hospice tomorrow. It’s really bad, and no one, not one single person, has reached out to her.”
Just what I thought. I have been watching my neighbor’s house from my living room chair on and off for at least two years now. William and Beverly have a simple 3/2 ranch that is the mirror image of ours, except William let his yard go to pot, and I’ve kept mine up, even with my back shot to hell the way it is. I owe it to my family to take care of things. I owe it to my neighborhood. But not William. Well, what can you expect from a guy who let his daughter do prison time for selling drugs when he was the guy running the scheme? If you’re a man who is weak enough to do that, you don’t want to show your face outside to trim the hedges, and you also aren’t going to have many friends to lean on during your last days alive.
My wife confirmed what
