Cry Like A Girl

Chapter 18

Once inside, he found the combined smells of mothballs and Absorbine nauseating. Her apartment smelled like masked death, turning thoughts of her demise from possible into probable.

He tossed the banana peel over the edge of the landing and wiped his hands down the front of his jeans, straightening when the door opened.

"I was expecting you a week ago," said Aunt Liv between labored breaths. She waved him inside.

An act that had become too reflexive, he almost offered a lie about being too busy to make it sooner, but didn't have the mental energy to elaborate if she challenged his excuse. Besides, annoying her might lead to more issues in need of his attention like the splintered handrail leading up the stairs or the cracked pane in the kitchen window he spotted as he closed the door behind him. Instead, he offered a smile and asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Old. I'm feeling old. One day, out of the blue, your growing spurts end and your aging spurts begin. It's all downhill from there." She turned her back to him. "This way."

The smell of fresh-baked goods veiled the offensive odor of the apartment. If he were here long enough he would adjust, but for now, he gave his nose a fierce rub as he followed her down the short hall in what felt like slow motion.

"Now if you would have come when I first told Susan about the leak you could have seen for yourself how bad it was. Stopped raining days ago so now all you got to look at is this here stain," said Aunt Liv, pointing toward a small, brown water mark on the ceiling.

Henry slid between a night table and the wall positioning himself directly underneath it. The size of an English muffin, the water hadn't leaked long enough or hard enough to bubble the plaster. He rested his hands on his hips and stared a few seconds longer than necessary, hoping to convince her that had taken her complaint seriously.

"Probably nothing more than a loose shingle. I'll bet the wind loosened it during the last storm. I'll get my ladder."

Henry knew if he didn't climb the ladder and have a look, the elderly woman would haunt Susan, who in turn would haunt him until he did.

"And that stain. You're going to paint over that stain, aren't you?"

"Of course," said Henry, hoping he reeled in his sarcasm enough to go unnoticed.

The Bullseye and paint sat on a shelf next to the where the ladder hung at the far end of the garage. He decided to take the primer upstairs and apply a coat before he tackled the roof. This would make her happy and less likely to hunt for other issues while he was up there.

He coughed into his hand in an attempt to clear his throat, but nothing would eliminate the smell that hung in his nose. He decided he was going to tell her it was best to open a window in the bedroom to let the primer dry so he could paint later today. If he had to suck in mothball fumes all day, for sure he'd end up with a headache that lasted through the weekend. Besides, everyone knew old people couldn't take the cold. The minute the window went up; she'd leave him in peace. He caught a smile in his reflection off a chrome tailpipe that belonged to a motorcycle he once owned. Yes. Two huge benefits for the price of one small lie.

The kitchen door was ajar, so he entered without knocking.

"Sit, sit. I made an Apple Brown Betty." Aunt Liv urged him to a chair with a frail hand on his back.

While he decided on which of more than a dozen excuses to give her for not being able to sit, he allowed her to lead him to the table. He set the gallon can on the floor beside him and lay the brush across the top of it.

Five minutes. It wouldn't be so bad. Susan's aunt was a good cook, as his mother was, so the homemade dessert was an unexpected, but welcomed bonus. While he waited for her to gather what she needed, he took in the room and its contents. Figurines. He wasn't going to count them, but there had to be four dozen assorted rooster figurines decorating the archway, the windowsill, the lip of the backsplash, and the radiator cover. He never could figure out why anyone would want so many dust collectors lying around, but at her age, dusting roosters and sprinkling mothball flakes was probably the highlight of her day. He directed his attention back to Susan's aunt as she set a plate in front of him.