The girl left him soon afterward, quietly. Earl tried his best not to think about how he had hurt her feelings. He was finally, wonderfully alone, and he planned to put the whole unpleasantness out of his mind.
However, there seemed to be a cloud of doubt hovering over him as he wheeled himself to the center of the room. He started to reach for the remote on the coffee table but instead grabbed one of the framed photos of his late wife. He stared at Barbara for a long moment. “I know, baby. But there’s no percentage in getting involved.”
The picture did not answer.
“College gets on my nerves. You always had more patience than me. I would never admit it to her, but when she forced me to get out of the apartment, I was secretly glad. I’ve been hibernating in this old rattrap for so long I’ve forgotten how to get out.”
The picture didn’t answer that, either.
“Of course, the first place she takes me to—” He stopped himself and changed the subject. “And I sort of met somebody when we went to the rec center. I hope that’s okay with you. Her name is Gloria Logan.”
The photograph of Barbara kept smiling. Her black hair framed her face just so.
Earl set his jaw, thrust out his lower lip. His breathing came heavier. “I don’t know what to do, Barbara. I can’t get involved.”
He let out a big sigh. “When a man is an island for so long, he can’t remember how to connect with the mainland anymore.”
He wiped his nose with his sleeve. “Well, you know what I mean.” He smiled weakly at the photo. “You always did.” He looked at the eyes he remembered so well in his dreams. “I miss you.”
Earl set down the photo and got the television remote. He turned on the TV and flipped through the channels. Courtroom show. Trashy news program. Sitcom. Click, click, click. He sat in front of the flickering screen for some block of time, but he wouldn’t have been able to recall what he watched.
He was almost grateful when there was a knock at the door. After shutting off the TV, he went to the door to find Mark Conroy standing there. Earl said, “Hello. You throw some kind of party.” He didn’t invite the man in.
“Yes.” Conroy forced a grin then dropped it. “I just wanted to check and make sure that you were okay.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well, a few people from the party have been sick today. I just wanted to make sure you were fine.”
“I’m fine. We can’t say the same for Kent.”
“Oh. You heard.” Conroy stood in the doorway a few seconds, uncertainly. “By the way, I’m sorry about how Kent crawled all over you there. I hope he didn’t cause any damage?”
Earl tilted his head. “No.”
“By the way, he dropped something in my apartment—a ring. Maybe you saw it?”
“He showed it off to me. He seemed to show it off to everybody.”
“Yes.” Conroy nodded. “Anyway, it seems to have been misplaced. You didn’t happen to see what happened to it, did you?”
Earl shook his head. “No.”
“Well, if it turns up, here is my number.” Conroy handed Earl a scrap of paper with a phone number scribbled on it. “As the host, I feel responsible for making sure it gets into the right hands.”
Earl nodded. “Uh-huh.”
Conroy lingered a moment. Finally he said, “Well, I guess I’ll see you around. Glad to hear you didn’t get sick.”
After Earl closed the door, he went to the end table by the couch and stuck the scrap of paper in the drawer. He considered going back to the TV but changed his mind and made dinner.
He was boiling some noodles when there was a knock at the front door. Wondering how in the world he suddenly got so popular, he pulled the pot off the burner and went to see who it was.
Sally Brouwer was at the door. “Um, hi.”
Earl nodded. “Hello.”
“I didn’t know if you heard, but some people got sick at the party yesterday.”
“I also heard that a man died.”
“Oh—yes. That was a shame. Speaking of Kent, did you happen to see what happened to that ring of his?”
Earl forced himself to keep a blank expression on his face. He shook his head thoughtfully. “No, I don’t think I did.”
“Because he collapsed over around where you—”
“Yeah, I remember. But I don’t know what happened to the ring. I guess it must be valuable?”
Sally nodded. “I want to make sure his family gets it.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“Well, it’s already such a tragedy and all. And since Kent wasn’t wearing it when he got sick like that, I would hate for it to get lost in the shuffle.”
“That is very considerate of you.”
“If you happen to remember anything, here is my number.” She handed him a neatly folded piece of paper.
Earl nodded and smiled. “Thank you.”
After she left, he deposited the number in the end table drawer and finished boiling his noodles. The results were rubbery, which he blamed on the interruption. Although, to be honest, he didn’t really know if it was that or his poor cooking.
After dinner he tried to find something to read. Perusing all the materials within arm’s reach, he went through his options: the Candlewick newsletter, the newspaper, a biography of Winston Churchill, a book on World War II, a self-help book, and an encyclopedia of celebrity pets. Earl could not for the life of him remember how he had ended up with that last one.
He settled on the biography of Churchill. However, the words just seemed to float around him. That weird feeling continued to gnaw at Earl’s concentration. Something at that party had not been right. There was no evidence of any crime—by all accounts, George Kent was just an old man who should have watched his diet more carefully and died for his carelessness.
But something about the whole scene just did not sit right with Earl. He tried his best to concentrate on the book in his hands. Finally, after reading the same paragraph multiple times, he gave up.
Maybe it was time to get ready for bed. Because—and he could not be any clearer about this to himself—he was not going to get involved. No matter how much the matter of Kent’s death weighed on his mind. He wheeled himself to the bathroom sink, reaching for the railing on the wall and pulling himself to a standing position, careful to avoid eye contact with the man facing him in the mirror.
What are you so nervous about? You’re not going to get involved. There’s no reason for you to be nervous.
In the dark, the faded light from the next room illuminated his face in the mirror. The man looking back at him was so old. For some reason it surprised him.
He leaned on his palms against the sink. “I just need some sleep. That’s all.” Yeah, that was it. Everything would be different in the morning.
Getting himself back into his wheelchair, he wheeled to the dresser and got out some fresh pajamas. His hands trembled. He didn’t talk to himself all through the process of changing for bed.
By the time he finally made it to bed, he thought the matter was resolved. His plan was to close his eyes and fall into blissful unconsciousness. All would be well in the morning.
Earl did not count on not being able to sleep. Staring at the ceiling, he talked to the darkness. “Look, there is no reason to talk to the cops.” The darkness didn’t answer. “After all, why would they believe me? Even College decided I was crazy.”
Earl’s mind wandered. He kept replaying the afternoon of the party in his head. The girl’s visit. How he badgered her into dusting. How she badgered him into getting out of the apartment.
His memories flickered to the bowling game. How the entire room stopped when George Kent walked through. Everyone who knew George Kent lived in fear of him.
He thought of the party afterward. Everyone had played nice. But everyone hated Kent. But someone liked him enough to give him a box of cigars. (Where did he get those again?) Someone thought enough of him to bring him grape juice. (Who was that again?) Someone liked him enough to bring him chili. (Where had that come from again?) And someone had apparently taken his ring.
Earl twitched. “I’m in no position to judge,” he told the darkness. He hoped it passed no judgment.
But he couldn’t stop thinking. About the cigars. The grape juice. The chili. The ring.
It was obvious he was not going to get any sleep this way. Earl clapped his hands and the lamp came on. He checked the clock. It was after eleven. He sat up, wondering how to occupy himself. He hadn’t been up this late in years.
First he boiled some water. Not for tea. Not for coffee. Just for the hot water. The whole process took maybe twenty minutes. He tried to focus on the water as it started to bubble, then boil furiously. He poured it into a cup and drank it as fast as his throat would allow. The cup of hot, clear liquid soothed his stomach somewhat. But it failed to do anything about the images eating at the back of his mind.
“I just need some air,” he told himself. He toyed with just going out in his pajamas and maybe his robe but quickly dismissed the idea. So he went to the trouble of changing into his shirt and pants. He pulled on his slippers and wheeled to the door.
***
Outside in the common garden, Earl stopped and sniffed the honeysuckle. He thought about how much Barbara had loved the stuff. He wondered whether Gloria liked it.
Earl decided he needed to wander. Most folks would call it “taking a walk” or “taking a stroll.” Even after all these years in a wheelchair, he still wasn’t sure what he should call it. Maybe “taking a spin.”
Whatever it was, Earl let his mind go blank as he simply let his hands and wheels take him wherever. The trick was to not think. Not to let any of the recent unpleasantness get to him. The way that man bullied his way into the bowling tournament. The chili party. The way all those old fools lapped up the food.
The cigars.
The grape juice.
The chili.
The ring.
“Stop that,” Earl grumbled to himself. “You’ve got to just stop thinking about it.”
Stop thinking about the man on the floor, his life probably leaking out of his body even as they all watched.
With a jolt, Earl suddenly noticed where he was. His eyes adjusting to the nighttime lighting, he recognized the hall where the caravan had gone to Mark Conroy’s chili party. And that door there—right there—was where Kent had talked with Nelson.
Where Nelson had handed Kent the box of cigars. Kent had gone inside.
Earl sat. Earl pondered. Earl heard a crash.
His inclination was to simply turn and wheel away. It was none of his business.
But he couldn’t. He looked both ways down the empty hallway. He looked again at Kent’s apartment door. Maybe he just imagined the noise.
Crash. There was definitely someone inside, breaking things.
Scratching the side of his nose, Earl wondered what to do.
Clang. Earl wheeled right up to the door and started to reach for the knob. He stopped himself, literally grabbed one hand with the other. What did he think he was doing?
There was no telling who was behind that door. What if he was up to no good? He was probably carrying a crowbar. Or a baseball bat. Maybe a gun or a machete.
And here Earl was just a crippled old man in a wheelchair. It wouldn’t take much to knock him senseless or simply tip his chair over, step over him, and run away. Earl was humiliated to be faced with his own helplessness.
Smash. He considered knocking on the nearby doors, but he had no idea who lived along this row of apartments. Banging on random doors could be just a waste of time, and he was in a hurry. Making up his mind, Earl gripped the wheels of his chair and turned in the direction of Candlewick’s front desk—maybe someone was on duty.
On the way to the front desk, Earl got turned around a few times. The second time he passed the chapel, he got reoriented. When he made it to his destination, the entrance to the lobby was dark. Just the running lights were on.
The desk was unmanned. Earl licked his lips, tried to control his breathing. “Hello?” His voice came out a hoarse whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Is anyone here?”
A voice singsonged from behind a closed door. “Just a second.”
After a moment the door opened. It was the young man from before—what was his name? Oh yeah, Grant Caine. The kid broke into a grin when he saw Earl. “Hello, sir! Lost your way again?”
“I came to report a burglary.”
Concern shadowed Caine’s face. “A what?”
Earl pointed back down the hall from which he had come. “There is somebody in Kent’s apartment right now.”
Now the kid was puzzled. “Kent who?”
“George Kent, the guy who keeled over yesterday. Somebody is tearing up his apartment right now.”
The kid was slow. “There is somebody in George—”
“Shouldn’t you be snapping to action right now? Paging the security guard or something?”
“Right. Right.” Caine ran his fingers through his brown hair. He looked right at Earl. “We’ve got to do something.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying!”
“So, you were in Mr. Kent’s apartment, and you think you saw—”
“I was out in the hall. I heard some intruder in the apartment.”
Caine looked at Earl doubtfully. “Maybe you just imagined it.”
Earl gritted his teeth. “I did not imagine it.” Hands on his wheels he turned toward the desk. There had to be a telephone.
Ah. There.
He jumped at the receiver and held it out to Caine, stretching the cord to its limit. “Call someone. Security. The president. Dick Tracy. I don’t care who.”
“Right.” Caine was nodding now. Earl didn’t know what College saw in him. The kid took the phone. “Right.” He hesitated then started searching an address book on the desk. “I’ll have to see what Mr. Nelson says. He’s the director.”
“Now we’re talking.”
Caine jabbed his finger at an item in the book then punched the numbers into the phone. He waited for it to ring through.
There was another voice on the line. Earl couldn’t hear it distinctly, but he assumed it was Ed Nelson. Probably interrupted at home, unhappy to be disturbed. Caine responded. “Hello, sir? Sorry to call you this time of night, but there has been an alleged, um, noise. One of the residents may have heard something in one of the residential units.”
“I know what I heard,” Earl snapped.
From the wince on the boy’s face, Caine was being chewed out for interrupting the man’s sleep or his television show or something. Caine nodded at whatever the man was saying. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I’ll get right on it.”
He hung up the phone and looked at Earl started to say something, but no words came out. Then he turned and ran.