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Chapter 1

Jack

The click of the metal spoon against my coffee cup was the only noise in the still space of my kitchen. That and the hum of the furnace as it kicked on. Being early spring, it was still cool enough in the mornings that the furnace ran. It wouldn’t come back on until 5:30 or so that evening. Then again, perhaps it was warm enough overnight that I could turn the furnace off completely. Saving money was always a good thing. I hated sleeping while it was cold, though. Did I still have that old space heater in the basement? I could bring that up. Perhaps I’d try for a night.

These were the mundane thoughts that kept me going and filled my day.

I got up, letting my chair slide across the linoleum floor. I didn’t have cut-off tennis balls on the bottom of my chairs like my grandparents had, though I admitted those would probably work better than the sticky pads I’d found at the bulk store. Not that the linoleum was worth saving. It was original to the house and on the never-ending list of things that I really ought to replace. Maybe that would be a good project to start this summer.

As I stood, I walked over to the notepad I kept on the kitchen counter and added an item to my to-do list to shut off the furnace and to research flooring and to bring up the space heater. I supposed I could walk over to the furnace and turn it off right now rather than add a to-do item, but I should finish my coffee first. I went back to the table and sat down.

Having a to-do list, even a boring one, at least gave me the semblance of purpose. Then I could review it later to see that I wasn’t just filling my days with nothingness. These were my golden years, and I was enjoying them. I was busy. I had a purpose.

My coffee was cooled just enough, and I was able to drink it down easily. The quiet mornings where I could organize my day and stare out at the expansive backyard were my favorite. And it was the whole reason I bought the house. The large windows in the breakfast nook section of the kitchen sold me on the place. They faced the back yard which was thick with trees and shrubs, plenty of flowering plants to keep the colors popping throughout the season. Back then I’d envisioned drinking coffee with a spouse or partner, with the occasional visit from my daughter. The latter happened quite often, thanks to the guest house located in the back of the yard.

It was perfect for Maya, my daughter. She wasn’t here now, her job kept her on the road quite a bit. I wouldn’t bother her when she was back in the guest house. I didn’t like to interrupt her time too much. Given the housing market was in the state that it was in, it only made sense for my daughter to live in my guest house while she traveled so much. I only charged a minimal amount of rent. I was ready to let her live there for free, but she insisted on paying.

Her mother had retired and moved to Florida. She seemed to be enjoying the retirement life. I saw her posts on Instagram and Facebook every so often. She and I remained friends, both in real life and the digital one, despite having split up nearly twenty years ago. Co-parenting had gone well, which was why we had an amazing daughter.

I supposed I could spend my day brainstorming ideas for what to do for my birthday. I would be fifty-six soon. A full year of retirement already gone by. The first couple of months had been great. I read books. I went for walks in the neighborhood, volunteered at the local animal shelter. I organized everything in my home. Everything now had a place. I even labeled every bin and drawer in the basement and garage. Then the to-do list had dried up, and once everything had its place and you put everything back into its place when you were done with it, there wasn’t much left to do.

I tried to take up woodworking but failed miserably. I ended up in the ER with several stitches on my left hand. Thankfully, nothing serious had been cut. I barely had a scar now. The doctor had been shocked at how quickly I had healed, given my age, of course. That was always the caveat.

“You’re very fit, considering your age.” “Your blood pressure is great, considering your age.”

Still, I wasn’t about to try that particular hobby again. Golf was never my thing. The local bingo group was full. Apparently not enough people had died yet, and so there wasn’t an opening for me. That left sitting around staring at the walls.

Once I finished my cup of coffee, I went to the sink, rinsed it, dried it, put it away with the other mugs, and then did the same for the spoon. I stared at the mostly full pot of coffee. Maybe it was time to buy one of those individual coffee makers. These days it seemed I was more and more restless, unable to fall asleep at night. Coffee wasn’t helping me. My friends would tell me it was boredom, that I needed a hobby, a project, something to keep me occupied. I had nothing.

I went outside. I sighed so hard the neighbor’s dog barked at me from across the street. I waved, even though my neighbor was too far away to even see me.

I had managed to snag two of the lots in this little cul-de-sac that butted up to the woods. The lots were large and the houses spaced apart enough that you felt like you could actually breathe. Not at all like the crowded subdivisions that surrounded the city. I had plenty of yard space, most of it enclosed by a fence, so I had the privacy I needed.

The alarm on my watch sounded, letting me know that my mail would be arriving any minute.

Yes, I had an alarm letting me know when the mail was coming. What else was I going to do with my time? If I didn’t chat with Jeff the mail guy, then I might go the whole day without talking to anyone.

I was the first stop on the mail carrier’s route, so my mail always arrived promptly at 8:31. Today, I waited. And waited.

Finally, my mail had arrived at nine. Jeff explained that he’d had a flat tire this morning. I didn’t have anything to add to the conversation, since my day had been like every other day this past year, except that the mail was late. I couldn’t tell Jeff that. He already knew.

I went back inside, sat down at the table, grabbed the letter opener I kept in the drawer, and opened the mail.

“Attention: Please call our office at this number to verify your information. We’ve been trying to get a hold of you.”

This wasn’t a scam — or maybe it was — but it was coming from the pension office, where my check usually came from. Come to think of it, my pension check had been delayed this month. What was going on with this? I pulled out my phone and checked the calendar to cross-reference the digital app Maya had taught me to use. I used to have to zoom in to read the text, but the developers had fixed the ADA compliance. Or maybe I had just gotten used to it, but I could read it just fine now, without having to do the pinching and zooming thing on the screen.

Sure enough, my check for this month had not been deposited on its normal day.

Finally. Something to do to occupy my time.

I grabbed a fresh pen and paper from the drawer of the old rolltop desk in my office, filled a fresh cup of coffee, and sat down at the table.

I added an item to my to-do list. “Call the pension office.”

Chapter 2

Connor