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She’s never coming back.
“And I’m sick of the scratching in my closet,” he continues. “You need to get someone to look into that.”
“What scratching?” I frown.
“That damn cat won’t leave me alone—scratching and scratching on the door to get out.”
I smile. “Do you want me to check on it?”
“You’d better,” he replies seriously as his eyes stay focused on the ad channel.
I open the closet door to humor him, and I see a pile of photo albums. “What are these?” I ask.
“Oh, they’re the photos.”
“Can you show me?” I take them out and put them on the bed.
He shuffles through them until he gets to the red one. He opens it to the first page. “This is Caroline.” It’s a picture from their wedding. She looks like Henley: same dark features and big eyes. “She’s pretty.”
He nods. “The most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen.”
I smile and turn the page to see her pregnant. “She’s having a baby?”
“That’s Henley in there.” He points to her stomach.
I smile as I turn a few more pages and see a little boy laughing in his mother’s arms.
He’s probably two. He’s wearing cute little overalls, and his dark hair has a curl to it.
The way his mother is looking at him is pure adoration.
I turn the page and see another photo of him on her shoulders, holding her two hands and leaning down to kiss his father, who is standing beside them.
So much love.
My heart constricts, and I feel suddenly emotional for all that Henley has lost. I blink away the tears.
Why am I crying?
I don’t want Bernard to see my tears, so I close the book. “We should do this another time. I don’t want to keep you.”
“Okay.” He turns back to the television. “Caroline is coming to take me home soon.”
“I know she is.”
I return his photo albums to the closet and pull his blankets up over him and restraighten his bed linens. I fill his glass with water. “Can I get you anything, Bernard?”
“Shh with all the jabbering. I’m watching M*A*S*H.”
I glance up at the television to see a Wonder Mop being advertised. “I’ll leave you to it.” I walk to the door and look back at Bernard. He’s concentrating on the television, totally engrossed.
With a heavy heart I walk up the corridor and get back to work.
Sometimes life just isn’t fair.
I peer out the upstairs window of my spare room.
It’s Friday night, and I’m spying into the backyard of Antony to see if Henley has arrived yet. I don’t want to get there before him, but the longer I stay here, the more nervous I become. The whole street seems to be there, but so far, no sighting of Henley. He better be coming; these come-fuck-me jeans cost me one hundred and twenty damn dollars.
