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“Huh,” I said, more to myself.
Meg looked up at me from her phone. “Huh, what?”
I inclined my head towards the window. “My neighbor’s house is dark.”
Meg gave me a funny look. “They’re probably not home.”
“Mrs. Hamilton is eight-two. She’s a creature of habit. She turns every light on downstairs at 6:30 on the dot. She’s been doing that since her husband passed away. She hates the dark. Laughs that she’s still a five-year-old at heart.”
Meg put her phone down. “That doesn’t mean she’s not there. Maybe she’s upstairs or something.”
“She watches Matlock re-runs from seven to eight before switching to The Golden Girls.”
Meg chuckled. “You sure know a lot about an eighty-two-year old’s TV schedule.”
“She’s all alone over there. We talk a lot. She only has one son, and he’s a piece of shit who never visits. She’s an old lady that likes to talk about literally everything. So I know all about her TV programs. And her gardening. And the banana bread she likes to make every Thursday.” I felt a gnawing instinct in my gut, a need to go check on my elderly neighbor. Something wasn’t right.
“Your brow is furrowed. You’re worried.” Meg put her hand on my arm, and I gave her a smile.
“My brow is not furrowed,” I replied.
She ran a hand through my hair, and I had to stop myself from purring like a cat at her attention. “If you’re concerned, go check on her.” She started walking toward the front door, waving me on. “I’ll come with you.”
“Let’s just knock on the door,” I agreed.
A few minutes later, we were on Mrs. Hamilton’s porch, and I rang the doorbell. Everything was quiet. The sense of unease grew.
“I don’t like this.”I tried to peer through the living room curtains but couldn’t see much.
“You’re positive that she never goes anywhere? That the fact that her lights are off and she doesn’t appear to be home is a cause for concern? You said she had a son; maybe he took her out to dinner,” Meg suggested.
“As I said, he’s a POS. He only comes by when he wants money.” I turned the knob, and the door opened, a blast of cold air hitting me in the face.
“Mrs. Hamilton,” I called out before stepping over the entryway.
“I’m not sure we should be walking into her house like this,” Meg called out as I headed down the hallway.
Mrs. Hamilton’s house was completely dark. I turned on a few lights as I went, Meg following after me.
“She doesn’t seem to be here,” Meg said.
“Where the hell could she be?”I turned on the kitchen light and noticed the counter covered in dishes. I knew Mrs. Hamilton was a neat freak, so my worry grew more pronounced. I was trying to figure out who to call to check on her when Meg shouted from the back yard.
“Hurry, Adam!”
I ran out to the screen door. Meg was kneeling beside a prostrate Mrs. Hamilton, who was crumpled on her side, a sun hat on her head and gardening gloves still on her hands.
“Mrs. Hamilton?” I said loudly, carefully rolling her onto her back. I leaned over the elderly woman, my ear close to her mouth. I looked over at Meg. “She’s still breathing.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket and handed it to Meg. “Call 9-1-1.”
I turned my attention back to Mrs. Hamilton. I noticed one side of her face appeared to be drooping, and I suspected a stroke. Looking at what she was wearing, she had been out here for hours. My stomach sank.
Meg came back to kneel by my side, the phone still pressed to her ear as she spoke to the dispatcher. “No, she’s breathing, just unconscious. No, I don’t know how long she’s been here. She’s my boyfriend’s neighbor, and we were checking on her.”
Even in the intensity of the situation, it didn’t get past me that Meg Galloway had just referred to me as her boyfriend.
The next ten minutes went by in a rush. The paramedics arrived and loaded Mrs. Hamilton onto a stretcher. Meg insisted I go in the ambulance with her and she’d follow us there.
“We need to call her son,” I said as I hurried out after the EMTs.
“I’ll take care of that, you stay with Mrs. Hamilton,” Meg instructed.
At the hospital, Mrs. Hamilton was wheeled back into triage, and I was left in the waiting room. Meg arrived twenty minutes later.
“I had to leave a message on Daniel Hamilton’s voicemail. He didn’t answer,” she told me.
“I’m not surprised.” I wrapped my arms around her, hugging her tightly. “Thank you, Galloway.”
She tilted her head up to look at me, going up on her tiptoes and kissing my mouth. “No need to thank me.”
I raised my eyebrows. “So, I heard you calling me your boyfriend earlier. Is that what I am?”
