Roger understood.
Susan continued.
“You sounded alive on the phone again.”
The word embarrassed him.
Alive.
As though he had not been before.
Maybe he had not been completely.
“She’s a friend.”
Susan nodded.
“I know.”
“And Hector.”
“Yes.”
“Hector is definitely a friend.”
Susan smiled.
“I’m glad.”
Then she added:
“Mom would be too.”
Roger looked toward Elaine’s chair.
Hector had returned to sleep.
For a moment, grief appeared.
It no longer felt like drowning.
More like weather.
Something that arrived, passed through, and left the world slightly changed.
“I think so.”
Months passed.
Beatrice grew stronger.
The walker became a cane.
Then the cane spent more time leaning against furniture.
Roger’s knees remained terrible, but Frank convinced him to join a seniors’ exercise class twice a week.
Roger complained constantly.
Then attended every session.
Maya started organizing a monthly building dinner in the lobby.
At first, twelve people came.
Then twenty.
People brought food.
Names began attaching themselves to doors.
Apartment 302 became Denise, the nurse who worked nights.
417 became Carlos, who repaired musical instruments.
608 became a young couple with a baby named Lila.
555 was Maya, obviously.
548 was Frank.
561 was Beatrice.
214 was Roger.
Forty-two units slowly became people.
One winter storm shut down most of the city.
Years earlier, Roger would have stayed inside alone.
That year, the lobby became full.
Someone made chili.
Frank found a battery radio.
Children played cards.
Darren distributed flashlights when the power flickered.
Hector slept beneath a chair while humans organized themselves around him.
Beatrice sat beside Roger.
“Look what he did.”
Roger glanced at the cat.
“He slept through most of it.”
“You know what I mean.”
Roger did.
Hector had discovered the emergency.
Humans had responded.
Then humans discovered one another.
A year after Beatrice’s fall, Alderman Court held what Maya called Hector Day.
Roger hated the name.
Hector tolerated it.
They raised money for a local animal rescue.
The shelter brought adoptable cats.
Three found homes that afternoon.
Beatrice donated the first hundred dollars.
Roger donated the second.
Frank built small wooden feeding shelters for outdoor cats.
Darren officially pretended not to know Hector still entered through the basement window.
The anniversary of the rescue passed quietly.
At 4:15, Roger went outside carrying tuna.
Old habit.
He placed the dish on the step.
Hector appeared from beneath a parked car.
Roger smiled.
“You remember.”
Hector sat.
Roger lowered himself carefully onto the step.
“You caused a lot of trouble.”
The cat ate.
“You realize that?”
No response.
“Woman nearly died.”
“You made me climb five floors.”
“You introduced me to half the building.”
Hector continued.
Roger looked toward the street.
Then said:
“Thank you.”
The cat stopped eating.
Looked up.
Blue eyes.
One slow blink.
Roger laughed.
“Arrogant creature.”
Three years after the rescue, Beatrice turned eighty.
The building held a party.
She insisted she hated parties.
Then spent three weeks deciding which cake to order.
Susan flew in again.
Beatrice’s niece came from Pennsylvania.
Forty residents signed a card.
Hector slept beneath the gift table.
During the party, Roger stood near the edge of the lobby watching Beatrice laugh with Maya.
Frank approached.
“You know.”
Roger looked at him.
“What?”
“If that cat hadn’t missed dinner that day…”
Roger did not need the rest.
“I know.”
Frank looked toward Hector.
“Strange.”
“What?”
“We all lived ten feet apart.”