Nothing sudden.
Age.
Heart trouble.
More hospital visits.
Roger was eighty now.
He went with her when he could.
Susan visited more often.
The building continued watching both of them.
One spring morning, Beatrice remained unusually tired.
Roger called.
No answer.
The old fear returned immediately.
He went upstairs.
Knocked.
No answer.
This time Roger did not hesitate.
He called Darren’s successor.
They entered.
Beatrice was asleep in bed.
Breathing normally.
Simply exhausted.
She woke furious about being disturbed.
Roger nearly cried from relief.
“You could answer your phone.”
“I was sleeping.”
“You could sleep less suspiciously.”
“That sentence makes no sense.”
Hector sat on the bed washing one paw.
Beatrice pointed.
“He wasn’t worried.”
“Hector is irresponsible in retirement.”
The incident became a joke.
But underneath it lay something important.
Nobody in Alderman Court would ever again leave Beatrice on a floor for thirty hours.
Nobody would leave Roger either.
The building had learned to notice.
Hector’s final winter came quietly.
He stopped climbing the fire escape.
Darren installed a small pet door inside the interior stairwell access with landlord approval.
Hector accepted this architectural improvement without gratitude.
By January, he spent most days in Roger’s apartment.
Beatrice visited him there.
She moved slowly with a cane again.
One snowy afternoon, she sat beside Hector on the sofa.
“He looks tired.”
Roger nodded.
Dr. Shah had been honest.
Kidneys.
Age.
Comfort care.
Days or weeks.
Nobody knew.
Roger stroked the cat’s cream-colored back.
The fur still felt soft.
“You caused all this.”
Beatrice looked around apartment 214.
Photographs now covered one wall.
Building dinners.
Hector Day.
Susan visiting.
Frank holding a ridiculous birthday hat over Hector’s head.
Maya with her baby.
Beatrice and Roger sitting together near the front step.
“You mean the building?”
“All of it.”
Beatrice shook her head.
“He opened the door.”
“We walked through.”
Roger smiled.
“That sounds like something from one of your books.”
“I was a librarian.”
“I know.”
“You married a woman who named houseplants.”
“Also true.”
That night, Hector slept between Roger and the arm of the sofa.
At 4:15 the next afternoon, he woke.
Roger noticed immediately.
Hector stood slowly.
Walked toward the apartment door.
Roger followed.
“You want outside?”
Hector looked back.
Roger opened the door.
They took the elevator down.
Beatrice happened to be in the lobby.
Or perhaps nothing involving Hector happened accidentally anymore.
She saw them.
“Where’s he going?”
Roger shrugged.
They opened the front entrance.
Cold air entered.
The concrete step waited.
Hector walked outside.
Sat in the exact place where Roger had first seen him years before.
Roger lowered himself beside the cat.
Beatrice sat on the bench near the door.
For several minutes, none of them spoke.
Cars passed.
Leaves moved.
The city continued.
Roger looked at his watch.
4:15.
Exactly.
He laughed quietly.
“Still punctual.”
Hector looked toward him.
Those blue eyes were cloudy now.
Still beautiful.
Roger placed a small dish of tuna on the concrete.
Hector sniffed it.
Ate one small bite.
Then leaned against Roger’s leg.
Beatrice watched.
Her eyes filled.
Roger stroked Hector’s head.
“You did good.”