“You sound shaken.”
“I am.”
“Do you know this woman?”
“No.”
He looked toward the window.
“That’s the strange part.”
“What do you mean?”
“I should.”
Susan waited.
Roger continued.
“We lived in the same building.”
“Years, probably.”
“I didn’t know her.”
“That doesn’t make what happened your fault.”
“I know.”
But he was not entirely convinced.
After the call, Roger walked to the window.
Alderman Street glowed beneath streetlights.
Somewhere outside, Hector was moving through the night.
Roger wondered where he slept.
Whether he belonged to someone.
Why he had known Beatrice.
Why she had whispered “Honey.”
He barely slept.
At 8:12 the next morning, Roger called Mercy General.
They would not provide much information because he was not family.
He explained that he was the neighbor who found her.
Eventually, someone confirmed Beatrice was stable.
That was enough.
Roger showered.
Shaved.
Put on the good blue sweater Elaine used to like.
Then went to the supermarket.
He stood inside the flower section far too long.
Roses seemed romantic.
Lilies seemed like funerals.
He chose yellow chrysanthemums.
Elaine had liked them.
At the hospital, Roger felt foolish.
He knew almost nothing about Beatrice.
He did not know whether she liked flowers.
He did not know if she wanted visitors.
He found room 221.
Knocked softly.
“Come in.”
The voice was weak.
Beatrice lay elevated against white pillows.
Her left leg was immobilized.
A bruise stretched across her temple.
She looked tiny beneath the blankets.
Roger stepped inside holding the flowers.
Her eyes focused on him.
“You.”
Roger smiled uncertainly.
“Me.”
“You found me.”
“Well.”
He looked toward the flowers.
“I followed the cat.”
Beatrice’s expression changed.
“The cat.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes suddenly filled with tears.
“My Honey.”
Roger blinked.
“What?”
“Honey.”
“The Siamese cat.”
Roger stared.
“Cream-colored?”
“Yes.”
“Brown face and ears?”
“Yes.”
“Blue eyes?”
Beatrice almost smiled.
“The bluest eyes in the world.”
Roger sat down slowly.
He placed the chrysanthemums beside the bed.
“You know him.”
“Of course I know him.”
“He visits every evening.”
Roger leaned forward.
“What time?”
“Around six.”
He stared.
“How long?”
“Almost two years.”
Roger began laughing.
He could not stop.
Beatrice looked confused.
“What?”
Roger covered his mouth.
“I’m sorry.”
“What is funny?”
“I’ve been feeding that exact cat every day for two years.”
Beatrice stared.
“Every day?”
“Four-fifteen.”
She blinked.
“Four-fifteen?”
“Like a train schedule.”
Her mouth opened.
Then she started laughing too.
It hurt her hip and became a cough.
Roger stood.
“Careful.”
“I’m fine.”
“You call him Honey?”
“Because he’s sweet.”
Roger shook his head.
“No.”
Beatrice frowned.
“No?”
“His name is Hector.”
“Hector?”
“Hector.”
She laughed again.