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I shake my head.
“Widowed?”
Another headshake.
“Gay?”
I grin. “No.”
“What’s your problem?”
His directness is refreshing.
“Haven’t you heard of a straight male being single by choice?”
“No.”
I laugh, and it feels so good.
“But I don’t understand your generation, so forget I asked.” Ed has a beet-red mustache, and from the look on his face, I’d say he’s not a fan of my juice, but he slowly sips it anyway.
“How did your wife die? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Cancer.” Ed slowly shakes his head. “Just between us, I think it might have been the chemo that killed her. That stuff’s poison.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“It was quick. She didn’t even make it through one round. Diagnosed and gone in less than six weeks.” He gives me a sad smile. “Took me a long time for everything to register. Sometimes, I still forget she’s gone. I’ll be watching TV and yell for her to bring me something.” He stares at his juice. “I bet she’s up there laughing her ass off.”
I sit in the armchair adjacent to the sofa. “I bet she is too.”
Ed tosses me a wry grin, but it quickly fades when he sighs. “Cancer’s gonna take all of us. Or a heart attack. Strokes are up there, too.”
“Accidents. Chronic respiratory disease. Covid. Alzheimer’s. Diabetes,” I add.
Ed eyes me like I’m the morbid one, but in the next breath, he takes another swig of his juice. “Suicide, homicide.”
I nod, fighting my grin. “Lightning strike. Shark attack.”
“You need to get laid, young man.”
I chuckle. He’s not wrong.
I’ve movedmy bedtime to nine instead of ten. Sleep is my friend. Just as I fall into a peaceful slumber, there’s a knock at my door.
Opening my eyes, I wait. Maybe there wasn’t a knock. Maybe it was a dream.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
With a sigh, I sit up and pull on a T-shirt. The wood floor creaks as I approach the door, turning on the entry light.
Scottie’s nose wrinkles. “Shit. You were asleep. I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.”
I nod at the big bag in her hands. “Whatcha got?”
“Things to make you better.”
“Better than what?”
