Page 41 of The Man I Hate

I waved, but she was preoccupied with her work.

I wondered if she was single or married. Why wasn’t her husband outside with her? Had he contracted the virus? Was he sick? Had he died? Did she get to say she loved him before he drew his last breath?

I watched and waited, hoping to catch her attention.

She set the shears aside and gathered her trimmings in a bag. She took a step back and put her hands on her hips. Seeming satisfied with her work, she picked up the shears and turned toward the driveway.

I waved. Then, I waved again.

She was halfway up the drive, looking the other direction.

“Hi!” I shouted.

She glanced around. Upon seeing me, she smiled and waved.

“I’m Anna,” I said. “How are you doing this afternoon?”

“Just fine, thank you,” she replied. “I’m Margaret. Marge.”

“Nice to meet you, Marge.”

She set everything down before turning to face me completely. “Likewise.”

“Crazy, isn’t it?”

She cupped her palm beside her right ear. “Pardon?”

“This is crazy,” I shouted. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes, it sure is,” she said. “Reminds me of what happened with polio, in 1952. I was 11 at the time. Scared to death, to say the least. A few years later they had a vaccine. We all let out a sigh of relief.”

I walked to the middle of the drive. “They’re saying it might be 18 months before they have one for this.”

She looked up one side of the street, and then the other. “Hopefully, we’ll all still be here when the time comes.”

“I sure hope so,” I replied. “Are you staying home?”

She shuffled to the end of her driveway. “I don’t have a choice. My asthma’s terrible. I doubt I’d last a week if I got it.”

“I’m not taking chances, either,” I said. “I’m staying here until this is over.”

“Were they your parents?” she asked, nodding in my direction. “The former owners?”

“Yes,” I replied. “They were.”

She lowered her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” I said, nearly choking on my reply.

“When this is all over,” she said. “You’ll have to come for dinner.”

I’d been alone, eating Little Debbie’s snacks, Cheetos, and sliced Swiss cheese for the past 9 days. Human interaction sounded like a wonderful idea, especially if there was a homecooked meal involved.

“I’ll look forward to it,” I said with a smile.

“I better go in.” She gestured toward the door. “It’s almost time for dinner.”

I hated to ask but I had to know. I cleared my throat. “Are you married?”