really. Most people, they answer the telephone, they don’t fall down.”
Lacking an answer to that, Joey just drove down A1A, the road that flanked the ocean. The sky was dark now except for a narrow swath of bruised green at the horizon; the water was flat and coppery. As they were passing the Paradiso, Bert said, “You missed the turn.”
Without looking at his passenger, Joey said, “I thought we’d go to my house.”
“Don’t start that shit.”
“Just for a couple days.”
“I don’t want—“
“Come on. You gonna cook one-handed? How you gonna feed the dog?”
The old man paused at that. Chewing on his heavy lower lip, he said, “Shit, Joey, this ain’t right. Imposin.’ Plus I don’t have any of my stuff—“
“Sandra already brought some things from your apartment. Your room is all set up.”
Bert blinked and felt a burst of heat behind his eyeballs, a mix of gratitude and shame. “Christ,” he said. “Ya see, this is exactly how I never wanted things to be.”
Joey shrugged. “Well, it’s how things are.”
“Two days,” said Bert. “Two days, then I’m goin’ home.”
Joey didn’t argue, just kept driving along the Key West shoreline as far as White Street, where he turned inland toward the neat and quiet house he shared with Sandra, his wife of twenty years.
Two days became four days, then Bert walked up to Joey while he was doing some paperwork out by the pool and announced that he was going back to his apartment. Joey put his pen down. “You really think that’s a good idea?”
Bert didn’t answer the question. He said, “This, look, you and Sandra have been great, wonderful, but it ain’t right. Youse got your lives to live.”
“It’s fine,” said Joey. “It’s our pleasure having you here.”
“Nah,” the old man said. He shook his head and his big nose fanned the air. “It ain’t right. It’s a whaddyacallit, a disruption. I mean, me, I keep crazy hours, I never know when I’m gonna be awake or asleep. Even the dog knows it’s fucked up. I’m padding around at four a .m., I grab the leash, he looks at me like, what the fuck, we’re going for a walk now? ”
“It’s fine, Bert. Come and go as you please.”
“Nah,” he said again. “It’s a nuisance. Ya think I don’t notice? I see your bedroom light come on. You’re worried about me. I bump into things. You hear the noise. It’s like having a ghost in the house. It’s not right.”
Joey didn’t answer right away but the truth was that it had in fact been a bit of a burden having Bert around. It had been many years since he and Sandra had shared their home with anyone for more than a night or two, and the presence of another person forced them to alter routines they’d never really had to think about and that defined the feel and rhythms of their life together. What they wore around the house, or didn’t. Whether they had to talk first thing in the morning. How they chose what and when to eat. Suddenly, things that had always just sort of happened needed to be planned; even the littlest things seemed to call for the making of decisions. It was different and it was wearying.
Joey didn’t say any of that to Bert. He said, “I just don’t see you going back to that apartment. It’s booby-trapped.”
“It’s where I live.”
“The carpet is lifting at the corners. Nails stick up. And that step down into the sunken living room is a killer. What the hell were they thinking with that?”
“It was the style. ”
“Plus,” Joey continued, “your nice old neighbors, they’re all gone. Who’s there now? People on vacation. People passing through. Is there one person looking out for you?”
That hit home. The Paradiso had used to be a friendly building. Guys played gin by the pool. Couples got together for highballs. It wasn’t like that anymore. In season the place was full of short-term renters who didn’t talk to anybody but each other. In summer the halls were
Lacking an answer to that, Joey just drove down A1A, the road that flanked the ocean. The sky was dark now except for a narrow swath of bruised green at the horizon; the water was flat and coppery. As they were passing the Paradiso, Bert said, “You missed the turn.”
Without looking at his passenger, Joey said, “I thought we’d go to my house.”
“Don’t start that shit.”
“Just for a couple days.”
“I don’t want—“
“Come on. You gonna cook one-handed? How you gonna feed the dog?”
The old man paused at that. Chewing on his heavy lower lip, he said, “Shit, Joey, this ain’t right. Imposin.’ Plus I don’t have any of my stuff—“
“Sandra already brought some things from your apartment. Your room is all set up.”
Bert blinked and felt a burst of heat behind his eyeballs, a mix of gratitude and shame. “Christ,” he said. “Ya see, this is exactly how I never wanted things to be.”
Joey shrugged. “Well, it’s how things are.”
“Two days,” said Bert. “Two days, then I’m goin’ home.”
Joey didn’t argue, just kept driving along the Key West shoreline as far as White Street, where he turned inland toward the neat and quiet house he shared with Sandra, his wife of twenty years.
Two days became four days, then Bert walked up to Joey while he was doing some paperwork out by the pool and announced that he was going back to his apartment. Joey put his pen down. “You really think that’s a good idea?”
Bert didn’t answer the question. He said, “This, look, you and Sandra have been great, wonderful, but it ain’t right. Youse got your lives to live.”
“It’s fine,” said Joey. “It’s our pleasure having you here.”
“Nah,” the old man said. He shook his head and his big nose fanned the air. “It ain’t right. It’s a whaddyacallit, a disruption. I mean, me, I keep crazy hours, I never know when I’m gonna be awake or asleep. Even the dog knows it’s fucked up. I’m padding around at four a .m., I grab the leash, he looks at me like, what the fuck, we’re going for a walk now? ”
“It’s fine, Bert. Come and go as you please.”
“Nah,” he said again. “It’s a nuisance. Ya think I don’t notice? I see your bedroom light come on. You’re worried about me. I bump into things. You hear the noise. It’s like having a ghost in the house. It’s not right.”
Joey didn’t answer right away but the truth was that it had in fact been a bit of a burden having Bert around. It had been many years since he and Sandra had shared their home with anyone for more than a night or two, and the presence of another person forced them to alter routines they’d never really had to think about and that defined the feel and rhythms of their life together. What they wore around the house, or didn’t. Whether they had to talk first thing in the morning. How they chose what and when to eat. Suddenly, things that had always just sort of happened needed to be planned; even the littlest things seemed to call for the making of decisions. It was different and it was wearying.
Joey didn’t say any of that to Bert. He said, “I just don’t see you going back to that apartment. It’s booby-trapped.”
“It’s where I live.”
“The carpet is lifting at the corners. Nails stick up. And that step down into the sunken living room is a killer. What the hell were they thinking with that?”
“It was the style. ”
“Plus,” Joey continued, “your nice old neighbors, they’re all gone. Who’s there now? People on vacation. People passing through. Is there one person looking out for you?”
That hit home. The Paradiso had used to be a friendly building. Guys played gin by the pool. Couples got together for highballs. It wasn’t like that anymore. In season the place was full of short-term renters who didn’t talk to anybody but each other. In summer the halls were
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