The Caregiver, The Widower

I motioned towards the door for a second knock when I heard the gravelly voice.

“Yeah!?” A man shouted from far inside the unit. Owen was most likely sitting in his black easy chair. I called back and I heard an exclamation of excitement in the form of a laugh. Even in my glum state, I was able to allow the corners of my lips to curl upwards. He has a button that unlocks the door for him so that he doesn’t have to get up. When I heard the lock retreat, I took a deep breath and slowly opened the door. There, I saw the little old man. His fragile face was taken over by a beaming smile. I nodded and let myself further into the room, shutting the door behind me.

“Between you and me, Whisker, I just accepted we were both decomposing and ran with that.” He jokes. The sunlight was peeking through a deliberate crack in the blinds, just as I remember.

“Everly hasn’t appeared in a while, either. He’s off partying and meeting girls. What can I say, he’s a whacko just like his daddy.” Owen giggles, pointing to himself.

“Yeah, you’re right, sir...I’m sorry I haven’t been up here in so long. I actually haven’t been coming to work at all.” When I replied with this, his face fell. His eyebrows were furrowed so intensely that the front of his skull could break. When I set his food in front of him, he pounced on the plastic packaging of the spoon and tore open the banana pudding.

“That’s the lazy millennial for you. What on god’s green earth have you been doing?”

“I took three months off. I’d prefer if we didn’t discuss that.” I replied firmly.

He softened up and set his desert aside. He directed his attention to the Bluetooth speaker beside him and turned off the smooth jazz.

“Are you sure, Bob? If something is bothering you, it wouldn’t hurt to let me in on it. I don’t think of you as just a food-boy.”

“That’s very kind of you, but it would be highly inappropriate.”

His bony finger extended to the direction of a sofa parallel to his armchair.

“Sit, and tell me what’s going on with you, son. I won’t eat another bite of this food otherwise.” He commands. He had the same caring eyes as my late father. I didn’t have enough will to resist them.

I sighed, nodded, and slowly helped myself to a spot on the middle sofa cushion. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. As soon as the screen turned on, there she was. She rocked her red heart shades and her “retro baby-doll dress”. She clutched a cone of cotton candy with her thin fingers. Her nails were white to match her outfit. Her hair was fiery red, a god-given trait to match her soul.

Before I could stop it, a tear rolled down my cheek and settled on my chin. It was warm at first, but then it cooled down and I felt a gentle tickle. Slightly embarrassed, I choked back a second cluster of tears.

“Oh, I see. I’ve been through this before with my first wife. You don’t mean to tell me the broad left you.” He wondered in disbelief as I was turning the picture in his direction so he could see who I was looking at.

“Who would leave a man like you?” He adds.

“This was my wife, Mackenzie Buffer. I call her-I always called her Macky.” I explained in a low tone. The word ‘was’ passed through my larynx like a razorblade. Owen seemed to look away as soon as he was finished ogling at the gorgeous young woman. His eyes wandered around the room before fixated once again on my face alone.

“She died in May. We never got divorced.” I began. Owen ceased breathing. He stared bug-eyed and sunken faced at me like a hungry fish.

“It happened in our home while I was at work. She started getting these letters in the mail even before we were married. Before we knew it...then came the bouquets, the threats, and the home visits. The guy killed her. He-” With each word I said, my voice broke up more and more. I didn’t want to speak. At the same time, I was holding back a slurry of language, both foul in nature and mournful.

“No. You don’t have to talk about how he killed her if it upsets you too much.” He stated reassuringly. It does upset me. More tears forged a path down my pale cheeks.

As I stared at her picture even more, it was impossible not to imagine all that dried blood entangled in her red hair. The dead look in her wide, brown eyes. What’s even worse is she was one of many. I don’t want to know how many. 4 people at least, judging from what I’ve seen on the news.

“The Secret Admirer is what they call him on television until the bastard is caught. I don’t know why a man like that would need a nickname. I should…I should find him and kill him my-” I stopped myself, placing a closed fist over my pursed mouth. I didn’t have half the will to kill a man. Much less allow the widower-maker to take my life, too. Just thinking about him would do that.

“No, I understand. You don’t have to, Robbie.” Owen muttered while nodding and took the phone from my hands. He got a closer look at Macky's picture. He grabbed his pair of glasses that sat atop a book and finagled each temple behind his ears. I watched through cold, wet tears as Owen smiled warmly. Then, he began to chuckle.

“That boy and his taste in women. Lord knows it. Everly has never given me any credit for teaching him right.” The old man leaned back in his chair and simpered while staring at the ceiling.