This is a work of fiction. All the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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See Jane Run
just another blog

posted 05.02.24

Dick came to the house today. He wanted me to plan the first leg of the trip. “Why?” I asked last night when we were talking on the phone. “It’s your trip. Your money.”

He stayed quiet for a minute and then said, “I guess I thought you had a special place in mind to spread the ashes. Maybe somewhere that meant something to the two of you.”

Then I stayed quiet for a minute.

He broke the silence by saying, “Plus, you need to actually see the trailer and tell me if there’s anything else you need to make it work for you.”

I was laying in bed while we talked, watching a long shadow crawl up the wall, across the ceiling. Spindly, like crooked fingers reaching. I rolled awkwardly onto my right side. The left leg hitched a little but finally came up to rest against the right one. I didn’t want to see the shadow.

But rolling didn’t stop that. I guess my peripheral vision hasn’t been affected by all this other stuff, because the shadow fingers just looked more fingery.

“Okay,” I said. After we hung up, I buried my head in my pillow and tried to sleep. You can’t hear shadows, of course, but I could feel them all night.

So this morning, I wobbled around the living area moving dirty clothes into the bedroom by pushing them across the floor with my cane. I wiped off the counters in the kitchen and washed the dishes. All this took me four hours. By the time Dick arrived, I could barely keep myself upright. I don’t know if it was the housework or the anxiety. I can’t remember the last time someone came inside my house.

When I opened the front door, Dick stood there right next to my landlord. I still haven’t paid last month’s rent. And I still haven’t moved out. I wanted to slam the door. I wanted to let Dick in first. I wanted to die.

"I don’t want to involve the police, Jane,” my landlord said, “but I will.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “Is she a criminal?” He looked at me. “She doesn’t look like a criminal.” He looked back at my landlord. “Ohhh, I bet she beat the crap out of someone with her cane.”

My landlord’s lips went tight, shrinking so small it was like she didn’t even have a mouth. “She owes me three months of rent,” she spit between her tiny lips, “not even including this month’s.”

I couldn’t speak. It was the truth. I also have nowhere else to go. Dr. N offered me a referral to some center, but I couldn’t. Just couldn’t.

Dick turned and walked to his Jeep and I knew I was on my own again. It hurt in ways I haven’t hurt in a long time. He’s become a friend, you know, and I haven’t had a friend in years. No one but my husband since we got married.

So when he came back after rifling around in his glove box, I very nearly lost my footing altogether. He had a checkbook in his hand. “How much does she owe?”

The landlord balked at him.

“I can’t let you pay my rent,” I blurted. Tears gathered in my eyes like little flecks of sand.

“How much?” he repeated.

The landlord told him.

“I added this month’s, too,” he said as he shoved the check at her. “Now leave her alone.”

The landlord looked down at the check and back at Dick. “I’m taking this to the bank to cash it right now,” she said. “If it bounces, I will be back with the police to move you out.”

“It won’t bounce,” Dick said, stepping around her and gently guiding me into the house. He closed the door behind us.

I flinched against the slamming sound that never came.

Now I guess I owe him, too. Just one more spindly shadow crawling up my walls.