The Visitor

The man was sitting in the old yellow armchair in the corner. That was the first thing she noticed when she awoke. Actually, that wasn’t quite right. First she noticed the aching in her joints, the lethargy in her limbs, the cloudiness of her thoughts, all of which told her she was getting too old for this, whatever ‘this’ might be. Certainly too old to be seeing strange young men in her bedroom.

“Who are you?” she asked calmly, not wishing to startle him into any violent action. Still, he jolted upright in his seat. He had been sleeping, she realized.

Then he stood and approached her bed slowly. Not menacingly, but warily, as if he were the one who needed protection from her. She almost chuckled at the thought.

Instead, she repeated firmly, “Who are you?” This close up, her failing eyes could see that her initial perception had been wrong. He wasn’t young. He had wrinkles and creases and gray hairs. His face was weathered, tired. Middle-aged then, she decided.

“Joe, ma’am.”

“Well, Joe, didn’t your mother raise you better than to enter the rooms of sleeping women?”

His face now took on a strange look. Of discomfort, perhaps, at being scolded? “Ma’am, I’m afraid I’m here to give you some bad news.”

“Don’t tell me you’re Death, here to take me away.” She eyed him suspiciously.

“No ma’am, but . . . Death did take someone yesterday.”

Fear suddenly shot through her. “Who? Not my husband, not my Joseph?” It registered belatedly that she had not woken beside him, that she could not even remember him coming to bed last night.

“Jenny. There was a car crash.” Her confusion must have shown. “Jenny, your daughter.”

She looked at his expression, pinched and appropriately pained, and couldn’t help but smile. It was out of relief, and a bit of amusement—she would not deny that his face looked silly crumpled in that manner. “You must have the wrong room. I don’t have a daughter.”

A nurse chose that moment to enter. “Mrs. Park, I have your breakfast.”

“Yes, yes.” She waved the nurse over.

The man stepped back, towards the door. “Sorry to have bothered you, ma’am. I see now that I was mistaken.” He paused, and for a moment, she thought he would say something else. Then he turned and walked out. For the best, she thought. There was no use in extending their odd, mismatched conversation.

The nurse joined him soon after.

The woman sat up in her bed and diligently ate her pudding. It was chocolate, her favorite.

Outside, the nurse turned to the man. “One of the bad days?”

He nodded.

“Doesn’t your sister usually visit on Wednesdays?”

“She - uh - an accident,” He closed his eyes briefly. “She won’t be coming anymore.”

The nurse reached out and touched his shoulder. “I’m really sorry to hear that. I don’t know why bad things happen to good people.”

He glanced toward his mother, visible through the window in the door, smiling down at her pudding cup. “Neither do I.”