Chapter 1

Where do I begin?

I guess the beginning ... of course.

I’m a white female, 68, 5’ 8”, 125-pounds.

I’ve been by myself now for over 25 years, after the death of my husband from lung Cancer. He put up a brave fight but, in the end, it got the better of him and he passed quietly at home with me by his side. We never had any children and I wonder how my life would be if I’d had a couple of kids.

Oh well, no sense in living in the past.

The only company I’ve had in these 25 yeas has been my neighbor, Henry. He’s 72, 6’ 3”, 245-pounds and built like a brick shithouse!

I watched him many times as he’s tended his garden in his back yard, hoeing and chopping weeks, picking the veggies once they’re ready, all that in just his faded blue jeans, with no shit on, sweat running down the middle of his back.

Needless to say, I’d have may daydream fantasies about him.

Every Sunday we have lunch together, either at his place or mine, or out somewhere where we don’t mind people looking as us, two old seniors – one black as coal and the other as white as a fluffy cloud hanging in the sky – but we don’t mind. We’re enjoying ourselves and don’t pay attention to what others think.

Henry has a huge German Shepherd who keeps me company once and a while, mainly when I’m sitting on the front porch reading the latest best seller of doing my cross stitching. He lays at my feet and just knowing he’s there comforts me, especially when Henry is away doing whatever it is he does. He’s never told me what he’s into and, frankly, I don’t care. It’s none of my business.

I’ve noticed a couple of times lately that other black men are with him, but they never leave the house and are usually only there for a couple of hours and then they’re gone, almost like they’ve never been there.

Occasionally he has some white couples over but they never stay long, either.

One day, about 2 months ago, something happened next door that caught my attention.

Oscar – the German Shepherd – ran up to my house and started whining and scratching at the front door. I knew something had to be wrong by the way he was action, so I left the house and followed him to Henry’s place.

When I got there the front door was ajar and I could hear some groaning coming from deeper in the house.

“Henry,” I called out. “Are you OK?”

Nothing.

Now, I didn’t want to go inside someone else’s house without being asked but something didn’t feel right, so I entered the living room.

The noise was coming from upstairs so I went to the bottom of the stairs, looked up, and shouted, “Henry? Are you OK?”

“I’ll be right down, Ester,” came the reply.

It wasn’t long before he joined me at the base of the stairs, wearing his usual faded jeans but with an old, ragged T-shirt covering his torso.

“Oscar came over to the house and he was acting like something was wrong, so I came right over to check on you.”

“I appreciate it, Ester, I do. I just slipped in the bedroom while painting the ceiling and must have knocked myself out for a bit. Oscar was probably scared something worse had happened,” he explained, rubbing the back of his head.

Now that I looked, I could see what appeared to be fresh paint splattered on both his shirt and jeans.

“Hey there, you ain’t no young man anymore, you old geezer, you need to be careful.”

“I know,” he said, “but that room ain’t gonna paint itself, you know. Want to see what I’ve done so far?” he asked.

“Sure, why not?”

Leading me up the stairs, we turned to the right, into the ‘guest’ room. He’d painted the walls a nice lavender shade and the ceiling was white, only a small corner of the ceiling had to be finished. I guessed that was what he was doing when he fell. A chair was overturned in the corner, so I guessed he’d been standing on it while painting.

“You need something steadier that some random chair,” I told him.

“It’s all I’ve got right now. I’ve never needed a ladder for anything, as most of the outside of the house is covered in brick and vinyl siding.”

“I love the color. Why lavender?” I asked

“I’ve always liked that color and just decided it. time to do the room, so I went to the hardware store, looked at several shades, decided on this one and, as they say, ‘the rest is history’.”

I had to laugh. Here’s Henry, a huge man by many standards, painting a room in his house lavender. As far as I know he’s never been married and I’ve never seen a woman stay more than a couple of hours in the house with him.

“Ester, would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?” he suddenly asked.

“Well, I don’t remember having anything to do on my calendar, so yes, I’d love to. Here or are we going out?”

“I was thinking of taking you to that new restaurant downtown. I’ve heard a lot of talk about it and how good the food is.”

“I’ve heard the same thing, so let’s do it.”

We went downstairs and I gave him a huge hug before leaving.

“Just be careful up there,” I told him.

“Only gotta finish that last corner and then I’m done,” he replied.

I returned to the house and just as I was stepping onto the porch a white Ford pick-up pulled into his driveway. A nice looking black man got out, waved to me, and proceeded up the steps to Henry’s house, where he knocked on the door, waited a few minutes, and then entered when Henry opened the door for him. I’ve seen him there before, several times lately, so it never crossed my mind that something might be going on.