Sarah was cold when Ben found her. She must have been lying on the cold floor at the foot of the basement stairs for hours. Her twisted arms and legs sprawled at odd angles across the tile floor told the story of her fall. It must have been a complete surprise for her. She probably thought she was entering the bathroom just down the hall from the basement door. Poor confused Sarah. Poor drunk Sarah. Poor dead Sarah. Damn you, Sarah!
"Jesus." Ben's knees folded with a sharp crack, and he sank to the bottom step. Now what? Gnarled hands clasped, he despaired, his mind racing. Should he call 911? What if they don't believe it's an accident? What will he tell Sheila, Sarah's daughter?
Perspiration beaded on his forehead and he sobbed. Where will he live now? He's had it made living in Sarah's condo. He'll be back out on his own again. "God, I'm too old for this."
Ben looked at Sarah's frail body on the hard unforgiving floor. "Poor sick Sarah, you're at rest now. No more night terrors for you," he pinched the bridge of his nose, "mine are just starting." Where will he go now? He knew that with Sarah gone, Sheila would sell the condo. "Where will I live?" Ben trembled and felt like he might pass out. He grasped the stair handrail with a palsied grip. "Oh, I'm not ready for this."
Ben heard a whimper - the dog. Thinking of the dog slowed his racing mind. "Frieda," he called. She was probably hiding under the couch. Well, the dog was worse off than he was. Sarah was dead, and he wouldn't put up with it pissing on the carpet.
"What should I do?" he asked. His words sounded brash careening off the hard surfaces, the tiled floor, and paneled walls. He looked at the body at his feet. Ben shook his head, "You can't be dead yet." The glass door of the corner shower stall caught his eye. "I can't leave you here," he breathed.
With difficulty, he stood. His shadow passed over Sarah, another over his heart.
Ben felt older than ever before; his bones ached. "I hope I can do this," he murmured. Bending carefully, he grabbed Sarah's nightgown with both hands. Slowly, deliberately, pulling steadily, he began to drag her. Ben tried to ignore the lifeless face as her body, sheathed in satin, slid across the waxed surface. He paused, and with a soft touch, gently closed her eyes.
His initial panic was subsiding. The physical exertion gave him a sense of partial control. "When the crowd at the Inn asks about you, I'll tell them you're in the shower," he laughed hysterically. Tears ran off his cheeks and formed fat drops on the tile. The satin gown smeared them as it passed over.
At dusk, Ben took Sarah's coat from her closet. Standing hunched before her mirror, he put it on. It was an impressive garment with hood and cape, colored a high-visibility yellow. Sarah always wore it when she left the building to walk the dog. In the bulky coat, he sat on the bed and attempted to get into her narrow boots. It was not possible. "Well, the coat will have to do." Taking the leash from where it hung on the doorknob, he called, "Frieda."
Ella Burke sat in her living room watching television. It was a slow news day. Her finger toyed with a gray curl, and she allowed her interest to drift to the world outside her window. Across a loop of shining asphalt that served the clutch of condos, she could see the sodden lawn and dripping trees of the commons. There were several lampposts spaced along the drive, but visibility was poor due to the persistent misty rain.
"Ernie, there's that poor Sarah Lumsden walking her dog in the rain."
Her husband looked up from his newspaper, "So?"
"It's just that she looks so fragile. I don't know why she doesn't have that boy friend of hers take the dog out. Especially on a night like this."
Ernie turned to the sports page. "Ella, I don't know why you worry about it. And, I don't know what you have against old Ben. He's a nice enough guy. You know he's in his eighties, hardly a boy."
"Well, I just think he could do more for her. She's not well."
The newspaper crunched in Ernie's hands. "She'd be a lot better if she left the bottle alone."
Ella sighed. "You're right about that, but alcoholism is a disease, you know."
"That's right. It's a disease you have to want to cure. I'm not sure she wants to." He returned to his newspaper.
"Look how she's hunched over, more frail than ever." Ella shook her head.
Early afternoon the next day, Ben was seated at the dinette table. He'd eaten lunch and cleaned the breakfast and lunch dishes. The humming of the refrigerator motor was the only sound in the apartment. He considered watching television, but didn't turn it on. Ben was appalled at the content of the talk shows, bored by the soaps, and distressed by the news. He sighed.
Frieda was under the table, her black eyes fixed on Ben.
"What do you want?" he asked, making her tail vibrate. "You can't go out. You were out this morning, and Sarah is not here to take you again." Ben was considering a walk to the Inn where, at least, he wouldn't be alone talking to a bite-size dog.
The telephone rang, startling him. On the kitchen wall only a few steps away, it rang four times before he reached it. "Hello."
"Hello, Ben."
He recognized the voice; it was Sarah's daughter.
"Ben, it's Sheila, let me speak to my mother."
"Sheila, is that you?" Ben had no use for her, thought of her as Weepy-Sheila-the Leech. He pictured her doughy face and pretended he couldn't hear her.
"Yes, Ben, it's me."
"I can hardly hear you," he lied. "What do you want?"
"I want to speak with my mother. Isn't that what I always want?" Sheila whined, her voice a buzzing insect in Ben's ear.
Pleased that he annoyed her, Ben said, "She's in the shower, can I take a message?"
"Tell her I'll stop by Saturday for my check."
Sheila had talked Sarah into providing a monthly check. Sheila was always crying poor and Sarah always gave. Oh well, Ben thought, Sarah had it to give - at least she used to. Fortunately for Ben, Sarah always worried about the bills getting paid. It was her habit to sign a few checks so that Ben could pay the liquor store delivery boy, or settle other matters if she was indisposed. Indisposed. What a polite way to put it. In case she was in LaLa land. Well, she was in LaLa land now.
"I'll tell her to have your check ready," Ben paused, "but she won't be here Saturday."
"What?"
Ben couldn't tell if it was surprise or disbelief in Sheila's voice. "Yep, she's decided to take your advice and become more involved socially. Some lady's group is having a mystery tour Saturday, and she's agreed to go."
"Well, I'm pleased to hear it. I hope it's not another something that won't materialize."
"Oh, she's going this time," Ben said, "she's paid for the ticket. I'll tell her to leave your check. If I'm not here, it will be on the dinette table." He added, "Don't walk on the basement stairs. I'm going to paint them Saturday as long as Sarah won't be here."
"All right. Tell her I called." Sheila hung up.
Ben decided to walk to the Inn. He needed a drink.
Clarissa was standing at the end of the bar totaling her lunch checks when Ben entered the lounge. In a voice as smooth as caramel, she said to Larry the bartender, "It's your steadiest customer."
Larry gazed across the room and curled an eyebrow. "A little early aren't you, Ben?"
"Out for a walk and thought I'd drop in." Looking around the lounge, Ben said, "Kind of slow aren't you?"
Larry lifted a tray of clean glasses onto the bar before answering, "Not really. This is the mid-afternoon lull. You usually aren't in until later with the happy hour crowd."
Looking at the dark-eyed waitress, Ben said, "Hello, Clarissa." He never looked at her without wishing he were forty years younger.
"Hi." She smiled, looking at Ben's cardigan sweater. He had it buttoned wrong. She moved to him and began to realign the buttons.
Ben flushed, a bit embarrassed as she tugged at the material and ran her hands over his chest. To recover, he said, in a poor imitation of a Latin lover, "Ah, Cara Mia, if I were only younger. If I could shed this old carcass, I would make mad passionate love to you." For an instant, his were the sparkling eyes of a young lover.
Clarissa smiled. "If you could do that, I would let you. She patted Ben's wrinkled cheek. "You look as tired as my feet; maybe you should sit at a table."
"Not yet," Ben said. "I'm going to sit here and BS with Larry. Thanks anyway." With one arm on the bar, Ben hoisted himself on to a stool.
"The usual?" Larry reached for a glass.
"On the rocks," Ben nodded, watching him pour.
"Where's Sarah?"
"Oh, she's back at the condo. We had a little spat."
"It happens," Larry said, dropping olives into the vodka martini. "Nobody gets along all the time."
"First today," Ben offered his standard toast, and lifted the drink.
"You've been with her quite a while now," Larry said.
"Yeah, I've been lucky. If it wasn't for her paying the rent, I'd be out on the street."
"Maybe so, but you've been good for her too. If you don't mind my saying so, she needs someone around."
"I guess you're right." Ben sipped his drink. "I guess we need each other."
"Sure you do. Everybody needs somebody. Just gotta hang in there."
"You sound like Ann Landers," Ben said.
At the end of the bar, Clarissa smiled.
Ella Burke answered the phone, slightly annoyed. She was watching All My Children. "Hello."
"Hello, Mrs. Burke, it's Sheila, Sarah's daughter. I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"Oh hello, Sheila. Not at all. What can I do for you?" Ell pictured the dumpy woman.
"Well, Mrs. Burke �"
"Please, call me Ella."
"Oh. Okay � Thank you, Ella.'
Ella lowered herself onto the chair by the telephone stand.
"Ella, the reason I've called is that my mother hasn't answered her phone the last couple of days, and I wonder if she's all right. I wonder if you've seen her."
"Well, Sheila, in this weather, you don't see much of the neighbors. But I do see her walking the dog. The last time was early this morning; you can't miss that yellow raincoat."
"Oh, she's getting out of the apartment. That's good. If I believed her friend, I'd think she's forever in the shower."
Ella decided to ignore the venom in Sheila's comment. "She gets out," she said.
"Do you know anything about a Mystery Tour?"
"I know the lady's club has organized one. I believe it's this weekend. Why?"
"Oh, I heard mother say something about it. Are you going?"
"No, I'm not, but it should be fun. Your Mom will enjoy it. Sheila, is there something specific I can do for you?"
"No, I guess not. Sorry if I disturbed you. If you talk to Mom, tell her I called. Bye."
Ella placed the phone back on the hook, muttering, "Wasn't that strange?"
"Ben, are you going to eat?" Clarissa had been watching him. Though surrounded by others at the bar, he looked lonely. Early diners were entering, and she said, "If you want your table in the corner, I can seat you now."
"Maybe I should have something." Ben slurred the words.
"Come on," she said, "you'll like the special."
"Bring me a draft beer," he said, "I'll need to order something for Sarah too� something to go."
At the service bar, Clarissa asked Larry, "How many did he have?"
Larry turned to her. "You mean in his career?"
"Be serious," she said.
"Oh, he's had a couple, but he can handle them. I gave him water and he's been drinking it. And, he ate cheese and crackers. He's just worn out."
A red-faced man at the bar agreed with him, "Larry's right, he's been doing more mumbling than drinking. I heard him say something about Sarah." He chuckled. "I hope I have woman problems when I'm his age."
Clarissa feigned a smile. "Jim you've had woman trouble all your life. Why should your later years be any different?"
"True," Jim agreed.
Larry said, "Give him the chicken and biscuits. That will bring him around. Besides, it's something he can chew." This earned Larry smiles from Jim and others at the bar.
Larry watched as Clarissa waltzed a tray across the room to serve Ben his beer. She placed the glass on the table and bent over Ben. She put her hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. He appeared to be asleep. Clarissa called to Larry, "I think he's passed out."
Larry left the bar and started across the room with Jim following. When they reached Clarissa she was standing looking at Ben, her brow furrowed.
Larry said, "Looks like he's fallen asleep."
Ben was slumped in a corner, his chin on his chest, his hands folded in his lap.
Larry and Jim each took one of Ben's shoulders and attempted to pull him erect. They had difficulty righting him; his body was slack in his clothing.
Frowning, Jim placed his fingers on Ben's neck, feeling for a carotid artery. Moments passed. Finally, Jim turned to Larry and said, "He's not sleeping, he's dead."
With a hurried hand, Clarissa crossed herself. There was a ripple in the still air, a brush of lover's lips on her neck, and she thought she heard a whisper, "Your place or mine?" Her eyes darted around the room expecting to see Ben's departing spirit.
"Dead," Larry repeated. Shocked, he glanced at the gathering crowd. Only a short time ago he'd been amusing them at Ben's expense.
There was a lengthy uncomfortable silence. Feet shuffled as observers avoided neighboring eyes.
Larry asked, "Who's going to tell Sarah?"
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