Dead

The two of them walked out of the doctor’s office, their feet leaden and their pace slow. Neither said a word as they got into Harold’s old Ford. The ancient jalopy sputtered to a halting start.

Georgianna looked out the window as they drove up Main Street. There was Busby’s Grocers, where she’d gone so many times. And the Andover Barber Shop, where Harold got his hair cut every other Saturday afternoon at 4:00. And Main Street Cinema. She and Harold had seen “Gone With the Wind,” and she’d taken the boys to see “Fantasia.” And, at the top of Main Street, there was Chestnut and Oak – Chestnut to the left, Oak to the right.

Their own white clapboard house was on Chestnut Street. Harold really did need to clean the leaves off the roof. He hadn’t yet done it this fall. They’d been there for how long now, thirteen years? Yes, the fall of 1936, just after Allen’s fourth birthday. They’d moved over from the little house they’d rented from Aunt Dodo in Lawrence. She remembered the boys chasing each other around the house in those early years, and the cat. Tippy had hidden in the dining closet for several days after they moved in. Poor Tippy, now gone to kitty heaven.

“Harold,” Georgianna said, her mid-alto voice cracking after so long a silence, “we’re not to tell the boys. Not yet, at least.”

Her husband didn’t answer, but that was his way. He fixed his gaze straight at the road ahead, but after he turned onto Chestnut, he pulled the car to the side of the road and stopped. Harold gazed over at Georgianna. His eyes narrowed and he pressed his lips together into a single flat line. “Okay,” he said, and started up again.