A Memory Away. Melinda Curtis

was only being neighborly taking over this warm dish for breakfast. It had nothing to do with uncovering what might or might not have gone on last night. The question burning in her elderly mind was: Whose baby was Jessica’s?

      “Eunice.” Duffy opened the door wearing blue jeans, a maroon T-shirt and thick wool socks. He stared down on her with a look that would have chilled younger beings. “What a surprise.”

      Eunice blinked at him. See my pretty eyes. Be mesmerized by my pretty eyes. Blink-blink-blink. “I brought breakfast.” She stopped blinking long enough to try to peer around him, but couldn’t see a thing. He hadn’t opened the door very wide and his shoulders were so incredibly broad.

      “We had breakfast already.”

      “Maybe you’d like this for lunch.” She held the warm casserole dish close to her chest, not wanting to hand it to him and lose the opportunity to come inside. “Why don’t I just put this in the kitchen for you?”

      There was a coldness to Duffy’s features this morning, as if he’d awoken from centuries of slumber in a block of ice to find everything around him wasn’t as it once was. “You’re not going to go away, are you?”

      His direct question took her by surprise. “I live next door.”

      The rain beat steadily while he studied her.

      “I mean...” He sighed, rubbing a palm over the dark whiskers covering his chin. “You want to come in. Right now.”

      “Thank you for the invitation.” She bumped her arm against the door, causing it to swing open wider. Ducking past him, she headed toward the kitchen, raincoat, rain galoshes and all.

      Inside, everything was clean. The kitchen. The stove. The living room. From the kitchen pass-through she could see a folded blanket on top of a pillow on the hearth. Cross out the suspicion that they were lovers. Someone had slept on the couch.

      “Where’s Jessica?”

      “In the shower.” Duffy raised an eyebrow. “Did you come to see if something was going on?”

      “No.” Eunice sniffed. Why did the man always seem to know what she was up to? He’d probably ask her to leave next. “I came to be neighborly.”

      “You’re dripping all over my kitchen.” He stared at the trail of water she’d made across his hardwood floor, sighed wearily, and pointed toward the door. “Boots and jacket go in the foyer.”

      He was letting her stay? A rush of excitement had Eunice scurrying over to shed her wet things.

      Duffy dragged a towel across the hardwood floor with his foot. “How’s that cat?”

      “I don’t have a...” Too late, Eunice realized she’d been caught.

      “Ah, I got you.” He chuckled, but it was a chilly chuckle. He finished cleaning, sat on his couch and picked up the remote.

      Shoot-shoot-shoot. “I had a cat. Once.”

      His television was tuned to one of those sports news channels that didn’t interest Eunice. The sound was muted, but by the way his thumb roved the remote, she could tell he wanted to turn it back on. Instead, he said, “Cats are independent creatures. Did it run away because it wanted privacy?”

      Annoyance elbowed aside the embarrassment Eunice had been feeling. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.” Didn’t he know how to be a good neighbor?

      “I’m not in a very nice mood in the mornings, Eunice, not until I’ve had more than one cup of coffee.” A mug rested on the black lacquered coffee table.