Imperfect Contract by Gregg E. Brickman Page B

said, holding her hand.
    "Did I tell you we have a small family—my husband, my son, and I?"  She stared out the window.  For a few moments, the only sounds in the room were the rhythmic whooshing of the vent and the soft hum of the feeding pump.
    I looked outside as well.  The parking lot appeared smoldering though the temperature was only in the mid-eighties. 
    "I didn't realize there were no brothers or sisters for either you or Barry.  It must be hard for you."
    "Barry has a brother up north, but we seldom hear from him.  I called about the shooting, but he didn't say much and hasn't called to find out how Barry's doing."
    "A lot on his plate perhaps."
    "We haven't gotten along in years.  The men had a falling out over the inheritance when their mother died."
    "That's too bad."
    "Yes.  Maybe that's why I had second thoughts about the divorce."  She continued to stare out the window.  Her eyes were glossy, and tears pooled in the corners.  "I'm afraid of ending up a lonely old woman.  I always thought Barry would be an abandoned, friendless old man.  I found out . . . out . . . he's had a girlfriend for a long time."
    That took me by surprise.  Looking at Hutchinson, he wasn't the kind of man you pictured having a girlfriend.  He was, no doubt, more vibrant in life than in a coma, but he was old-looking, soft, with droopy skin along the jaw line and lots of excess tissue around his neck.  Even in his current state, I saw the years had taken their toll.  "How do you know he had a girlfriend?"  I asked, recovering from the revelation.
    "After I asked for the divorce, I had second thoughts, like I said.  We hadn't made love for a few years, even though we shared the same bed.  He would stay out at night, drinking and partying.  I worried about catching some disease, so I refused to have sex with him.  I got used to it and put it out of my mind. 
    "I expected him to have a girlfriend.  I even suggested he get one.  He said he wouldn't.  He'd learn to live with it."  She frowned. 
    I nodded periodically and let her talk. 
    "I thought it was a moot point.  He's had blood pressure trouble for years, started a long time ago, and he was impotent.  At first, he was angry about the problem.  Quit taking his pills."
    "There's a whole thing about a man's sexual performance defining his masculinity and his value," I said.
    "He said life without sex wasn't worth living.  Then he had a slight stroke.  He was in his late forties, and it scared him.  Living became more important to him than sex."
    "Amelia, you're not making a lot of sense.  First you tell me he had a girlfriend, then you tell me he had a performance problem."
    She stared at me, then bent and rummaged through her pocketbook, retrieving a crumpled package of spearmint gum.  She took a piece and offered me some.  I'm not a gum chewer, but the minty smell was enticing.  It tasted as good as it smelled, fresh and clean. 
    After a moment, she continued.  It was as if she were talking to herself rather than to me.  "I thought maybe I could rejuvenate our marriage with sex, so I made a pass at him one night.  He responded, and we fooled around.  He couldn't do much, but he always was able to please me.  He had his ways."
    "What did he say about the divorce?  You told me he waited for you to ask for it.  You said he wanted out as much as you did."
    She looked me in the eye.  "He didn't say anything, never did.  He did comment that he couldn't turn down an old piece when it was thrown at him.  I should have taken the hint and what was left of my self-respect and left, but I didn't.  It became a habit.  When he was home, we'd fool around.  But he didn't come home very often."
    "I thought you were afraid of catching something from his running around."
    "Oh, I was," she said, "but I was more afraid of being alone.  Alone and broke."
    "I don't understand," I said, thinking about their business.
    "I knew he'd never give me anything,