Scared Stiff by Annelise Ryan

over his scratched face. He sets his now-empty wineglass down and takes out a second folded, cloth hankie from his pants pocket, which he uses to dab at the blood.
    “I’m so sorry, William. Let me get something to clean up those scratches for you.” I grab a towel from the linen closet, and fetch some gauze, hydrogen peroxide, and antibiotic ointment from the medicine cabinet. As I return to the living room, I half expect to find William gone but to his credit he is still here, though he is standing much closer to the door. His eyes dart back and forth crazily and I’m not sure if he’s looking for Rubbish or planning a hasty escape.
    His shirt front is soaked with wine so he unbuttons it and uses the towel to dry off his chest. In the meantime I dab at his wounds, clean them the best I can, and apply some ointment to each of the scratches. His comb-over is still standing at attention but there is something oddly endearing about it so I leave it alone. When I’m done, I stand back and tell him, “There you go. Good as new.”
    “What if I get an infection?” he asks. “Cats are notoriously dirty animals, aren’t they?”
    His questions remind me of someone else’s recent comments and an idea begins to bloom in my brain. “Their bites are prone to infection,” I admit, “but the scratches less so. I think you’ll be fine.”
    He gives me a look that says he’s doubtful. Then his head rears back and shoots forward as he lets loose a rapid triple sneeze. Between the movement and the comb-over, he looks like one of those bobbing glass bird toys with the colored liquid inside.
    “It doesn’t look like things are going to work out with us, William,” I say, trying to sound disappointed.
    “Clearly not.” He blows his nose again.
    “Would you be open to dating an older woman?”
    He eyes me suspiciously. “Who did you have in mind?”
    “My mother.”
    He looks offended.
    “She’s only a few years older than you and a very attractive woman,” I add quickly. “Plus she’s very, very clean.” It’s true. My mother is more of a neat freak and germophobe than William ever dreamed of being. She’s also single, several years out from her fourth divorce, lonely, and a cat hater.
    He considers my offer a moment and then shrugs. “I’m game for anything at this point, I guess.”
    “Great! I think you two will be perfect for one another. I’ll give her a call and see if I can set something up, okay?”
    He dabs at a trickle of blood on his ear and sneezes again. I take it as a yes.
    “I think it would be best if I left,” he says.
    “I understand. And again, I’m sorry.” I lean over and give him a quick buss on the cheek which, thanks to my freshly applied lipstick, leaves a perfect kiss imprint behind. I consider wiping it off but then decide to let it stay.
    The kiss brightens his countenance considerably, and when he turns to leave he is wearing a silly-assed grin. I walk him to the door, flip on the outside spotlight, and watch as he gets into his car and drives away.
    Only after he’s gone do I realize I’m not alone. Standing at the back door to Izzy’s house are Izzy and Hurley, both of them staring slack-jawed at me. Izzy looks amused and surprised, Hurley looks like a thundercloud. I give them both a little finger wave before going back inside.
    Spying the envelope Hurley gave me earlier still sitting where I tossed it, I pick it up and settle in to read. It proves to be a depressing endeavor. Clearly Erik was both surprised and devastated by Shannon’s desire to split, and their differing views about having children was at the heart of a good part of it. Erik wanted them and Shannon didn’t, but in later letters Erik made it clear he was willing to forgo the children if it would help save the marriage.
    Erik’s love for Shannon is evident in every letter. I can find no hints of craziness or angry desperation in his words, only heartache. He mentions Luke Nelson in a letter dated