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“Why don’t you go to the hospital with Harold? I’ll keep an eye on Amelia.” I gave her a gentle push towards the ambulance and, almost zombie-like, she headed over.I found Amelia sitting in their living room, a grand old room decorated in lemon yellow, large, formal furniture, and elegantly decorated with Degas and Monet paintings. Amelia, dressed for bed in her pale lime cotton pajamas, looked lost.I sat next to her and draped my arm over her shoulders. “How are you doing?”She stared at the drawn curtains, amber and red lights playing an eighties disco-like show through them.“Will Uncle Harold be okay?” she asked. “What happened to him?”“He’s had a heart attack,” I told her.She looked at me, her eyes wide and frightened behind her glasses. “Is he going to die?” she asked.“I don’t think so.”“I don’t want more people dying around me, Mike,” she said very seriously.“I’m sure he’ll be fine.”But he wasn’t. The call came early the next morning. I’d put Amelia to bed in one of my guest. I had promised myself that I would refrain from simply going wild over sex and just let it happen from time to time but that only lasted for a month or so.Yesterday, I was busy cleaning up my yard. The winter had been rough and there were a lot of tree limbs down and just a lot of cleanup to get done. I knew I needed to just hire someone to do it but ended up just saying to hell with it for the day and the following day I would find someone to do the work for me.I had just gotten out of the shower and heard the doorbell ring. I found this strange because people who know me just come to the back door and knock. I had on a robe and answered the door and there stood a young guy who was looking for work to mow grass, trim shrubs or whatever needed to be done. I told him that I had quite a bit of work that needed to be done but that it was probably more than one guy could handle. He told me that he had a friend who could help if need be.I told him to meet me in the backyard and I.
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