"How's the patient?"
Julia spread her hands to encompass the living room. "Better. It's been three days getting there. He asked for you."
I listened for accusation in her tone but didn't hear any. She seemed glad I'd come at all. After Harold's collapse at the Faculty Club, Julia took him in and fixed up her guest room. She removed the footboard so his long feet could stretch over the end of the bed, installed blinds in place of frilly curtains, and set a small television within arm's reach.
Harold was half watching the television when we entered. His face was bloated, and his eyes appeared as small opaque buttons on a stuffed tiger. My borrowed pajamas were small for his large frame, their diamond pattern ...