Walter left the bedroom, pausing a moment to turn off the light. He turned and pulled the door closed, leaving it open just a crack. Through it, he could see the silhouette of Abigail’s sleeping form. She appeared to be resting more comfortably now, gaining more genuine sleep than that afforded to her by the potent painkillers that had been prescribed for her at the hospital. Her strength seemed to be returning as well, but Walter knew that it would be some time yet before she was ready to care for the house as she had done before.
He passed through the hallway and entered the kitchen. The dinner dishes still needed to be washed, but he just wanted to rest for just a bit before he tackled that. Removing a short glass from the cupboard, he dropped three ice cubes into it from the refrigerator door dispenser, and turned toward the short cabinet where he stored their small supply of liquor. He stopped with a sigh without opening it. He found that he did not really want a drink. Even a single dram of some of his best Scotch held little appeal for him. He settled for water instead and sat down at the kitchen table to drink it.
His eyes turned toward the direction of the hallway. From where he sat, he could not see the door that led to the bedroom. He could see it with absolute clarity in his mind’s eye, even to Abigail’s dark silhouette on the bed as she slept. It rested there for only a moment, reassuring him that she remained all right, before returning to the warm yellow light of the kitchen.
This wasn’t how I planned it, Abby.
He had fought hard not to feel sorry for himself. After all, it was Abigail who was suffering, not him. Still, it was difficult not to imagine how their dreams for the future had been altered. He knew that death was the eventual fate for both of them, but he had foreseen decades ahead for them before either of them had been forced to face that reality head-on.
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