She stood there between the sofa and coffee table in her stocking feet, looking up at me. The processing of thoughts was inhibited by the effects of alcohol. Finally, she sat back down. I sat back down on the sofa next to her. “You’re not my Uncle Eric, are you?” “I’m not,” I admitted. “You’re just Eric. You’re the guy who lives in 2B, the quiet one; the nice one.” “I’d like to think so.” “I buried my husband today and you were there to help me get through it.” “Yes.” “If I hadn’t buried him I would have divorced him.” “You told me that,” I admitted. “He was a selfish, hateful son-of-a-bitch.” I sat silent, realizing that confirming her statement would be callous, especially in view of his youthful and tragic passing. “So, I was going to leave him and be all alone. Except he left me first.” “I know.” I was trying to be calm as her intensity seemed to be climbing. “And, even so, it hurts.” “I was thinking I was going to be all alone.” “Not for very long, I’m sure.” “No, I’m not, am I?. Bobbi broke out a bottle of wine that Jim had bought at one time. Jim said to Cindy, "You got through the evening with no problem. Maybe you should take a short nap in the office every afternoon."From across the room, a curious Bobbi asked, "Are you ill?" Not really. I have a glass eye and when I get tired it doesn't track with the other one. The first time Jim saw it he was so nice about it, but it did make him uncomfortable. Since then it doesn't seem to bother him at all. Jim is one of the finest people I know. I'm proud to call him my friend. I've only known him a short time. Sometime I will tell you what he did to turn my life from being only tolerable to one where I wake up singing every morning. Bobbi, may I take a shower. Jim and I have to leave very early to be at work. I open the office at nine, and it is a two hour drive."After Bobbi showed Cindy where her room and the bathroom were, she came back and sat next to Jim. He had some things to discuss. "You know I'm not.
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