His place had grown a little shabby around the edges over the years and I’d repeatedly offered to spruce it up for him, to no avail. Once in a while when I was mowing my lawn, I would go next door and clean up his yard, but it needed a lot more help than that. The front porch was begging for a paint job, and one of the dining room shutters had been missing a few slats for the longest time. Maybe I’d sneak over and fix a few things as a favor to him, especially if he was sick. I could certainly mow his lawn again because it was getting shaggier by the minute.
I knocked on the front door and waited. After a minute, I knocked again. I really hoped he was feeling okay. The old man was crotchety, set in his ways, and had a tendency to tell huge, whopping fibs—or tall tales, as he called them—but I adored him. He’d never married or had children, but he’d always been close to his niece, my friend Jane.
I knocked once more, louder this time, because Jesse seemed to be getting a little deaf. For good measure, I shouted, “Jesse, are you here?”
After another full minute, I took the hint. He obviously wasn’t in there. I headed for home, but as I stuck my key into the kitchen door lock, my conscience wouldn’t let me relax. What if Jesse was inside the house, sick or in pain? What if he’d fallen down and couldn’t reach the telephone or the front door? Darn it, I couldn’t walk away without making sure he was all right.
“He won’t thank me for this,” I muttered, but my decision was made.
Years ago, after a house down the street caught on fire, my father and a few of our neighbors had exchanged house keys to use in case of future emergencies. Dad kept them all on a key ring in the kitchen “junk drawer.” Even though he had moved out of the house and into his RV five years ago, I’d never cleaned out that drawer. It was impossible to throw some of those things away because you just never knew.
Pushing aside a stack of yellowed appliance catalogs, an old tape measure, and a dried-up tube of superglue—okay, I definitely needed to clean out this drawer—I found the key ring. Happily most of the keys had small, round descriptive tags attached, so I checked until I found the key that was tagged JESSE’S PLACE.
I jogged back to his house and unlocked the front door, feeling a momentary pang of guilt for invading his privacy. I knew he would hate having anyone walk into his house without his permission, but what could I do?
“It’s for your own good,” I said under my breath. Later, I planned to lecture him on keeping in better touch with his neighbors.
The house was dark and quiet. It was musty, too, from being closed up for a while. I was tempted to open some windows, but I figured that would be going a little too far.
“Hello, Jesse? Are you here?”
There was no response, and to be honest, I didn’t feel his presence in the house. So maybe he’d gone away for the week. But he’d always told me when he was going anywhere for any length of time so I’d be sure to keep an eye on his house.
Even though I didn’t feel his presence—and didn’t that make me sound like some psychic nut job?—I was still determined to check all the rooms. If he wasn’t home, fine. But what if he’d fallen and couldn’t get up? I needed to make sure.
From the foyer, I turned left and tiptoed down the hall to the last room on the right, which I knew was his bedroom. On the way, I took a quick peek inside the other two bedrooms—one of which was his office—to check for him. By the time I reached his bedroom, I was sorry I’d been so eager to find him. Every room was a mess, with dresser drawers opened and clothing tossed everywhere. Even the sheets on the bed had been dragged off and were lying on the floor.
His office was a disaster, too, with the rug pushed back against the wall and the contents of his desk drawers emptied onto the hardwood floor. I had to watch where I stepped to avoid slipping on something. Had he been searching for something? He must’ve been in one heck of a hurry to leave things scattered everywhere without picking it all up.
I’d visited him countless times over the years and I’d never seen anything like this. Jesse was like an uncle to me and he was one of my father’s closest friends. We used to get together all the time for barbecues and neighborhood parties. He didn’t go in for grilling much; he generally left that manly chore to my dad. But whenever it got cold and damp, Jesse would whip up a batch of his world-famous chili or, on the rare occasion, a big, rich chicken stew. Both were his specialties, and he’d invite the whole block over for a bowlful, served with his delicious corn bread muffins.
On those occasions, his rooms were as neat and clean as could be. Jesse had spent much of his adult life in the navy until he retired almost twenty years ago, so to say he kept things shipshape around here was an understatement.
But as I looked around now, the only ship this place brought to mind was the Titanic. I didn’t realize what a slob he’d turned into.
I felt instantly guilty for thinking those thoughts. Maybe I wasn’t being fair. Maybe he’d grown depressed lately. That possibility broke my heart, but it could explain the mess. I made a mental note to call Jane as soon as I got home to see if there was some way to help him get through this bad patch.