How Jerry and Betty Became the Least Entertaining Couple in the Neighborhood (Seventh Section)
Jerry tooted his horn from the driveway, popped the trunk, grabbed two oversized canvas grocery bags in each hand, and backed away as it closed. “I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed the simple things. Like people stopping me at the meat counter to get a selfie. Yeah, it’s the simple things.”
He trotted up the walk, took a moment to appreciate the sun setting over the hills west of town, and smiled. “Yeah, the little things. God, I miss that.” He took the front steps three at a time. “Betty! I’m home.” He stood at the door with the bags still in his hands. “Open the door, Betty.”
Nothing. No sound of movement, no winking of the doorcam that it recognized his presence.
“Betty? Open the door, please.”
He peered in through the panel glass beside the door. Nothing.
“Open the door, Betty.”
A neighbor waved from across the street. Jerry nodded and smiled back.
“Betty, I sound like a bad 2001 imitation. C’mon and open the door.”
He remembered the door now had an app that allowed him access. For that matter, there was an app for everything in the house now. He couldn’t get a drink of water without the refrigerator asking if he wanted ice in it or the microwave asking if he wanted tea.
Dr. Koss explained the latest tech would be installed as required to make his rehabituation as effortless as possible. Betty didn’t seem to mind. She’d approved everything before anything was done.
The door opened and he carried the groceries into the kitchen.
A note beside the espresso maker caught his eye.
Hi Hun,
Am doing some shopping. Looking for something you’ll enjoy seeing me in. Back late. Make yourself something. I’ll get something out. – Betts
Hmm. That wasn’t like Betty. She’d call if she’d be out late. And ‘make yourself something’? She’d ask what he wanted her to bring home.
His mouth watered.
“That place downtown with that amazing jambalaya. I wonder if they’re still around?”
He tapped her image on his mobile. One ring then two clicks.
Voicemail.
He stared at the note. It was her writing and signature.
“Hi, Princess. Just got in, saw your note. How come you didn’t text or call me? You knew I was getting groceries. Call me when you get this. Don’t eat out, bring something home. I got a bottle of that cheap Merlot that doesn’t give you headaches. We can make believe we’re newlyweds again. Love you. Bye.”
Jerry slowly put the phone down next to the note. He raised his head equally slowly, listening.
He glanced at reflecting surfaces: stove panel, refrigerator door, espresso maker faceplate, microwave door.
He was sure someone was in the room with him.
His head lowered and he picked up the note again. Holding it in his right hand, he ran his left hand’s fingers over the writing.
Something’s wrong. Something’s different.
“That /e/’s not the way Betty makes her /e/s. And the penstroke doesn’t have the feel of her penstrokes.”
His head pulled back and he blinked into the fading light. “The feel of her penstrokes? Where the hell did I get that?”
The kitchen seemed darker than it should be. He called out “Lights, medium full.”
The lights came on. He caught movement in the microwave door and spun to face it.
Nothing. A shadow against the counter, against the wall.
Jerry shook his head. “I was asleep way too long.”
The shadow moved.
Jerry went cold.
The shadow evaporated, but there was no change in the light.
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