Quite Precarious

by Lyla Payne

  Of course, he picks a night when insomnia chose not to bite at my heels until dawn.

  Henry never appears happy, because that’s kind of his schtick, but tonight he strikes me as positively grim. My spine straightens, senses on high alert and tingling with sudden nerves. If he’s here, it’s because there’s something afoot at my daughter’s house that he thinks I should be aware of—that’s the deal we have.

  Well, it’s not so much of a deal, since I’m the only one benefitting. I don’t know why they do what I ask. They just do. I’m not a good enough person to feel badly about it, either.

  “Well, out with it, my good man. No sense in wasting time.”

  Even though Henry opens his mouth, no sound fills the room. No speech, no breathing, no utterances…but as he gesticulates and flaps his lips in his coonskin cap and rolled-‐up sleeves, I hear him in my head. Loud and clear.

  She knows about him.

  For the first time in years, my heart sinks. Strange. I had no idea it was still in there.