The man reached the top step carrying the little girl on his hip. Her cheeks were flushed. He stopped in front of the apartment next to mine and shifted her weight while pulling keys from his pocket.
“That’s impossible, Katie.”
My pulse started pounding in my throat.
I should have gone back inside.
Instead, I heard myself say, “Excuse me.”
“Yeah?” He glanced over politely, distracted.
Up close, it was no longer a resemblance; it was him, or someone really close to him.
“Excuse me.”
My mouth went dry. “This is going to sound strange,” I said carefully, “but do you know anyone named Ron? A relative? Cousin?”
His entire body went still.
“No,” he said quickly.
He adjusted the little girl against his chest. “Katie, let’s go inside, baby.”
“A relative? Cousin?”
The name hit me like a slap.
“Katie?” I repeated before I could stop myself. “Katie?”
“It’s just her name,” he said, avoiding my gaze.
“And it’s my name, too,” I said, swallowing hard.
For a second, something flickered across his face.
The name hit me like a slap.
I stepped closer.
“I’m sorry. You just look so much like someone I loved and lost. It’s unsettling.”
He turned back to the door, fumbling with the lock. That was when I saw his right hand clearly.
Two fingers missing.
The same two fingers Ron lost when he was ten, after lighting fireworks behind his uncle’s garage while his mother stood there yelling at him to stop.
Two fingers missing.
My stomach dropped.
“Your hand…” I whispered.
He froze. The hallway suddenly felt too small.
He turned toward me slowly. There was no confusion in his eyes now, only fear.
“Katie, honey,” he said under his breath, “let’s go inside and see your new room.”
“Your hand…”
My heart slammed so hard I thought I might black out.
“Ron, is that really you?”
The little girl wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, sensing the shift.
A woman’s voice came from the stairs.
“Is there a problem here, honey?” she asked, turning the corner. “Katie girl, it’s time for a snack, isn’t it?”
“Ron, is that really you?”
My husband didn’t look at her.
“This woman is just confused, hon. Let’s show the peanut her new home.”
He said it like I was a stranger who had wandered in off the street. The word confused snapped something inside me.
“I am not confused,” I said, louder now. “Ron, I’m your wife. And you’re very much alive.”
“This woman is just confused.”
The woman reached us and stared between us both.
“That’s not funny, ma’am,” she said.
