Read The Life We Bury for Free Online Page B

cast a pall over her. “I should get going,” she said.
    â€œYou can't leave.”
    She started for the door.
    â€œI mean you shouldn't leave,” I said, sounding needier than I intended. “Duty requires that I return the good deed.” I moved toward the door, half blocking her path. “You should at least stay for lunch.”
    â€œI have to get to class,” she said, skirting past me, her shoulder brushing lightly against my arm as she went by. Then she paused at the door, or at least I think she paused. Maybe she was reconsidering my invitation. Maybe she was toying with me. Or, maybe—probably—my imagination was playing a trick on me and she didn't pause at all. I, of course, chose to err on the side of recklessness and press on.
    â€œLet me at least walk you home,” I said.
    â€œIt's eight feet away.”
    â€œMore like ten feet,” I said, following her into the hallway and closing my door behind me. I wasn't getting anywhere with my feeble banter, so I changed tactics and tried sincerity. “I really appreciate what you did for Jeremy,” I said. “He can be a bit…I don't know, childlike. You see he's…”
    â€œAutistic?” she said. “Yeah, I know. I have a cousin on the spectrum. He's a lot like Jeremy.” Lila leaned against her door, her hand turning the knob.
    â€œWhy don't you join us both for dinner tonight,” I said, shredding any semblance of subtlety. “Just my way of saying thanks. I'm making spaghetti.”
    She stepped inside her apartment and turned to meet my eyes, her face suddenly serious. “Listen Joe,” she said. “You seem like a nice guy and all, but I'm not looking for a dinner. Not right now. I'm not looking for anything right now. I just want to—”
    â€œNo. No, I understand.” I interrupted her. “I thought I'd ask. It's not for me. It's for Jeremy,” I lied. “He's not good at being away from home, and he seemed to like you.”
    â€œReally?” Lila smiled. “You're gonna pimp your brother out like that just so you can cook me a meal?”
    â€œJust being neighborly.” I smiled back.
    She started to close the door but hesitated as she turned the idea over in her head a couple times. “Okay,” she said, “one dinner, that's all—for Jeremy.”

Janet, the receptionist at Hillview Manor, smiled at me this time when I walked through the front door. It helped that I had called ahead to get Mr. Iverson's eating and napping schedule. She told me to show up around two o'clock, which I did on the dot, anticipating the wall of Mentholatum odor that hit me as I stepped through the door. The old woman with the crooked wig still kept her vigil at the entrance, paying no attention to me as I walked by her. Before I left my apartment, I settled Jeremy on the couch, started his movie, and showed him again which buttons to push on the remote and which ones to avoid. If all went well—and Iverson agreed to be my subject—I might have just enough time to get some background for my assignment.
    â€œHi, Joe.” Janet stood up and walked out from behind her reception desk.
    â€œIs my timing good?” I asked.
    â€œAs good as it's going to be. Mr. Iverson had a rough night last night. Pancreatic cancer is a terrible thing.”
    â€œIs he okay to…”
    â€œHe's fine now. Probably a little tired. The pain in his belly flairs up sometimes and we have to sedate him just to give him a few hours rest.”
    â€œIsn't he getting radiation, or chemo, or something?”
    â€œHe could, I guess, but it won't do any good at this point. The most that chemo might do is prolong the inevitable. He said he doesn't want that. I don't blame him.”
    Janet walked with me to the lounge area, pointing to a man in a wheelchair sitting alone in front of one of the large windows that lined the back of the building. “He sits