A fan whines fretfully as it swivels in a corner. Summer explodes in bright sunshine outside, but inside it’s clammy and dark. Pete has refused to go outdoors since a neighbor innocently asked him how he happened to fall. His entertainment is limited to radio, television, and meals, the most recent of which Lorena is placing before him. “What’s this?” He pokes a finger into the intestinal entanglement slithering over the sides of a soup bowl. “Chef Boyardee.” Lorena is all smiles as she tucks a paper napkin under his chin. “Looks like guts.” He rips the napkin away, balls it up. “I like sandwiches for lunch. You know that.” His chin is rumpled in a pout. Lorena bites her lip, holds her breath. Waits for him to mention chicken noodle soup. He doesn’t, so she ventures, “I thought we’d try something different.” She offers him a hesitant smile. She doesn’t want to spoil her mood. She just got back from Maybelle’s and her new hairdo has given her a new outlook.
