She drove to Walden first, let herself in. Fed the cat. Cleaned the litter box. Found a warm coat and stocking cap in a closet, then headed for the hospital. JC was sitting on the side of his bed, obviously impatient. “What a waste of time this was,” he said, as he struggled into the coat. He stuffed the stocking cap into a pocket. “I won’t need that,” he said. On the drive home he chuckled briefly as she described Sextus’s furious reaction to Ray. Then, minutes later, he said, “I can see where he’s coming from.” “You can?” He shrugged and looked out the window. Cars crept, trailed by clouds of vapour. Barely upright people minced gingerly through narrow gaps in mounds of dirty sidewalk snow, cringing at the filthy splashing of the passing cars. “Winter,” he grunted. “To think I used to miss this.” At home he sat silently on the chesterfield, the cat curled beside him, purring gently with his eyes closed as JC explored his neck and the space between his ears.
