When I knocked, it took him nearly a minute to answer.
He looked around forty, though illness made his exact age difficult to guess. He was tall but painfully thin, with tired gray eyes and dark hair beginning to silver at the temples.
“You must be Megan,” he said.
“That’s me.”
He gave me a small smile.
“I’m Carl. I apologize in advance for the mess.”
I looked past him at the spotless living room.
“What mess?”
“The imaginary one I’ve been worrying about all morning.”
That made me laugh.
Carl stepped aside and let me in.
Our first visit lasted less than an hour. I heated soup, washed two dishes, and changed the sheets on his bed.
He thanked me at least six times.
Before I left, I noticed a chessboard on the coffee table.
“Do you play?” I asked.
“Badly.”
“Perfect. So do I.”
The following Thursday, we played our first game.
He beat me in twelve minutes.
“You lied,” I said.
“I exaggerated my weaknesses.”
“That’s still lying.”
“It sounds more respectable.”
That was the beginning of our friendship.
Tea, Board Games, and Unanswered Questions
Carl never spoke much about his past.
He said he had worked in “business consulting,” but he never explained where. He said he had traveled, though there were no photographs around the house.
He had no family pictures, no diplomas on the walls, and no framed memories of birthdays or holidays.
The house looked less like a home and more like a place someone had borrowed.
But Carl was easy to talk to.
