No Cognitive Defect - XII

No Cognitive Defect - Part XII

By James M. O'Meara, © 2009

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In the kitchen...

A brief chill gripped her. She was bundled up tight in her blanket, but the air was cold. The fire was dying in the other room, and the meager warmth wasn't reaching into the kitchen. The floor was hard and icy cold beneath her feet.

She told herself that nothing was wrong, that Wilson was fine, that it was just taking him a long time because the storm was so powerful and his limitations were slowing him down. That first batch of wood would arrive any moment. Soon she would look out the window and see Wilson emerging from the whiteness.

Wilson's limitations.

She'd been hearing about them almost from the moment she and Evan started seeing each other. When Evan spoke of his father the portrait he painted in broad strokes was of a man unable to care for himself, who needed constant attention, who couldn't be left alone. But his mother, by Evan's own account, was deeply involved in the community. That struck her as odd; not exactly what one would expect from the wife of someone who was supposedly a near-invalid. The flood of sympathy cards she'd seen lying in small, scattered stacks throughout the kitchen and living room suggested that Erica spent an awful lot of time out of the house.

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