Then Evelyn roughly pulled him through the side garage door, and it slammed closed behind them.
“What did he just say?” Sarah asked, watching from beside our living room window.
“I… I think he said ‘help.’”
Neither of us spoke for several long seconds.
Now I wasn’t thinking about the wasted groceries anymore.
I was only thinking about that old man.
That evening I walked across the street and knocked on Evelyn’s front door.
She answered wearing that same friendly, practiced smile.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“I saw an older gentleman with you this morning.”
“Oh.”
For the first time since I’d known her, her perfect smile faded.
“My uncle.”
“I’ve lived across from you for four years and never seen him.”
“He recently moved in with me.”
“He looked… confused.”
“He’s suffering from severe dementia.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
She nodded solemnly. “It hasn’t been easy.”
The neighborly conversation should have ended right there.
Instead, I asked one more question.
“Is that why you’ve been throwing away so much fresh food?”
Her expression completely froze.
Only for a split second.
Then she laughed lightly.
“Oh, you’ve noticed that.”
“It’s hard not to.”
“My uncle has some very strange habits. He orders groceries online and forgets he already ordered them. Sometimes five or six grocery deliveries arrive here every single day.”
“Why not just donate the extras?”
She looked away, avoiding my eyes.
