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There were streaks of rain along Madge’s kitchen window that she did not notice; it had been cloudy all afternoon but the rain was only now beginning, although she was unaware of it as she bustled about her kitchen ramming and slamming cupboards, boiling water on the stove, a cigarette smoldering in a green glass ashtray. Her pace was frantic as if she were expecting forgotten dinner guests at any moment, her forehead glistening with sweat she constantly rubbed away with her wrist – cursing and rereading lines of the cookbook, reaching for the cigarette but being distracted by the ding of the kitchen timer. She had lit the cigarette but hadn’t smoked any of it; it was turning into a neat line of ash in the ashtray, smoke curling into the air and collecting along the ceiling. She again reached for it but seeing it was nearly out she waved dismissively at it and cursed louder than before.
There were three swift taps on her apartment door.
“Madge…” came a calling voice, though in the gloom of the apartment it sounded disembodied like a ghost. At first Madge didn’t hear it – the knocking was lost in the sounds of her opening and closing drawers, searching for a teaspoon.
Two more knocks came feebly, but not another call of her name. She paused at the sink, listening, and glanced at the clock to see it was well after 5 p.m. which made her blanch and whirl around.
“Oh dear,” Madge mumbled to herself, “dear, dear, dear…” she tried to yank the apron over her head, forgetting it was still tied and in a panic she yanked until one of the strings tore away and the apron fell across her but she didn’t consider it as she quickly waved away the collected smoke overhead, sliding open the window; she was momentarily surprised by the large drops of rain splooshing along the windowsill.
“Coming!” Madge called across the kitchen; with a dishtowel in hand she waved in exaggerated sweeps until the air was clear enough that she could put it out of her mind and bustled about a moment longer before walking gingerly to the door, still mumbling “dear” to herself over and over.
Ms. Cassidy stood on the other side of the door, but without her usual satchel of paperwork, instead with a tired expression and an armload of books with little drops of rainwater collected on their plastic dust jackets. Rain dripped from the brim of her hat onto the hardwood of the hallway floor. Madge hadn’t thought to collect herself before opening the door; Ms. Cassidy glared at the torn apron and the coating of flour across Madge’s forehead and pursed her lips like she was about to scold her but said nothing.
“Oh Miss Cassidy, I…I’m sorry, I forgot what day it was. Please come in,” Madge stammered as she stepped aside to draw the door open. “I was just…”
“Cooking, I see,” Ms. Cassidy interrupted in a monotone as she stepped inside, shifting the load of books from one arm to the other. She noticed the haze of cigarette smoke in the air and only sighed; it was silly to say anything about it because Madge wouldn’t bother to change her habits, she knew. In three years she hadn’t burned the building down, so it probably didn’t matter anyway.
In sudden realization Madge awkwardly pulled the apron over her head, a rouge of blush forming under the smattering of freckles that clung to her cheeks like sand and she fluffed her tangled hair once.
“Yes, just cooking. Gary will be home soon and I know he’ll be just famished from the long day,” Madge said with a hollow smile that slowly dissipated like the smoke overhead. “I’m not sure what’s keeping him, though. Can I get you something? Coffee maybe?” she asked as she motioned toward the kitchen.
In the shadow of the entryway Ms. Cassidy’s perplexed look seemed almost sinister in a silent movie sort of way, something Madge was immediately aware of but unsure how to take, and she stood motionless for an instant, her tall lankiness amplified in the narrow doorway to the kitchen. Suddenly aware, herself, Ms. Cassidy shook her head once.
“No, no Madge, that’s fine, I’m just here for the rent,” she replied, still appearing to Madge to be confused.
Without a word, Madge gave a slight nod and disappeared into the bedroom, and Ms. Cassidy shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, and when Madge returned with the check she said, “you know dear, Gary…”
Ms. Cassidy trailed off when she saw the look of hesitation in Madge, and she gave a curt smile and left without another word.
---
The apartment was cold, empty rooms dark and filled with shadows now that the sun had set and the evening was drawing on. The city lights shimmered mystically behind the wet windows, yellow blobs in a sea of darkness that Madge watched nervously as she sat at the Formica tabletop. The meal she had prepared sat cold and untouched and she stared at Gary’s empty chair, wishing he would have phoned if he knew he’d be late, and it seemed like he was always late anymore.
Madge’s hand mindlessly reached across the table to the silver cigarette case and she sighed heavily when she found it was empty and tossed it aside.
“Uh-oh Lola…Daddy will be cross if he comes home and finds all his cigarettes gone,” she cooed at her tabby cat sitting attentively on the edge of the counter. Without a second thought she stood up from the table, leaving the dinner where it was, and she cinched the belt closed on her raincoat.
“Mama will be back soon, love” Madge called as she stepped out into the hall.
The frills of the awning flapped noisily in the wind that swirled about the parked cars along the curb. Madge opened her umbrella and stood motionless as her eyes gazed down the street, wondering if perhaps she would spot Gary walking up from the streetcar stop, his wet hair combed neatly above his hazel eyes. She pictured it with a slight grin that quickly faded when she realized there was nobody on the sidewalk in either direction as the city traffic echoed among the black buildings around her with their soft brown windows.
“Oh dear,” Madge murmured as she glanced at her watch – the grocer would be closed in an hour.
---
The only thing in Madge’s hand was a bottle of wine that she neatly set on the counter.
“Can you give me a pack of Lucky Strikes, Philip?” she asked as she rummaged through her purse.
“Wine and cigarettes…you live the life, Madge,” Philip replied sardonically as he placed the wine in a bag.
“Well, you know how Gary likes his Lucky Strikes,” Madge mused with a congenial grin, though Philip only gave her a sidelong glance and slowly shook his head which Madge failed to see.
“Lemme ask you somethin’,” Philip started with a queer look on his face. Madge looked up sternly from her purse and stared at him intently, as though waiting on edge, but Philip shrugged a little to himself and held up a hand.
“Never mind,” he said bemused. “I’ll see ya tomorrow night.”
Puzzled, Madge took the wine bottle silently and headed out into the night with its biting chill from the rain that continued to fall into the streets. As she opened the cigarettes and withdrew one, she told herself that she would only smoke this one, and she would definitely leave the rest for her husband who she decided was likely sitting at the kitchen table just then, waiting on her to eat, and the thought troubled her.
“Yikes, I better hurry,” she said to herself as she exhaled a cloud of smoke into the rain.
---
Climbing the stairs, Madge imagined Gary sitting at the kitchen table with his tie loosened, Lola in his lap purring as his Doris Day record played on the turntable. Most evenings after dinner he sat in the living room in his chair with a glass of gin, reading the paper while she drank a glass of wine and cleared away the dishes. She imagined in a few moments she would open the door and call his name, and he would greet her with a loud clap of his hands and a grin.
“Come on love, let’s eat I’m starving, huh?”
He would run his hand over his hair, smoothing it down before pulling his chair up to the table, a mouthful of gin and a spoonful of potatoes, Bobby Darin on the hi-fi; Gary would talk about work and about his ride home on the streetcar where he bumped into so-and-so from two floors down, another mouthful of gin, cough, she would smile and laugh at his jokes, asking him if the lasagna was overcooked, fetching another glass of gin.
The scene played out in Madge’s mind often, each time she climbed the stairs to their floor. In the hall it was quiet, a few muffled voices behind the door to 3B but nothing more. Madge fumbled for her key and grinned as her heart beat faster, anxious to be home.
“Gary…” she called as she stepped inside the apartment, but the darkness caught her off guard and she froze. There was no response, no hi-fi playing, there was only the stoic patter of raindrops blowing against the window. Through the shadows she walked, into the kitchen where the food still sat on the table, cold and untouched; Madge gently set the wine bottle on the counter, disappointed, and stared bleakly at the table as she listened to the rain outside.
Near the door sat a letter Madge had picked up earlier from her mail slot in the lobby. She noticed the return address was her sister though she didn’t have much interest in what it said, they had minimal contact in the last few years and Madge occasionally received letters from her but didn’t respond to them. She had poured herself some wine and stared at the envelope on the table as she sipped it, until curiosity got the best of her, and she opened it:
Dearest Madge,
Well I hope you’re doing alright now that the winter is setting in. How have you been? Clyde and I are doing O.K., we went to Bangor last month and visited his parents. Bangor is lovely you really should see it sometime. I am writing to you because Clyde and I were talking and we think it would be best if you came to live with us. In February it will be three years since Gary died and with you out of work pretty soon your money will be gone. We have plenty of room for you, bring Lola too. Well I hope you really consider it, Madge. We worry about you. Take care of yourself and write me back, dear.
XOXO, Kim
Madge casually laid the letter aside and drank the rest of the wine in her glass; in her mind she began a reply to Kim but quickly lost interest as she noticed Lola wandering aimlessly into the bedroom.
“Oh Lola, Daddy is going to be late again, I guess. Let’s go to bed. We’ll see Daddy in the morning.”
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Very sweet, but sad story. Well done!
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