J is for Judgement

never anybody. in the place. Now it's a zoo. How's it going?"
    "I need an eight-letter word that starts with 'I.' It can end in anything. . . more or less."
    A word flashed through my head, and I counted on my fingers. "Impostor," I said.
    He stared at me blankly, doing the mental arithmetic. "Not bad. I'll take it. How about five letters down -- "
    "Stop right there," I said, cutting in. "You know I'm terrible at this stuff, and it just makes me tense. I scored once by a fluke. I think I'll retire while I'm ahead."
    He tossed his notepad on the table and placed his pencil behind his left ear. "You're right. It's time to pack it in for the day. What are you having? I'll buy you a drink."
    "Nothing for me. I'm about partied out, but I'll keep you company if you're having one."
    "I'm fine for now. How'd you do with Dana Jaffe? Did you get anyplace?"
    "I didn't expect to. I was just making her acquaintance. I also had a chat with Wendell's ex-partner."
    "And what did he have to say?"
    As I filled him in on my conversations with Dana Jaffe and Carl Eckert, I saw Henry's gaze stray toward the kitchen and I found myself turning automatically. "Well, would you look at that," I said.
    William was emerging with a tray full of food, a not inconsiderable burden for a man of eighty-six. As usual, he was decked out in a three-piece suit with a properly starched white shirt and a crisply knotted tie. He looked enough like Henry to be his twin, though in reality the two men were two years apart. At the moment, William was looking very pleased with himself, high- spirited and energetic. It was the first time I'd registered the changes in him. Seven months before, when he'd moved in with Henry, he'd been morbidly self-obsessed, continually cross-referencing his various ill-nesses and infirmities. He'd brought his medical records with him when he arrived from the Midwest, and he was constantly assessing the state of his health: his heart palpitations, his digestive tract, his allergies, his suspicions about diseases undiscovered yet. A favorite pastime of his was cruising local funerals, where he commiserated with the other mourners to assure himself he wasn't dead yet. After he and Rosie fell in love, he'd begun to lighten up, until now he worked a full day, side by side with her. Sensing that we were watching, he grinned happily. He set down the tray of food and began to unload plates. One of the patrons at the table made some remark to him. William crowed with delight and high-fived the guy on the spot.
    "What's he so happy about?"
    "He asked Rosie to marry him."

I stared at Henry, startled. "You're kidding. He did? God, that's great. What a hoot! I can't believe it!"
    " 'A hoot' is not exactly how I'd refer to it. This just goes to show what happens when you 'live in sin.' "
    "They've lived in sin for a week. Now he's making her an 'honest' woman, whatever that means. I think it's sweet." I put a hand on Henry's arm, giving it a shake. "You don't really mind, do you? I mean, way down deep."
    "Let's put it this way. I'm not as appalled as I thought I'd be. I resigned myself to the possibility the day he moved in. He's too conventional a fellow to flaunt proprieties."
    "So when's all this happening?"
    "I have no idea. They haven't set the date. He just asked her tonight. She hasn't agreed to it yet."
    "The way you were talking, I assumed she had."
    "Well, no, but she's hardly going to turn down a gentleman of his caliber."
    I gave his hand a smack. "Honestly, Henry. You're a bit of a snob."
    He smiled at me, blue-eyed, his brows lifting quizzically. "I'm a complete snob, not a 'bit' of one. Come on. I'll walk you back."
    Once home, I took a handful of medication for my assorted cold symptoms, including a hit of Nyquil that guaranteed a good night's sleep. At 6:00 I rolled out of bed groggily and pulled on my jogging clothes, filling out a mental checklist while I brushed my teeth. My chest was still congested, but my nose wasn't running and my cough no longer sounded like my lungs were on the verge of flopping out. My skin color had lightened to the mild gold of apricots and I thought, in another day or so, might revert to my natural skin tone. Never have I so yearned for my fonder pale complexion.
    I bundled up against the early morning chill, my gray sweats nearly the same color as the ocean. The beach sand was a chalky white, speckled with foam from the outgoing tide. Seagulls, gray and white, stood and stared at the water like