Drip. Drip. Drip.

The water was only up to the edge of the middle slab of the driveway. Still far enough from the house. Too deep to drive through, though. If only the damned rain would stop. It’s been four days. Enough already.

Once, when it had slowed to a drizzle, Harvey tried going for a walk, just to get out of the house. It didn’t take long before the torrent returned, and coming home was like trying to move through a car wash.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

When had the roof started leaking? It was fine before. It wasn’t even that old. Maybe TV would take his mind off the water.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

He clicked through the channels. No. Nope. What? Three and a half times he cycled through before he settled on a comedy prank show – it didn’t really matter, he wanted the company more than entertainment. Harvey watched a shadow seep across the floor and pool just beyond the doorway. He looked up. She said nothing.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Harvey shook his head and looked back to the TV. When his glance returned to the doorway, she was gone. Should he have said something? Surely, she knew how much she’d hurt him when she’d left. Her picture, beaming in her wedding dress, smiled down at him from the opposite wall. She looked so much different now. Ravaging cancer had left her gaunt and scarred, and the once-vigorous Rita was a frail ghost of her former self.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

He stalked to the window and peered out. The water had come up maybe a few inches. Not much. The driveway was still more than half clear. He looked out the back. The runoff pool in the yard had stretched further and wider. It still wasn’t up to the deck, though. It should be fine. The rain had slowed down now, and there was food, water, and power in the house. Surely it would be over soon. It couldn’t rain forever. Could it?

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Harvey slumped into his chair. The transformer groaned and boomed. Lights flickered and went dark, TV pranksters silenced in mid-guffaw. He stared hopefully at the screen. During storms, it wasn’t uncommon for the power to go out, only to come back on a minute or two later when the backup circuit kicked in. The second hand staggered around the filthy face of the crooked plastic clock. The television remained dark.

He felt her come into the room behind him. Her hand on his shoulder was ice. The cold frosted his heart, and it cracked along old fault lines.

“I’m glad you came back.”

For a long time, she did not reply. Finally, in a voice so soft he wondered if he’d imagined it, she said, “I know.”

Harvey closed his eyes, yearning for what used to be. He ached to sweep her into his arms, but his body refused to move. A solitary tear crept down his unshaven face.

Her bloodless fingers caressed his cheek and the wood floor sighed as she left the room.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

He emptied the pot into the bathtub and set it back under the leak. Drops of water clattered against the empty aluminum container. The noise jangled his nerves. His jaw clenched. Harvey strode out into the living room and jerked the front door open. Rain tumbled from the sky in silver shards that shattered on the ground and flowed like quicksilver to join the roiling lake that was slowly but surely swallowing the driveway. As long as the levee holds…

Drip. Drip. Drip.

He needed to talk to her. Harvey knew that. But he was afraid. Afraid of her cold silence. Afraid of her sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. He shuddered. Things weren’t his fault. He was healthy, for his age. He had needs. The girls didn’t understand. Harvey’s eyes fell on the shadow-drenched hallway that led toward the master bedroom. Not yet. Breakfast dishes needed cleaning. Not that tidying up had ever been a priority for him – yesterday’s dishes also still needed washing. But it was a handy excuse for putting off the inevitable.

Harvey shuffled into the kitchen. Peeling linoleum, worn through to the concrete below in spots, hinted at the sunny yellow of better days. The gas water heater didn’t need electricity, and he put the stopper in the sink to soak the crusty dishes a few minutes before he began his half-hearted scrubbing.

Wiping a plate with the tattered dishrag reminded him of washing his girls in the sink when they were tiny babies – first Carla, then two years later, Celia. So small, so fragile. Both were married with daughters of their own, but they were still his girls. Too bad neither had spoken to him after their mother left. They blamed him.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Water splashing into the pot was louder here and it echoed in his head. He was only half-way through the washing up when he couldn’t take the noise of it any longer. Flinging the cloth into the murky dishwater, he padded down the hall to the bedroom he’d shared all those years with Rita. Wet carpet squished beneath his feet, splattering on the walls. Dark footprints trailed behind him down the corridor.

The room was submerged in twilight. Gloom twisted behind the doors and flowed from under the furniture. Harvey shivered, but whether the chill in the air was real or imagined, he couldn’t tell. The tap was running in the tub. Dread weighed on Harvey like sodden wool, and he struggled to breathe.

Still, he forced one foot in front of the other. One step. Two. Twelve steps from the bedpost to the master bath. Steam fogged the mirror above the vanity. Water splashed on the floor from the overflowing tub. His heart pounded in his ears as he rushed in to turn off the faucet. Where was she?

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Déjà vu grabbed Harvey’s insides so hard he wanted to puke. He plunged his arm into the near-scalding water, searching for Rita underneath the raft of bubbles. She wasn’t there. Gradually, he became aware of someone watching him. His breath caught in his chest when he whirled and saw her standing behind him. She looked different somehow, but also the same, wearing that same broken smile she seemed to reserve for him alone.

Rita raised her hands toward him, palms up, beckoning. Harvey slid his feet on the treacherously slick tile toward her, then took her icy hands. He closed his eyes as her gelid breath fell on his face when she leaned in and kissed him.

Euphoria exploded within Harvey and pooled in rainbow puddles of bliss. It was like the first time he’d ever kissed her. He opened his mouth wider, greedy for more. The ecstasy faded, and Harvey went from floating to falling.

He opened his lids, but instead of the familiar soft brown eyes he was expecting, what he saw was black. Soulless black where the iris should have been, merciless black where he expected white. Harvey whimpered and jerked away, feet skidding out from under him. He saw stars as his head smacked against the side of the tub, felt hot blood running down his scalp.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The funeral director closed the side door behind the departing clergyman and stole a glance at his watch. The cremation chamber warm-up cycle was almost complete. Mourners stood up and began milling around. The two daughters stood near the main door. No one stood near the casket.

He watched as the pitiful handful of dearly beloved ebbed toward the door.

“I’m so sorry, Carla. It must be very hard losing your father so soon after your mom.” The man was somewhere in the grey area between middle-aged and elderly.

“Thank you, Uncle Ike.”

“Good riddance.” mumbled the young woman next to Carla.

The woman clinging to Ike’s arm dabbed at her eyes. “Celia! Is that really necessary? He was your father.”

“Our mother’s dead because of him, in case you’ve forgotten, Aunt Beulah.”

“It was an accident!”

“He was there while she drowned in the bathtub!”

Carla held up her hands. “Please!” She blinked back tears. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? Can we please just finish up the service?”

The funeral director’s watch vibrated. He slid in between Carla and her uncle. “It’s time.”

Carla nodded. Celia grinned.

The director pulled the fancy drape off the plain container that held Harvey’s body. Why is he wet? Somebody has really screwed up. What is that black spot on his collar? Surely it’s not mold. At least no one in the family noticed. There would be a staff meeting about his on Monday. Completely unacceptable.  

He closed the lid and pushed a button. The conveyor that held the flimsy coffin started to move, dragging Harvey closer to the eager flames of the crematorium. Water droplets fell from the corner of the box, disappearing into the dark carpet.

Drip. Drip. Drip.