karma

She found him sitting in a chair in the corner, an odd look on his face. “How long have you been there?” she asked. He said he didn’t know. Maybe five minutes, maybe twenty, maybe an hour. “Are you ok?” she asked. He didn’t answer, right away. “Honey?” Still nothing. “I was ok, then, everything slowed down and went black,” he said, still looking off, away, almost absently. “I’ll call a doctor,” she said. “I think you should,” he answered. His name is Nick. He was an accountant. Hers is Melanie. She is a teacher. Three days later, they would find out that he’d suffered a stroke. He was 36. “Hold me, for a moment,” he said. “I’m scared.” She did. She was scared, too, but tried not to let on. Nick would be dead in four months. He died two days before she found out she was pregnant. That day, the day of the first stroke, she’d been off with her lover, Jay, the mechanic who worked on their cars. She would later think that she’d killed him, Nick, that it had been a punishment for her adultery, and maybe it had been.