Sunday

            Hazel met Charlie at Astro’s on Fletcher Drive. He noticed how sick she looked but didn’t say anything. They shared a brief hug and then sat down in a booth. She ordered an extra sweet iced tea; he asked for black coffee. Their conversation meandered until Hazel couldn’t take it anymore. ‘I just can’t…’ she interrupted, then stopped. ‘You know? I’m not ready.’

‘I know,’ Charlie said. ‘I was thinking the same thing.’

She glared up at him. ‘It’s not yours to think about.’

‘I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.’

Hazel zipped up her hoodie and brought her arms together. She rocked back and forth in her seat, humming discordantly. Charlie tapped a finger on the table. He had a question to ask but didn’t want to. ‘Did you see Henri?’

She pulled her hood over her head and slumped over the table. ‘One last time. I swear, Charlie.’

‘You’ve said that before.’

She held a hand up. ‘I don’t need you pulling that on me, okay?’ 

‘Pulling what?’

‘That concerned dad shit. I don’t need it.’

‘Right.’ He finished his coffee and asked for a refill. ‘Why didn’t you ask him to drive you?’

Hazel didn’t answer. She crossed her arms on the table and laid her head on them. ‘Because I trust you,’ she said. Charlie spun a creamer cup on the table. 

‘If you wanna bail, I understand,’ she said.

‘I made a promise to you.’

‘But I’d understand.’

‘When’s the appointment again?’

‘This Sunday, one PM.’

‘I’ll be there.’

She snorted back her runny nose. ‘Thanks, Charlie.’

At close to noon on Sunday, Charlie drove down Riverside Drive and pulled up to Hazel’s house on Newell Street. It was a weathered bungalow in a dilapidated court. He texted her that he was outside and parked. 

Hazel came out very heavily dressed. She got into his car. ‘How are you?’ he asked.

‘Cold. Do you mind turning on the heater?’

He turned it on and lowered his window. They drove to Glendale. ‘How long has it been?’ he asked. 

‘How long?’ 

‘Since you last used.’

She flashed a brief smile, ‘About four days. Last time was the day before we met up. I told you one last time.’

They arrived at the clinic and checked in, waiting a half hour before the nurse came to escort Hazel. Charlie stayed behind, leafing through old magazines. He quickly became bored.

An hour later, the nurse rolled Hazel out in a wheelchair. She was barely conscious. The nurse smiled gently, ‘She’s alright. There were no problems. Be sure to allow her plenty of bed rest.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

Charlie pulled the car up to the front of the clinic and helped ease Hazel inside. He drove without worrying about the heater.

Charlie helped Hazel leave the car and led her back to her house. The living room was a mess. Food rotted on the coffee table. Empty liquor bottles were strewn about on the floor. The kitchen was filthy. Hazel’s father was snoring loudly in the back of the bungalow. He guided her to her bedroom, crushing burnt tin foil underfoot, and eased her into bed. ‘Thanks,’ she said, shivering.

‘Yeah.’

Hazel lay on her back, her sleepy eyes on Charlie. She smiled tiredly, ‘It wasn’t yours. Don’t worry about it.’

‘I wasn’t.’

‘You’re a liar, Charlie.’

He turned to leave, closing the door behind him. When he got to his car, Charlie swore that today would be the last time he’d ever speak to Hazel. Just like all the other times he promised himself.