Chapter 5

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Some evenings he held a plastic bowl beneath Harley’s chin as the old man vomited. Felipe took some extra towels from the laundry and hid them beneath their mattresses. Harley had prescription nutrition shakes, vanilla and chocolate-flavored but he complained they tasted bitter. Felipe took a sip from one when he opened a can for Harley and nearly gagged on its chemical sweetness.

His taste buds are going. And his stomach.

One night in June, Harley sat on his mattress. The plastic bowl, freshly rinsed, sat on his skinny lap. Felipe wiped the old man’s face with the cool towel. Harley looked up at him, eyes gray with fatigue and pain. “Why don’t you go down to the TV room? I think there’s a football game on tonight.”

“Harley, it’s summer. There’s no football.”

Harley blinked. “Oh. Baseball then.”

“I don’t care about frigging baseball.”

“Then go down to the gym. You need to get out more.”

“I’m fine.”

“You shouldn’t be nursing a sick old man. This is not your job.”