Eating Alone - Judy Albietz

As she walked up the front steps of his house, Lindsey could see into Norman’s kitchen, where he sat, his back to the window as he was finishing up his dinner. She had called the investigator a half hour ago at his home office with several questions about the police file. He said, “Come on over…be glad to see you.”

The first day at the law firm Lindsey had met Norman, who briefed her on his investigation for a case she would be handling. After two months of working with him, she knew she could trust the short, pear-shaped, bald man, even though he told lousy jokes, sometimes more than once. When she found out a woman died in her house, she had asked Norman if he could help her. Somehow he got his hands on a copy of the police report on what was called a suicide. Recently she had filled Norman in on how she had flipped out when she saw her old boyfriend, David. Norman laughed when he told her, “Don’t be asking me for advice. I’m paying support to three ex-wives.”

Lindsey paused a second on the porch, looking in at Norman’s wide body precariously perched on a green vinyl dinette chair. On the far side of the matching green formica table the evening news was flashing on a small television. Norman wasn’t even looking down as he dug a forkful of whatever was piled on his plate. Lindsey thought about coming back later, but then remembered what she had in the paper bag in her hand. She rang the doorbell. She watched Norman wipe his mouth while he got out of his chair and moved to open the door. He was still chewing and looking at the TV as he waved her in. “I stopped and picked up a six-pack to go with a pie I baked yesterday. I didn’t want to eat it alone,” she grinned.