Chapter 3 – Chapter 3

"The computer is in the bedroom," Phil said when he opened the door to Sergio the next afternoon. "And thanks for doing this. I know that if I tried to hook it up, I'd blow the electricity for the entire community. I'll go make us some coffee. I think staying out of the way would be my best contribution to this."

"You might be right," Sergio said as he entered the manufactured home, "there are some people who are quite talented otherwise who just don't seem to be able to get along with electronics."

"That would be me," Phil answered, moving toward the kitchen at the right, as Sergio headed toward the door to the master bedroom to the left. "I had someone to take care of all of that for me. I had Lynn."

Was that a catch in Phil's voice Sergio heard? He kept his eyes turned away from Phil and toward his destination, the master bedroom. This was a retirement community he was working in. He was accustomed to the older folks coming here not long after the loss of their spouse—or not long before they themselves passed on. It wasn't just any depression they might feel from moving from a substantial suburban home to what, essentially, was a glorified trailer park. It was too much change too late in life—an awareness that life had passed them by.

Sergio couldn't see the housing units here as anything but fancy trailers. Once inside Phil's unit, though, he could see that it was as solid looking as any stick-built home. But if you looked carefully you could see that the walls weren't wood or brick but some other man-made board covered in vinyl wallpaper. The interior was commodious enough, for one person, with the hub of the building being a kitchen-dining area-family room section, with a large master bedroom and bath and a smaller guest room and main bathroom off the family room. To the right, beyond the kitchen and dining areas was a large living room, which looked like it was used mainly as a transit room to a screened porch, facing the lake. Phil had managed to snarf up one of the premium lots right on the water.

Phil himself looked in better spirits today than yesterday. And to Sergio he looked good—trim, but well muscled, still causing Sergio to disbelieve that the man was seventy. He still had a full head of hair, which always helped to keep a man looking younger, even though it had gone fully to gray. He was wearing a close-fitting white T-shirt over white shorts today, which contrasted nicely with the tan he was developing. He might have lost steam on the tennis court yesterday, Sergio thought, and left dejected for some reason, but exercising out in the sun was benefiting him—and making him look hot to someone like Sergio in more ways than temperature.

The computer desk was set in the corner of what was a pretty large bedroom, dominated by a queen-sized bed. All the modules needed were there, but Sergio could tell from the tangle of wires that Phil had made a half-hearted effort to hook it up himself but had stopped quickly in frustration. Computer support was key to Sergio's recreation services job, though, so he had no trouble seeing what needed to be done and getting down to doing it.

There was a shelf above the computer desk. A few books laying on their backs and stacked on top of each other, but there were photographs too—of Phil, some younger, some recent—and also of who must be Lynn. Sergio did a double take at seeing the photos and began to readjust his thinking about Phil—and his own attitude toward Phil.

Phil had arrived with a cup of coffee for Sergio. "Is it a hopeless mess?" he asked.

"Not at all," Sergio answered. "We should have you up and running in no time."

"Thanks," Phil said. Sergio was looking up at him and saw Phil wince. The older man put his own cup of coffee down on the top of a nearby bureau and rotated the same arm he was having trouble with at the close of the match the previous day. The expression on his face showed that he was in some pain.

"Your shoulder. It's still hurting you?"

"Yes, a little. Just getting to be too old for tennis. Too old for much of anything."

"Nonsense. You're too good a player to give it up this young. You've kept in great shape. A massage could take care of that."

"I suppose," Phil answered noncommittally. He picked up his coffee cup and turned to leave. "You'll do better without me to jinx the computer build," he said. "Trust me on that. I'll be in the other room, marinating a steak for dinner."

"I see you have photographs," Sergio said, arresting Phil's departure. "You and Lynn, I take it?"

Phil's gaze went to the photographs as if seeing them for the first time, just now realizing he'd left them there. There was a nervous pause and then he sighed and said, "Yes, that's us. That's Lynn. Much younger than me. It should have been me who went first."

"I understand," Sergio said, saying so much in that phrase, saying enough to be able to see some of the tension draining out of Phil that had suddenly arisen at the realization that he hadn't put those photographs away before Sergio arrived.

"I'll . . . I'll be in the kitchen if there's anything you're missing here that I might be able to find for you."

"I don't think I'm missing anything," Sergio said. "Everything's fine. I mean it, Phil. Everything's fine."

Phil gave him a look with a touch of surprise in it and then left the room.

After he got the computer going and hooked up to the Internet, Sergio tested the machine out on some of his own favorite Web sites—just to be sure. And when he found that everything was as he expected, everything was fine.

"So, how did it go?" Phil asked, as Sergio came out of the bedroom. "Find everything you needed?"

"Yes, thanks, I found out all I needed to know. And you're good to go now."

He had taken his time. He could see, looking the full length of the home to the bay window in the living room opening to a lake view, that twilight was beginning to descend. While he'd been working on the computer, he'd decided that he'd like it to be close to dinnertime before he finished.

"What do I owe you?" Phil asked. "You're a lifesaver. A guy can't be without the Internet—even an old guy like me. Especially an old guy like me—suddenly living alone."

"You don't owe me anything. It's part of my job. But I would have been happy to have done it for you anyway."

"Well, we're well into happy hour," Phil said, after a pause during which Sergio hadn't moved toward the front door. "How about a drink out on the screen porch before you go? Although it seems you deserve more than that for getting me hooked up."

"A drink would be nice, thanks. And, well, if it's not asking too much, I see that you have two steaks marinating there. I live alone myself . . . and it's getting toward supper time . . ."

"Yes, of course. I should have invited you myself. I haven't been too swift lately in my thinking. Let's have the drink—or maybe a couple—out on the screened porch and then I'll put the steaks on. We can eat on the porch too. I spend a lot of time out there—alone—watching the lake. Getting this lot was the best decision I made in moving here."

They had two drinks before Phil put the steaks on, and the conversation had become loose and warm as they watched the sun sink over the lake. Phil obviously hadn't had anyone to talk to for some time, and Sergio studiously was being the good listener. There still were areas, facets of Phil's life, that he didn't go into, but Sergio was being very open about his own life—and his preferences.

He wanted Phil to know.

As they were finishing their steaks, Sergio brought up Phil's problem with his shoulder again. He obviously was in pain even from the slightest use of it while setting up and breaking down the supper elements. "I think that a massage would do that a world of good. I don't want you to stop playing tennis. I want to play more with you myself."

"I suppose. I guess I could check around to see—"

"I'm a trained masseur. I could take care of that for you myself."

"You could?" Phil's expression was one of surprise, as if he'd never considered this before and that it was significant information.

Sergio put his drink down and turned serious eyes on Phil. "Yes. I can help you. I want to help you."

The seriousness of Sergio's expression wasn't lost on Phil. They'd been dancing around the topic for a couple of hours now, honing ever closer to the center of the issue, and Phil had made no suggestion that it was time for Sergio to leave. "I'm an old man, Sergio. I'm past all that. But thanks for the offer."

"Screw the old man stuff," Sergio spat out. "You are only as old as you want to be. I can give you a good massage, a special massage. I want to."

"Here, now?" Phil said, a note of panic in his voice.

"No, not tonight. We're both liquored up tonight. I wouldn't want any part of my massage to hurt you or be what you didn't want. I'll be back tomorrow, same time. That will give you plenty of time to decide whether you want a massage. If not, though, it isn't because you are an old man and can't take the sort of massage that would do you good."