Free Obsessed by G. H. Ephron Page B

and liver dinner, Friskies seafood entrée, boxes of chicken liver treats. Another cabinet held more than a dozen boxes of Jell-O, spaghetti, and more cat food.
    Uncle Jack shuffled over to the kitchen table, his gait stiff, his movements jerky. There were metal chairs with padded red vinyl seats, like the set my mother had. Mail, magazines, newspapers, and crusty placemats covered the table. Only an area at the near end was cleared.
    â€œMr. O’Neill?” I said. He was nodding at the table. I wondered if he was waiting for me to sit. I put my hand on his arm. “Annie tells me your wife passed on? I’m sorry to hear that.”
    He didn’t respond. He moved to the sink with little jerking steps. Then back to the table. He lowered himself into a chair. His body pulsed and his eyes were going all over the room.
    â€œFelicia vacuum holder thing…” he said, addressing his words to one of the other chairs. “Leave the table—” He paused. “—Stop and Shop.” It was word salad.
    Annie pressed herself against the door jamb and put her hand to her forehead.
    Uncle Jack became agitated when I started to sit in the chair he’d been talking to. He put out his arm to stop me. I looked at the chair seat, thinking maybe there’d be something on it, but there wasn’t.
    No sooner had I taken one of the other chairs than he rose to his feet and shuffled out of the kitchen and down the hall to the back of the apartment.
    â€œHey, Uncle Jack!” Annie said. “Where you going? You can’t take a nap. We just got here.”
    Uncle Jack chuckled and waved a hand like he was brushing away a swarm of gnats.
    I followed him into a bedroom. This room was as cluttered as the rest of the house. There were two television sets, neither of them plugged in, a vacuum cleaner, several old electric fans, more newspapers, piles of bedding and clothing. Long strips of yellowing Scotch Tape ran along cracks in the plaster walls—Uncle Jack’s version of home repair.
    â€œHow are you doing?” I asked, touching his shoulder again, trying to draw his attention. He looked at me, as if seeing me for the first time. “I’m Peter. Annie’s friend?”
    â€œAnnie,” he said, and gazed around the room.
    Annie appeared in the doorway. “You rang?” She went over and took his hand. “Hey, buddy. How are you feeling today, anyway?”
    â€œAnyway, anyway,” he said. “Been worse, that’s for sure.” It was a direct answer to a direct question. He was with us, for the moment at least.
    â€œCan I get you anything?” I asked as he shuffled his way back out into the hallway.
    â€œOne of those things out there,” Uncle Jack said.
    â€œWhat things?”
    â€œOn the steps. On the steps.”
    Uncle Jack sat at the kitchen table.
    â€œNewspaper?” I said, guessing.
    â€œI’ll get it,” Annie said. “I saw one outside.”
    While Annie was gone I fished a quarter out of my pocket. I held it out in the palm of my hand. I needed a quick test to gauge the extent of Uncle Jack’s confusion.
    â€œI’ve got a little game—can I try it out on you?”
    Uncle Jack looked at the quarter. “Double or nothin’,” he said.
    â€œYou’re on. See this quarter?” I closed the quarter into my fist, put my hands behind my back like I was passing it from hand to hand. Then I held out both fists. “Which hand is it in now?” This time it would be a simple guessing game.
    Uncle Jack cocked his head and stared at the back of one hand, then the other. He jabbed a finger at my left hand. I opened the hand and showed him. He’d guessed right. He tried to swipe the quarter.
    â€œHang on. Now I’m going to switch the coin to my other hand.” I said it slowly, with careful emphasis on the word other . I put my hands behind my back and transferred the coin. Then I