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his home apart, I had to wonder if he was simply exhausted. Old people could do some weird things sometimes. I recalled my grandmother going off on all sorts of oddball tangents before she’d died, once tearing up a scrapbook filled with old photographs, and another time bingeing on jars of jalapeño pickles.
    I studied Jesse’s face and wondered if maybe he was sick after all, because he looked pale, almost gray.
    “Jesse?” I knelt down beside the couch and touched his forehead to make sure he wasn’t feverish.
    On the contrary, his skin was cool. And no wonder, since the poor guy was wearing a pair of tidy white cotton boxer shorts and nothing else.
    “Come on, Jesse, wake up.” I reached for the afghan draped over the back of the couch and covered him up to give him a little dignity. I lifted his arm onto the couch and tucked the edges of the blanket under him to warm him up.
    “Jesse,” I said softly, shaking his shoulder lightly. “Can I get you some soup or something?”
    His arm slid off the couch again. And I suddenly realized why.
    “Oh, jeez!” I scooted backward, away from him, scrambling to my feet as I shouted his name over and over again. “Jesse! Oh my God! Jesse!”
    It didn’t do any good. He wasn’t going to wake up.
    Jesse Hennessey was dead.

Chapter Two
    I huddled outside on the porch, shaking my head and trembling in disbelief and sadness, not only because Jesse was dead, but also because I’d stupidly approached him as though he were merely sleeping or passed out. I should’ve known something was horribly wrong when I first saw the disarray throughout his house.
    Jesse was gone. My eyes filled with tears and I sank into an old chair by the front door, rocking back and forth with my arms wrapped around my stomach. So many emotions were coursing through me, I couldn’t think straight. I was sad, of course. Numb. Shocked. He’d been my next-door neighbor for my entire life, and even if I didn’t see him every day, it was comforting to know that I had someone dependable and brave right next door when I needed him. He was raunchy sometimes and terribly corny. He told the world’s worst jokes. Jane and I used to laugh and groan at the same time when he would start in on his puns. I could still picture him a few months ago, standing in his front yard with weeds growing all around him.
    “What are you doing, Jesse?” I’d asked.
    “I’m out standing in my field.”
    I frowned at him.
    “Get it?” he’d said, grinning like an idiot.
    Staring at him on the couch a few minutes ago, I’d started to laugh despite the tears rolling down my cheeks. “Oh, Jesse,” I whispered. “What happened to you?”
    Jane would be here any minute. Would she blame me for his death? Not that I’d caused it or anything, but maybe I could’ve prevented it if I’d been a better neighbor.
    I buried my head in my hands. Oh God, I was a horrible neighbor. I should’ve checked in on him every day. He wasn’t getting any younger and old people had a tendency to, you know, get old.
    Okay, I needed to stop beating myself up. Jesse had always been fiercely independent and had never appreciated anyone hovering over him or worrying about him. Even Jane, his only living relative and the one person he loved most in the world, had been lectured more than once.
“Don’t worry about me,”
he often told her when she tried to coddle him a little.
“I’m going to live to be a hundred because only the good die young.”
    I should’ve ignored his gruff words and gone ahead and paid more attention to his health and his lifestyle. If I’d been more diligent, made sure he was safe and in good physical shape, he might still be alive.
    I heard a siren blast from several blocks away, reminding me that I’d called the police right after talking to Jane. What else could I do? Once I realized that Jesse was dead, I’d immediately wondered about that mess in there. I knew it wasn’t normal for Jesse to tear his house