Harriet sighed. “She doesn’t like being left alone. She was fine when I took her for her walk this morning, but when I returned this afternoon she’d been howling and barking for the entire time she was left on her own. She has separation anxiety.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I met Judy in the stairwell.”
“Who is Judy?”
Harriet looked puzzled. “She came to your door last night. You spoke to her.”
“Are you talking about Mrs. Crouch?” He’d lived here for six years and he hadn’t known her first name was Judy. Even if he had known, he wouldn’t have felt comfortable using it. Mrs. Crouch wasn’t a first name person, although it seemed Harriet had managed to crack through the formality. “She complained?”
“She didn’t exactly complain. But we both agreed it couldn’t continue. She came in and I made her tea. I hope you don’t mind.”
Ethan tried to imagine the austere Mrs. Crouch sitting on his sofa sipping tea.
“You’re a surprising woman, Harriet Knight. Mrs. Crouch isn’t known for her tolerance or her desire to communicate.” Something for which he’d frequently been grateful when he returned home in the early hours from the hospital and met her in the elevator.
“She’s probably a little shy with people before she gets to know them. I know all about that. And she has lived on her own since her husband died, so that probably doesn’t help. You lose a little confidence, I think. I’ve seen it happen with Glenys.”
“Who is Glenys?”
“One of my clients. I walk Harvey for her.”
“Harvey?”
“The detail doesn’t matter. What matters is that Judy is probably suffering in the way Glenys is. It’s lonely for her. And of course she rarely sees Margaret—”
“Wait—who is Margaret?”
“Her daughter. She lives in Austin, Texas. She moved there eight years ago, two years before Bill died. And Margaret has just had a baby.”
Ethan was struggling to keep up. He hadn’t even known Mrs. Crouch had a daughter. “Bill was her husband?”
“Yes, and naturally Judy is a little upset at the thought of not seeing Charlene.”
“Charlene?”
“Her first grandchild.”
“I can’t believe this.”
“Why? My grandmother once told me that having grandchildren was the highlight of her life. Unlike when you’re a parent, you don’t have the responsibility. You can simply have fun with them.”
“That’s not the part I can’t believe. What I can’t believe is that she told you all this voluntarily.”
“Well, of course she told me voluntarily.” Harriet lifted her eyebrows. “Or maybe you think I tied her to the sofa and tortured her with Earl Grey tea?”
“I’ve never known her to be particularly forthcoming.”
“Have you even tried talking to her?”
“I—” It was a fair question. Ethan ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Honestly? No. Our communication is mostly monosyllabic greetings when we run into each other in the elevator. Usually when I bump into her I’m either in a rush to get to work, or comatose returning from work.” He hadn’t known she’d lost her husband, that she lived alone or that she had a daughter.
He was fairly sure his ex-wife wouldn’t have known that, either.
But Harriet knew.
“I always feel if there’s a problem the best way to handle it is conversation, and conversations are best conducted in a comfortable environment not in a drafty corridor. So I invited her in.”