William was thin and pale, but there was a strange warmth in his eyes.
“You’re Emily, aren’t you?” he asked.
I was surprised.
“Yes. Did someone from the program tell you my name?”
He stared at me silently for a few seconds, then smiled.
“Yes. Of course.”
At the time, there was nothing suspicious about his answer.
Before long, my visits with William became the moments I looked forward to most each week. He never complained. Even on his most difficult days, he joked, asked about my work, and wondered whether I still painted.
One day, I looked at him in surprise.
“How do you know I like to paint?”
For a moment, he seemed confused.
“You must have told me.”
I couldn’t remember ever mentioning it, but I didn’t pay much attention.
I made him soup, organized his medication, and then we played chess together. William always won, but near the end of every game, he would make a strange mistake that allowed me to take the victory.
