Fourth for Cards (flash fiction)
A version of this story first appeared in Wrong Turn Lit
Fourth for Cards
“It’s Harold,” Marcy says cheerily.
“Dear, that’s not even the same kind of bird as yesterday,” Eunice objects.
“I know my Harold when I hear him, believe you me. Same bird. Nuthatch. They make different kinds of peeps. He wants me to take two,” Marcy says, extracting two cards from her hand and pushing them guardedly toward Adeline.
”An egret flew over the day we buried my Irving. I knew it was him,” Adeline offers along with two fresh cards.
Marcy, Adeline, Eunice, and Helen sit at Marcy’s card table in a U-shaped nook off the dayroom at Peaceful Gardens, Inc. Helen, the newest resident, is joining the ladies for the first time since her youngest, Johnny, moved her in three weeks ago. She sits at the least inviting side of the nook—neither facing one of the two windows that flank it, nor the dayroom, but instead aimed at a pictureless wall, the bottom of the U.
The unattractive seating area is the likely reason, Marcy thinks, that it’s been so difficult for her and the ladies to find a fourth for cards. Nonetheless, she refuses to move the game away from the south-facing window where she can watch for Harold at the bird feeder.
It’s Eunice’s turn, but she can’t remember if they’re playing hearts, spades, pinochle or poker.
“Five card draw, dear,” Marcy says understandingly.
”Yes, I know,” Eunice replies and then continues, “After Marty passed I had the mourning doves. They landed on the balcony every day. Same time we would’ve had cocktails. In the afternoon, mind you.”
“You can’t take five cards, sweetie,” Adeline says, “You wanna do four?”
Eunice nods, exchanging four cards.
Helen, quietly listening, has been watching a fat black spider on the wall above and behind Eunice. If Bob came back he’d be that one right there, she thinks, tracking the arachnid as it scurries towards a freshly caught fly squirming in silk at the juncture of wall and ceiling.
“Your turn Helen,” Marcy encourages.
Helen lays her cards on the table. Three queens. Two fours.
“Oh, isn’t that something,” Eunice remarks.
The ladies push their cards towards Adeline while Helen rakes the small pile of nickels and dimes toward the juncture of the table and her breasts.
A bird lands on the window sill and peeps loudly just then causing everyone to turn and look.
“What’s he saying, Marce?” Adeline asks.
“That’s not my Harold.”