She’s been gone for forty-odd years now.” My throat feels thick as I watch him speak about the wife I never knew he had. “Blood clot got her. She passed peacefully. Though I’ll never get over taking her to the hospital and being told it was a migraine. Got sent home that night. She died in her sleep. So anyway, enjoy your life while you’ve got it. That’s what I say. Tomorrow is never promised.” He says it like it’s not one of the saddest stories I’ve heard. Like it wasn’t wholly unnecessary. And suddenly, little bits of Clyde’s personality slip into place for me. His mistrust of the medical
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