Inside, rows of water jugs still lined the walls.
Mr. Whitaker sat in a chair by the window, eyes closed.
For a terrifying moment I feared the worst.
Then he slowly opened them.
“Daniel,” he murmured.
“You scared me,” I said.
He chuckled weakly.
“Didn’t mean to.”
“You’re not okay.”
He sighed.
“No… I suppose not.”
The Doctor
An hour later we were at the same clinic he had supplied water to for years.
Dr. Hernandez examined him quietly.
After several tests she sat beside us.
“Harold,” she said gently, “your heart isn’t as strong as it used to be.”
He nodded.
“That happens at seventy-five.”
She hesitated.
“It’s more serious than that.”
The room fell silent.
“You’ve been pushing yourself too hard. You need real rest.”
He looked at me.
“And the water deliveries?”
“Someone else will need to handle them for a while.”
The News
By evening the kids knew.
Tyler sat on the porch steps, crushed.
