My Guest in Apartment 10B

Attachment to Temporary Things

To say that she had had a busy morning was an understatement.

Her day started with a lovely surprise. A cup of steaming hot tea, toast and butter, and a spotless apartment greeted her a good morning.

Arabella was in the middle of an impassioned speech, thanking James for the service he had done while she had been asleep all night, when she read Claudine's text message.

After that brief semblance of peace, her phone had buzzed and rung non-stop.

She had phone calls and emails from people in the office whom she had never even met. There was an email that had asked everyone to come in for a general emergency meeting, but then, a second email surreptitiously cancelled that meeting.

Bob called to express his regrets—a courtesy call to make sure that she wouldn't join the angry mob of ex-employees going after the company.

Essentially, people had two weeks to pack up their things and find another job—and they expected people not to be pissed?

Her thoughts were interrupted by her landlady calling about last night's fiasco. Arabella still had quite a bit of her inheritance left, but if the landlady decided to charge her for the damage to the apartment while she was out of a job, she would be in trouble.

Arabella clicked to end the tiresome phone call with the landlady, sighing deeply as she eyed the couch for a bit of rest. As she moved closer to its plush seats, there was a loud whack at the door. It wasn't even a knock.

"Who could—" Arabella pulled the door lever and was surprised to be greeted by the old lady who always had a smile for her.

Mrs. Rothschild had become a comforting presence, almost as homey as James in these past few weeks. She had impeccable timing and seemed to show up when Arabella craved human contact the most.

"HELLO MRS. ROTHSCHILD!" Arabella noticed that she was carrying a blender with what seemed to be a vibrant green paste.

"Good morning, I hope I'm not disturbing you." Mrs. Rothschild smiled brightly and brought the blender pitcher up to Arabella's face. Mrs. Rothschild's osteoporosis had made her a small woman. "I noticed how you liked the basil from the garden, so I thought to make extra pesto for you."

"How lovely!" Arabella graciously took the pitcher in one hand and took Mrs. Rothschild's hand in the other to guide her inside. "Thank you so much, you shouldn't have."

Mrs. Rothschild tapped her ears lightly, smiling until her eyes couldn't be seen. "It's the least I could do for you, you've brought me a lot of food these past few days, and you seemed to like basil." She eased into a chair and glanced around her. "I saw the police here last night and I didn't want to bother you..."

Mrs. Rothschild spotted the Scrabble box neatly tucked into the corner shelf. "Are you still having trouble with our friend?"

Arabella was shocked that Mrs. Rothschild knew about Richard, but as she followed the lady's line of sight, she realized that Mrs. Rothschild was talking about James.

"We got along wonderfully. Thank you for the Scrabble box." She gestured vaguely towards the board game, but the blender had blocked the view.

"What?" Mrs. Rothschild smiled. "I ran out of pine nuts, so I substituted with black walnuts, hope that's alright."

Having a near-deaf guest in your kitchen was a guarantee that your morning was about to become longer.

Arabella chuckled and moved to retrieve the Scrabble box and return it to its owner. "THANK YOU. THIS HELPED ME A LOT." But they didn't need it anymore—James had now become a modern man... ghost. Modern man ghost.