“Ghost again?” Winsome wheels the TV stand a few inches away from the bed and hands her a cup of ginger ale.

The old woman leans on her elbow, holding the cup in her good hand. She smiles, but only one side of her mouth moves. Winsome watches her eyes for the slight lifting of the lids to find the smile. The thick fringe of Mrs. McAllister’s eyelashes are so naturally dark, she looks as if she’s always wearing mascara. Winsome believes she must have been beautiful once.

“Look what we have here.” Winsome lays four of the potato chip bags on the TV table. “Which one first?”

“Barbecue,” Mrs. McAllister slurs. Winsome splits a bag along its seams and spreads it out in front of the old woman. Leaning upon one flaccid arm, Mrs. McAllister grabs at the chips, eating them greedily, licking crumbs from her orange-stained thumb and index finger.

She smiles, but only one side of her mouth moves. Winsome watches her eyes for the slight lifting of the lids to find the smile.

Winsome returns to the living room. Ernest sinks into an armchair and she reaches for his zipper.

They make as little noise as possible, move as little as necessary. The apartment is silent, save for Mrs. McAllister’s TV. Straddling Ernest, Winsome hears “Unchained Melody” and knows that Whoopi Goldberg and Demi Moore are embracing.

Minutes later, Mrs. McAllister’s dead foot shuffles down the hallway, the good foot beside it noiselessly gliding across tile.

“Ma’am? Do you want something?” Winsome calls out as — slowly — Mrs. McAllister’s dead foot keeps coming and Ernest’s heart quicken against her breasts.

“Let me up,” he pants.

“You need me?” Winsome’s question is for the old woman, but her eyes are on Ernest. If anything, the dead foot’s slow approach sharpens the bite of her desire.

“Yes,” both Ernest and the old woman answer. Mrs. McAllister slurs, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

Ernest tries to lift her away, but Winsome clenches her thighs against him, no intention of stopping. “Wait, I’m coming.”

Refusing to free him, she takes hold of his shoulders, locking firm. Forcing his release, she herself unfurls, yielding to the rush the old woman will never again know.