Jack Rubens was nostalgic for the past. He missed his job at the factory, his friends in the union. He missed his children and grandchildren, who had long ago moved away chasing work. He missed his late wife, who had left him five years ago and who he couldn't wait to join in the afterlife.
But something weighed strangely on his mind, ever since he had picked up that small red stone on the porch earlier that morning. Years ago, before the Gibson family had moved in next door, there had been the sweetest girl living there. Woman, he corrected himself. She had just graduated from college. Whenever his wife was away, she would come over for tea. He had been spry then and still quite good-looking, and he had known what she sought, but he was faithful. They would drink tea, he would talk about his children, she about her post-school prospects, she would flirt, and he would pretend to be obvious, then he would send her away. Nothing ever happened between them, but now, for some reason, the girl next door stuck in his mind.
He turned the stone over in his hand and found himself absently saying, "I wish there was a girl like that next door again, prettier than she ought to be and just as much cute. Smart but prone to getting in trouble. A little flirt. Alas..."
There was a flash, and the stone was suddenly gone from his hand. He stood suddenly, reaching for his cane.
What the hell? Where had the damned thing gone?
For several minutes, he looked for the stone, and then he started to wonder if he perhaps was developing the dementia that had taken his wife.
But then his doorbell rang.
