PBUY Chapter 16

"……"

"—and you helped yourself to my meals whenever you wanted. But now you say, 'How dare I'? Really?"

"Let's not describe it as stealing your food, Mr. Coleman. You gave it to me. Accuracy matters."

"…Fine. If you say so."

It was true, so what on earth was that supposed to mean—'Fine, if you say so'?

Even if she always prepared enough for two, and even though she knew he would definitely eat more than half, she had never once thought of it as stealing his food.

Chester absentmindedly rubbed the scar above his brow and continued.

"If you really thought of me as an intimidating employer, you never would have said something like that. Isn't that so?"

"Well… that's true."

"Then shouldn't you be calling me by my name, too, Miss McKay? We've been living together for a month, and yet you still keep calling me 'Mr. Coleman'…"

Chester trailed off, sounding awkward.

Sure, I get what he means, but… who just casually calls their employer by their first name?

Even Chester himself keeps calling me 'Miss McKay.'

If he's going to make that kind of demand, shouldn't he call me 'Nellie' in return…?

The thought felt fair and a little defiant, but Nellie didn't voice it aloud. She had no intention of sparking a fire in Chester's already sensitive mood.

Instead, she replied quietly.

"…But Mr. Coleman, you are my employer. I'm not some rude caregiver."

"…Then what about them?"

He seemed to mean Stanley and Ronald. If she had to define it…

"Friends?"

"…Not even friends?"

"…What?"

Nellie waited in silence for him to go on. Chester spoke to her in a stiff tone.

"So I'm just the employer, and they're your friends. That's the difference, isn't it, according to you? Am I right, Miss McKay?"

"Well… yes. Something like that."

"Then what about George?"

"…Huh? George has a last name?"

Nellie had never once in her life heard of a dog having a surname.

"If we're being technical… George Coleman. …Hah."

Chester let out a heavy sigh and pressed his hand to his forehead.

"Forget it. I'm sorry, Miss McKay."

"…Pardon?"

"I'm sorry. I… acted unlike myself today. Just call me by my surname, as always."

Nellie wondered if she had missed something in this strange exchange. But no, the fault wasn't hers.

"I'll head in first."

"Yes, go ahead, Mr. Coleman."

Chester rose from his seat and went toward his bedroom.

Normally, whether he went upstairs, to the living room, or anywhere at all, he never bothered to announce it.

Yet today he made a point of saying he'd go in first. She couldn't make any sense of what that might mean.

"…Is it the weather?"

Nellie muttered to herself.

She tried to guess the cause of her employer's shifting moods, but the sky was nothing but clear and bright.

Anyway, it was mealtime, so as usual, she focused on emptying the plate in front of her.

"If you weren't going to eat it, you shouldn't have cut it up. What a waste…"

At those words, Nellie suddenly lost her appetite.

Maybe it really was the weather.

***

Chester picked up his fountain pen, then set it down again, trying to reply about whether he would attend the wedding.

His mind was in turmoil. He knew he had to send an answer, but he kept putting it off, until it could no longer be delayed.

Of course, his young caregiver probably assumed he would attend the wedding, but Chester still hadn't sent a reply.

That young caregiver had boldly declared she would have him walking again, but Chester didn't believe it.

She had even thrown down the house keys, swearing that if he couldn't walk by the wedding day, she would leave this place on her own two feet….

But none of that mattered to him. He had no intention of dismissing her, not in the slightest.

Hadn't he mentioned once that he needed her as a mealtime companion?

Apparently, she had already forgotten that. Blinded by her obsession with this so-called challenge….

Chester recalled the way Nellie had slammed the keys down on the table so decisively.

A laugh escaped him despite himself.

To Chester, that ambitious and fearless attitude seemed almost trivial and even endearing.

On what basis could she believe such things?

He knew his own condition better than anyone.

Chester Coleman could not recover. He would die like this.

And if his life ended this way, well, it would be a decent enough death.

He scoffed bitterly.

At least he wouldn't have to die flat on his back, unable to even twitch a finger.

At least he wouldn't have to lie in bed surrounded by priests, relatives, and that young caregiver, waiting for the moment his breath stopped.

If he ever lost the ability to walk entirely, he would choose death before that happened.

He refused to grow more pitiful. The last shred of pride he had left was the knowledge that he could still end things by his own hand.

He could still pull the trigger of a pistol, or hang a rope from a tree branch.

And yet, he was still alive.

Why?

Even Chester himself didn't know the answer. Some days he wanted nothing more than to vanish from the world. Other days, life was… tolerable.

And on those tolerable days, when night fell, his comrades would come to him.

Faces he could never see again, faces he had once laughed and joked with.

Raymond, Walter, Samuel, Benjamin… those were their names.

Why are you the only one who survived?

Why is it only you?

The buzzing always came in his ears, as if on cue.

With it came visions of falling shells, screams, the acrid smoke, the stench of dust.

Chester Coleman, the selfish survivor, was now twenty-seven.

The war had ended. His comrades remained twenty.

Even when he reached eighty, Raymond, Walter, Samuel, and Benjamin would still be in their twenties.

Time had trapped Chester in that moment. He made no effort to escape it.

That was how it should be.

He had no right to be happy, no right to feel joy. Everything Chester Coleman had now existed because his comrades had died.

So, as a duty to the fallen, he chose merely to cling to life.

Killing time day after day, digging through the past, waiting for death to come.

Chester stared blankly at the stationery on which he had meant to write his reply.

The page before him remained blank.

He should have written back to decline the wedding invitation.

After all, even witnessing an old friend's wedding was something Raymond, Walter, Samuel, and Benjamin would never get to do.

And yet… he kept hesitating.

Because he kept remembering the young caregiver's voice, her face.

Uninvited, she had crossed the boundary he'd drawn and kept tugging him out into the world again….

"Mr. Coleman! Time for a walk! Hurry and come out!"

Lost in thought, Chester was once again pulled out by that young caregiver.

Strip away the word "caregiver," and she was just an ordinary girl one might see anywhere. A bright-eyed, sharp-looking girl.

"You're not still in there dithering over what to wear, are you?"

From outside, Nellie's voice carried in, full of suspicion.

"I'm coming in!"

Before she even finished speaking, she strode straight into Chester's room.

"Oh my! You haven't even changed clothes yet?"

Chester pushed the stationery aside.

"No. Not yet."

"George is waiting, Mr. Coleman. Come on, let's go."

Looking at her clear, earnest face, Chester's lips tugged upward.

If she found out he still hadn't sent that reply, his young caregiver would surely throw a fit.

Chester rose from his chair and went toward the wardrobe. Naturally, Nellie moved to support him.

"I'll be out shortly."

"How much longer should I wait?"

"Well… about ten minutes?"

When Chester tilted his head, Nellie threatened him lightly.

"If it takes longer than ten minutes, I'm coming straight in and dressing you myself, understood? You can't take forever picking clothes again like last time!"

Chester only nodded.

Sure enough, when the ten minutes passed, Nellie came in and took him outside.

The sunlight warming the crown of his head felt pleasant.

That thought had barely passed when Nellie, smiling, asked him.

"The weather's just perfect today, isn't it, Mr. Coleman? Couldn't be better for a walk. Right, George?"

George glanced back once, then continued forward with elegant steps.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Coleman."

It was the middle-aged woman from next door, someone he rarely crossed paths with, just stepping outside her house.

"You've been going for walks around this time every day lately, haven't you?"

"Good afternoon, madam."

Chester greeted his neighbor politely.

"Seems you've hired a new maid. She looks rather young."