What the Sphinx Whispered

Arthur sat on his porch with a whiskey sour, watching his neighbor's kid practice pitching in the driveway. The baseball arced against the twilight—thwack against the backboard, thwack, thwack—a rhythm that took him back to forty years ago, to Eleanor's smile in the stands, to the way she'd squeeze his hand during the seventh-inning stretch, like she was afraid he'd disappear.

They'd found him last month. Or rather, hospice did. Eleanor, who'd left him for a cardiologist with better hair and steady hands, dying alone in a condo overlooking the ocean. The irony wasn't lost on him.

A cat jumped onto the railing, a scarred tabby with half an ear. It regarded him with ancient, knowing eyes—like a sphinx guarding riddles Arthur had spent three decades failing to solve. Why did she leave? Why did he never fight for her? Why did some people get to love and be loved, while others just existed?

He'd bought her a sphinx figurine once, from a gift shop in Cairo during a layover. She'd laughed and said it looked like him. Always so enigmatic, Artie. Always holding something back.

The cat meowed, demanding. Arthur set down his drink and opened a can of tuna he'd brought out for just this purpose. The animal ate delicately, primly, unlike him in everything—eating, drinking, living. He'd become careless in his solitude.

"You know what the worst part is?" he asked the cat. "I don't even know if I miss her, or just the idea of her. Maybe I'm the riddle."

The baseball landed in his yard with a soft rustle. Arthur picked it up, feeling the seams, the weight of it. He'd played college ball once. Had something like a future. Then he met Eleanor, and everything became about her—the job he took, the house they bought, the life they built.

He tossed the ball back. "Hey!" The kid waved. Arthur raised his hand in acknowledgment.

The cat finished eating and began washing its face, methodical and serene. Arthur sighed, finished his drink, and thought about calling someone. His daughter, maybe. Or maybe he'd just sit here awhile longer, letting the sphinx-eyed cat judge him, pretending he hadn't wasted forty years waiting for answers that weren't coming.