I always thought he would come back

In the street behind us they were building a house. The beginning of the conversion of houses that were built in the 50s, or earlier, into the 1990s. It was the builder’s dream house. His wife, a fussy though very attractive woman from the Ukraine hated the neighbourhood. Too many Irish perhaps. We’ll call this family the Murphys.

Up the street from them was another couple. They were also in their dream home. But they were going to lose it. The husband had lost his job at a local tire company. His wife hadn’t graduated from high school. She stayed at home. We’ll call them the Podborskis.

Mr. Podborski went out for a walk one evening. Intending to go to the corner and buy a newspaper. He passed the Murphy house that was only partially completed. He went inside the Murphy house and had a smoke. Sat on the stool that had been left behind by the workers. Then hung himself.

From the rafters. It being Friday night, he was not found to the next Monday. No, it was actually Sunday evening. Mr. Murphy had dragged his wife over to the  new house to show her how much work had been done. Within a month, both houses were up for sale.