I am alone most days, except for when it rains and he comes to visit.

In truth, I don’t know much about Mr. Higgins.

We only ever meet for coffee.

He takes his black, with a dusting of cane sugar, and after one sip, his shoulders slouch beneath his coat and he waits calmly for me to finish my chai. Sometimes he tilts his head toward the door, and I know he means for a leisurely stroll through the botanical gardens. A shared favorite spot of ours.

Today we walk together beneath his large umbrella, with the tapping of rain over black nylon above our heads. It’s quiet otherwise, peaceful in a sleepy sort of way. And I’m entirely unprepared to hear him speak.

“It’s been very cold of late.”

His voice is a weak whisper from behind the overstretched turtleneck covering his mouth.

My gaze flits to the notched lapels of his coat before falling to the concrete below. “October usually is, Mr. Higgins.”

He says nothing.

But it’s not like him to have much to say. Usually he’s the best kind of listener, some nods, and hmms, and ahhs in between my pauses. His tone, always reassuring, the kind of friend who reminds you the sun will rise again without having to tell you. I only wish I could learn more about him; where he lives, why he never visits in fair weather …why his nose is missing from his pale face.

Because it is.

The triangular hole doesn’t bother me much, neither do his huge, clouded eyeballs, never blinking from within their sockets. I know Mr. Higgins to be a genuine soul—one undeserving of superficial judgment and invasive questions.

I spot it from the corner of my eye, soft and subtle, blue and lined.

The butterfly crosses the air before us, landing on Higgins’ curled knuckles. He and I slow our steps, appreciating the delicate majesty of the paper-thin being sharing our umbrella for a suspended moment.

Its wings blink once, and then a second time.

“Will you take a photo of us, Maury?”

I’m so stunned and deeply moved that the urgency of his request almost misses me. But I pull my phone from my pocket, sliding the camera into view.

Click.

The memory is captured.

“Oh, isn’t it a delightful one!” I call out, turning the screen so he can see.

But in the same instant, I find that Mr. Higgins has vanished, along with his blue friend.

And my arm falls slowly to my side as I scan the garden in every direction, searching for my dearest friend who is nowhere to be seen.