The Perfect Companion, finale

     Sam took hold of Andrew’s withered hand.  Hospital monitors beeped around them.  Tubes were stuck up the old man’s nose and into his arms, feeding him glucose and oxygen.   Other than the machines and Andrew, the room was empty. 
      No flowers.  
      No cards.
     Andrew opened one weary eye, “Sam?”
     “I’m here, Andrew.”
     “I don’t have much time.”
     “Hush, save your strength.”
     Andrew nodded slightly, “You look just like the first time . . . ”
     “I thought you’d like to see me this way again.”
     “Yes.”  Andrew swallowed painfully, “What was her name?”
     “Tabitha.”
     “I remember now.” Andrew swallowed.  “Did I tell you that saw her.  She didn’t look like you do anymore.  She seemed very unhappy.  She was always unhappy.”
     “I can look like she does now.”
     “No. No.  She got ugly.  You never get ugly.”
     Andrew was quiet for a long time, then he whispered, “I love you, Sam.”
    “I was made for you.”
    Andrew closed his eyes and passed away several hours later in his sleep while Sam watched.

    The only attendee at Andrew’s funeral was his PerfectCompanion.