Aging with Gracie (15 page)

“But...”

“But?” he interrupted and raised his graying brow in an act so similar to one of Jack’s that Grace couldn’t help but smile.

“How about if I make sure that Jack puts a lock on your door?” Grace shook her head and let out a resigned breath.

“That would be appreciated, my dear.”

At this, Grace blushed like a middle-schooler and rushed out of the room. As she walked down the hall toward her office, she could hear his chuckles over the sounds of Braves’ baseball.

Chapter Seven

The Three “Sisters”

The woman was following her again. Grace could feel her presence just as surely as if she was standing behind her, breathing down her neck. Faking a stretch, she glanced around the room. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of a bright blue flash and a familiar reflection in the new mirror she had just installed in the foyer.

For a moment, Grace forgot that she was being stalked. After all, Grace had recognized the tiny woman in the mirror. Instead, she took a moment to look at the fruition of everyone’s labor. With the sun shining through the clean front windows, the room positively glowed.

It had taken a lot of work on everyone’s part, but they had transformed the foyer into a gem with rich oak hardwood flooring and a vibrant deep green paint. The wainscoting was bright white, and it was topped by an oak handrail that continued throughout the entire building. Jack had been planning on the generic metal handrails found in many other facilities, but Grace had insisted on the oak handrails. Seeing the result, she was glad that she had argued with Jack that something functional could also be beautiful.

As much as she adored the rest of the room, her favorite part of the renovation had to be the paintings. She had initially planned to use a series of oil reproductions from the Dutch masters; however, as she got to know many of the residents, she found that their interests were firmly rooted in their heritage...in the mountains where they had lived and raised their families.

As luck would have it, Grace had found the perfect images one afternoon in a gallery on Main Street. She hadn’t even realized that there were galleries north of Gainesville, and she’d been shocked by the raw talent of the artist. The artist was a local woman, Lily Bridgewater, and after seeing her work, Grace had contacted her and had commissioned a mural for the dining room. The woman would be starting the following week.

Grace smiled as she looked at the paintings. They had a way of transporting you outdoors, straight into grassy pastures dotted with forgotten daffodils. To the gurgling waters of the Ocoee River. To ramshackle farmhouses with sagging front porches.

One puffy violet hydrangea looked so life-like that Grace reached up her hand to make sure that it wasn’t real. She had barely grazed the painting when she felt the sting of a slap on the back of her hand. Horrified, she turned to find her nemesis standing at her side with a reproachful grin on her face.

“No touching, Precious.” The woman took her hand and rubbed her soft fingertips over Grace’s reddening knuckles. “Mama’s paints are still wet.”

Grace stared at Emma Matheson and wondered about the reasons behind her actions. In the past months, Grace had learned much about dementia...how men and women somehow regress to the point of infants, their minds, and eventually their bodies, playing havoc with their memories. The disease attacked them until they were left with barely nothing but a shell. For some reason, though, Grace’s action had sparked a memory for the older woman.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” Grace allowed Emma to hold her hand. “The paintings were just so pretty that I wanted to touch them.”

“It’s the light,” she explained. “You have to get it just right.”

“Were you a painter, Emma?”

“A little rose tea would work wonders for your complexion.” Emma ignored the question as if Grace had never even asked it.

“Pardon me?” Grace raised her hand to touch her face and wondered if she’d had a sudden attack of pre-pubescent acne. She hadn’t noticed any blemishes when she’d applied her moisturizer earlier that morning, but that didn’t mean anything. No product was foolproof.

“Steamed vegetables go well with chicken,” Emma commented out of the blue. “And I simply adore strawberry pie.”

“Now that’s something we can agree on,” Grace laughed.

Emma rewarded her with one of her rare smiles. “Why don’t we have a look at this week’s menu?” Grace offered Emma her arm, and the older woman linked her hand through it.

“We need to check on Molly,” Emma said as they headed out of the foyer and into the large living room.

“Okay, we’ll check.”

Grace guided Emma toward the other side of the room.

Two of the male residents, the ones Grace called the “Polyester Patrol”, were sitting at a game table playing checkers, and Lola was banging out a jazzy ditty on the recently-tuned grand piano.

“Blow me a kiss for luck, now,
my
darlin’,” the older one, a man named Harry, called out.

Grace puckered up and made an exaggerated smack which earned her a chuckle from the man’s cohort in crime.

“That’s my girl,” Harry sighed as he held his hand over his chest. “Makes my heart fibrillate every time.”

“I think they make some medicine for conditions like that,” she told him with a saucy grin. “Do I need to call your doctor?”

“You’re the only medicine I need, Beautiful Grace,” he answered and executed a series of jumps across the red and black squares without barely breaking eye contact. “You see! Lady Luck has struck again! You don’t have a chance, Arthur. King me!”

Grace laughed as she moved on into the room. She greeted a group of women sitting around a low coffee table. A newspaper, more than likely open to the obituaries, balanced precariously on the edge of the table, and a Royal Doulton tea service Grace had found boxed up in a storage closet sat in the center of the group.

“Good morning, ladies.”

“Good morning, dear,” Marianne, one of Grace’s favorite residents, responded.

When Grace had first learned some of the names of the residents at Mansfield Park, she had felt as if the ghost of Jane Austen had come back to haunt her...another fact for which she had blamed her mother and her insane interest in the author. Emma, Elinor, Marianne. The list of names had gone on and on. Surprisingly, though, Grace had come to know and love the people behind the names as much as her mother loved the books and their characters.

“Having your morning tea?” Grace nodded toward the set.

“Green for us both,” Elinor told her. “Would you like a cup?” Elinor turned to Emma and asked. Emma appeared unaffected by the question and rocked back and forth, wringing her hands nervously.

“Have you seen Molly?” she finally asked. “Have you seen my baby?”

“She’s in her cradle, dear,” Marianne smiled and pointed to a cradle nestled in a quiet corner of the room.

“Oh, there she is.” Emma headed over to the cradle and picked up a doll.

It was one of several placed throughout the building. A group of children from a local church had wanted to use Mansfield Park for a mission project, so Grace had explained several of the center’s needs to the teacher. A few days later, the teacher and several of her preschool students had arrived with the dolls and passed them out to some of the residents. Grace had been skeptical about how the residents would take to the dolls, but her Activities Director had explained that dolls were used for therapy with many Alzheimer’s patients. Now, seeing Emma so taken with one of the “babies”, she was grateful that the children had been given a heart to help.

“And where is your handsome husband?” Grace turned back to Marianne. “I’m still bound and determined to steal him away from you.”

Marianne laughed at Grace’s teasing tone.

“Theodore is resting this morning. He had a restless night,” she explained, and for the first time since Grace had met the woman, she noticed dark circles under her eyes.

“Marianne, are you feeling okay?”

“Oh, yes, dear,” she nodded her head and took a sip of tea. “I’m quite used to his wanderings by now.”

“If only the rest of us were,” her sister grumbled. “He walked into my room while I was getting dressed the other day.”

“We’re in the process of putting locks on some of the rooms,” Grace assured her. “Jack’s crew has been a little busy, though, finishing up some of the other projects.”

“Projects…that reminds me,” the other sister began rummaging through a bag at her feet. She pulled out a Post-it pad, scribbled a note down with a black marker, then stood and ceremoniously pinned the note to Grace’s blouse with a clothespin. “Mari and I have been discussing a few things we need in this place.”

“Elinor,” Grace unpinned the note from her blouse. “We still have the suggestion box in the foyer. But also, you know that you can stick one of these notes to my door anytime, right? They have adhesive on the back. You don’t have to pin them on me.”

The woman had been doing that exact thing since a few weeks after Grace’s arrival. Each day, Grace would find a note pinned somewhere she happened to be…although, more often than not, Elinor would simply pin a note to her clothing. Marianne had confided that their mother had done the same thing with scrap paper to remind them of things when they were girls.

“Just making sure that I catch your notice,” Elinor sighed and fluttered her hand in the air. “You young girls are so scattered these days, you know.”

“Grace dear, you just keep up the good work. Whenever that handsome Jack Ellis gets to our room will be perfectly fine, dear.” Marianne patted her sister’s hand and smiled. “We’ll just keep a closer eye on my Theodore until then. “Ellie
,
you know that Theodore can’t help some of the things he does. He’s a good man, and he’s been good to me over the years. Good to you, too. You just remember that, Sister.” Marianne gave her sibling a pointed look.

“I know,” Elinor sighed. “It’s just so hard to see him like this. He’s always been the strong one.”

“We’re all strong, Ellie. We’re just having to realize it sooner than we expected.” She stood up. “Now, let’s head over to the gym and get rid of these mullygrubs. Would you like to join us, Grace?”

The question took Grace by surprise. The gym? She wondered what she would have in common with them. She had no idea what old people did in the gym. She had seen the women in kickboxing class, but working out was another story. What types of exercise would they do? Bench presses? Squats? She knew that some of the residents had undergone knee and hip replacements, so lunges would probably be out of the question.

Hmm
, she thought.
How hard could it be
?

“Uh, what are you planning to do?” she asked before she made a final decision. She wasn’t much of a fitness fanatic, but she might actually be able to keep up with a couple of septuagenarians.

“You know, a few sets on the weights. A couple of miles on the treadmill.” Marianne shrugged. “We’ll probably have a light workout today.”

“I’m not sure that my arm and ankle are up to it,” Grace wavered. Although her joints felt fine today, there was no way she was going to show up a couple of old ladies in the gym. The sisters were already down in the dumps. She didn’t want to completely ruin their day.

“Oh, yes. That’s right,” Marianne smiled. “You’re still recovering from that fall you took.”

“Maybe another day?” Grace offered.

“As soon as you’re up to it,” she agreed. Then, with a friendly wave, she headed off down the hall after her sister.

Seeing that her “shadow” was otherwise occupied with the doll, Grace headed out of the room and made her way toward the kitchen. Earlier, she had been completely serious when she’d mentioned reviewing the menu to Emma. When she’d arrived, the food in the place had been barely fit for consumption, and Grace had worked diligently with a nutritionist to get a series of menus in order. Her residents deserved far better than what they had been served under Mr. Watson, especially for the rates they were paying, and she was determined to set things right. Spicing up the cuisine was just part of the process.

Chapter Eight

Mr. Clifford’s Memo

Grace walked into the kitchen to find half of Jack’s body lost underneath the huge industrial sink. At least she hoped it was Jack’s body. Her senses couldn’t take someone else as manly and scrumptious as Jack Ellis. They were already on overload.

“Ouch!” Jack’s deep voice echoed as something metal dropped to the floor.

“Jack?”

“At your service, Princess.”

Grace sighed with reassurance as Jack’s voice floated into the room.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the kitchen assistant hovering at the edge of the room, a soggy mop in her hand.

Grace finally took in the entire scene before her. She’d been so preoccupied with the sight of Jack that she hadn’t noticed the inch of water pooled in a huge area between the sink and the refrigerator. She looked at the assistant who began to shuffle from foot to foot.