The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (116 page)

“You must think I’m made of money,” Monica snapped. “Do you know what that little getaway set me back? Thirty grand. And it’s not like I’m raking it in these days.” True, her acting days might be over, but Anna calculated that the bill for a month at Pathways equaled about what her portfolio threw off in the same amount of time. She wouldn’t be going to the poorhouse anytime soon.

“I’ll be looking at places next week,” Anna plowed on in the same measured tone. She purposely didn’t mention that Marc had volunteered to go along; Monica might take it the wrong way. “I was hoping to have it settled by then.”

“And if I don’t agree?”

The throbbing was in both temples now. She recalled Marc’s advice:
Be prepared to make good on any consequences.
Her pulse slowed, and she remembered something else—the way Monica had reacted the one time Anna had threatened to quit. She might need her paycheck, but Monica needed her even more.

“Don’t expect me to like it,” she replied coolly.

“Meaning?”

“You might be looking to replace someone other than Edna.”

“Very funny.” Monica forced a laugh as false as the bravado with which she spoke. “You
wouldn’t.
You promised.”

“Promises can be broken.”

“Is that a threat?”

Anna shrugged.

“I could just as easily fire you,” Monica went on, her voice rising.

“Go ahead then, fire me.”

“You don’t mean that.”

All at once Anna was seeing it in her mind—the accumulation of indignities, the years of kowtowing—like a vast mudslide sloughing away, leaving her mind clear.
Anything would be better,
she thought. Selling pencils on the street—or her body, if it came to that. She said firmly, “I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

Monica glared at her. A shift had taken place. Anna detected a touch of awe in her sister’s narrowed eyes. “Fine,” she spat. “I’ll expect your letter of resignation first thing tomorrow morning.”

It sounded so much like a line from a movie that Anna giggled. “Let me guess—
Sweet Smell of Success
?” She nudged Monica. “Come on, lighten up. I’m your
sister
.”

“Which you seem to have conveniently forgotten.” Monica’s lower lip was trembling.

“What do you expect? You’re not leaving me any choice.”

“You wouldn’t dare treat me this way if—” She broke off, perhaps not wanting to overplay her hand. Instead, she said pitifully, “It’s easy to take advantage of someone in a weakened state.”

“You should do a telethon,” Anna said with a snort. “Jerry Lewis could host it.”

Monica looked stunned. Anna was a little shocked herself. Had she really said that? Anyone listening in would have thought her heartless. But dammit, she was tired of tiptoeing around. And handicapped or not, Monica wasn’t exactly Camille.

“You’d really do that—leave me to fend for myself?” Monica’s voice grew choked. “Why don’t you just pull over now and dump me by the side of the road?”

Keep talking, and maybe I will.
“I have a better idea,” Anna said. “There’s a burger place up ahead. Why don’t we stop and talk this over like two civilized adults?”

Monica didn’t say anything at first. She sat staring out the window, a forlorn look on her face. Or was she calculating her next move? At last she turned to Anna with a sigh of surrender. “As long as we sit outside where I can smoke.”

Anna stifled a smile. “Fair enough.”

T
HE SECOND TO THE
last nursing home on the list was just down the road from Dos Palmas, with a view of its fairway. A pink Spanish-style stucco shaded by live oaks and surrounded by sweeping green baize lawns, it seemed almost too good to be true after the places they’d visited so far. Inside, it was even more impressive, everything sparkling clean and up to date, its rec rooms and visitors’ lounge furnished in comfortable chairs and sofas, and hung with Impressionist prints. And best of all, it fell within the price range Monica had agreed to.

Anna waited until they were walking back to Marc’s car before asking excitedly, “So what did you think?” Marc shrugged. “A little light on staff for its size.” Her heart sank. “Maybe they’re all out with the flu.” He looked unconvinced. “Did you notice anything unusual about the patients?”

“Yes. They seemed happy.” Dazzled by visions of her mother eating in the chandelier-hung dining hall, or enjoying afternoon concerts like the one being given in the rec room right now—First Presbyterian’s organist, Carrie Bramley, on piano—she hadn’t looked too hard for negatives.

“More like doped up.” They reached the end of the palm-lined driveway, where his silver Audi was parked. “Oldest trick in the book—keep them sedated so they’re easier to handle.”

“Are you sure?” Come to think of it, they had seemed a little
too
happy.

“Not based on what I’ve seen, but when something looks too good to be true, it usually is.” They got in and he started the engine, backing out of the drive. “We still have one more to look at though, so don’t lose hope.” He flashed her a smile, which went through her like a hot drink on a cold day. It was all she could do to concentrate on the task at hand.

She watched as he navigated the twisting turns of Fox Canyon Road. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking—whether he was sorry he’d volunteered for this or enjoying the afternoon away from work. “I couldn’t have done this without you,” she said. “Honestly, I can’t thank you enough.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He seemed uncomfortable being thanked. Gazing out at the sun-splashed hills dotted with oaks, he said, “I had no idea Carson Springs was so beautiful. It’s like Shangri-la. Let me guess, you’re really as old as Methuselah and if you were ever to leave—”

“I’d wither up and die,” she finished with a laugh, feeling vaguely discomfited at the thought of being so deeply rooted.

“In that case, I promise not to take you past the city limits.”

“There’s a downside to staying in one place too long. You can rot.” Avery Lewellyn was rattling toward them in his pickup, its bed piled with old furniture on the way to his antiques barn, no doubt from some estate sale. The sight depressed her for some reason—those few dusty pieces of furniture that were all there was to show for a lifetime in Carson Springs.

Marc glanced at her out of the comer of his eye. “I don’t see any evidence of that.”

Anna felt her cheeks warm. Was he flirting? No, it was the kind of remark Hector would have made. She had to stop reading things into every word and gesture or she
would
end up like Miss Finley, who every year on the anniversary of her beloved’s death asked Father Reardon to say a special mass, seemingly unaware of the patronizing smiles and snickers it evoked.

Ten minutes later they were pulling up in front of a rambling Victorian on a small side street several blocks east of Old Mission. Over the latticed porch festooned with morning glories hung a discreet sign:
THE SUNSHINE HOME
. The name had struck her as implausibly cheerful, which was why, despite the woman she’d spoken to over the phone sounding pleasant, she’d saved it for last.

“There must be bodies buried in the basement, like in
Arsenic and Old Lace
” she muttered under her breath as they made their way up the front walk shaded by huge old catalpas, their pods rattling like sabers in the breeze.

“I take it you’re a fan of old movies.” Marc walked with a spring in his step. Amazingly enough, he seemed almost lighthearted.

“Is there any other kind?” She hadn’t been to a current release in too many months to count. Usually, by the time she’d lined up someone to watch her mother, it was more trouble than it was worth. She smiled ruefully. “Needless to say, I don’t get out much.”

“I have a feeling that’s about to change.” He took her arm as they stepped up onto the porch, and Anna tingled all over. But she knew the freedom she’d soon enjoy would come with a large heaping of guilt.

Marc rang the buzzer and after what seemed an eternity, a woman appeared at the door. Anna wondered if she was one of the residents; with her snow-white hair and forcibly erect carriage, she looked to be the right age, but that notion was dispelled when she put out a hand, saying warmly,

“You must be Anna. I’m Felicia Campbell. Sorry to have kept you waiting. I was in the kitchen washing up.” She had an open face, its crisscrossed lines forming a kind of basket in which her warm brown eyes and smiling mouth were nestled.

“I’m Marc. Nice to meet you.” He extended his hand.

“How lovely that your husband could join you,” Felicia remarked, her smile widening.

Blood rushed to Anna’s face. “Oh, he’s not …”

Marc rescued her, saying casually, “I’m just a friend.”

They were ushered into a hallway lit with antique sconces and dominated by a grandfather clock that chimed the hour just then. Felicia slid open a pocket door, and they stepped into a cozy sunlit parlor furnished in vintage sofas and chairs. Half a dozen elderly men and women were scattered about, sipping tea and nibbling on sandwiches and cookies from the tiered stand on the coffee table. “We serve high tea every afternoon at three,” she explained. “It’s our little ritual.”

“We all look forward to it,” chimed a plump, henna-haired woman with her teacup held daintily aloft.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” grumbled a portly, bald-headed man as he brushed at the crumbs sprinkled over the front of his shirt. “But it sure as hell beats pinochle.”

“Don’t mind Henry,” said one of the other ladies, a little bit of a thing with wispy white hair that floated about her head like a dandelion gone to seed. “He doesn’t like it that the boys are outnumbered three to one. If it was the other way around, believe me we’d all be smoking cigars and playing billiards.”

The women tittered, and the two men exchanged looks of weary resignation.

Anna and Marc were shown into Felicia’s tidy office off the stairs, which was dominated by a rolltop desk. “You’re in luck,” she said. “One of our residents recently passed on, so we have an opening.”

“What are your requirements?” Anna didn’t want to get her hopes up. From what she’d seen, she doubted the Sunshine Home was equipped to handle someone as far gone as her mother.

“We’re only licensed for eight beds, so it’s a little less structured than some of the other places you may have looked at.” It was what she’d told Anna over the phone. “The only requirements are that our residents be ambulatory and able to feed and go to the bathroom by themselves.”

“That’s it?” Betty certainly qualified on those counts.

Felicia smiled, handing her a single typewritten sheet rather than a glossy brochure like she’d been given at the last place. “We like to think of ourselves as a home away from home. I know that sounds trite and that nothing can replace one’s own home, but we do our best. We’ve found a family atmosphere helps enormously in keeping the mind active. Most of our residents don’t require a lot of looking after.”

Anna’s heart sank. “My mother isn’t … well, she has a tendency to wander off.” No use gilding the lily; it would catch up to her in the end. “I’m afraid she might be too much for you.”

“Because she is for you?” Anna drew back, startled, but Felicia’s voice was kind. “It’s only natural for you to feel overwhelmed. Who wouldn’t in your shoes? The difference is, we’ve
chosen
this, my husband and I. And besides Oren and me, there’s Genevieve and Sheila—Sheila does all the cooking—and our three part-time staffers. Our guests are free to help out around the house, too, which many of them do.”

“It sounds ideal,” Anna said, casting an anxious glance at Marc. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Was this another case of too good to be true?

After a brief rundown on finances, Felicia rose to her feet, bringing her hands together in a soundless little clap. “Now, shall we have a look upstairs?”

They climbed the stairs to the second floor, passing an elderly woman with a cane balanced on her lap who was being lowered on the chair lift. The moment Anna walked into the room that would be Betty’s, if all went well, she knew it was the answer to her prayers. It looked out over the yard in back, and sunlight poured in through tall double-hung windows hung with ruffled sheers. There was a four-poster bed covered in a pretty flowered spread, and matching wardrobe and vanity. The only thing missing were pictures on the walls; residents were encouraged to bring their own, Felicia had explained.

“It’s perfect.” Anna swallowed against the lump in her throat, scarcely aware that Marc had slipped an arm about her shoulders.
Don’t get your hopes up,
cautioned the voice in her head. Betty would have to be evaluated and given a complete physical. Monica would have to cut a check as well. Though she’d given her word, Anna knew how worthless it generally was. She would probably try to stall by claiming her money was tied up or coming up with a long list of bullshit conditions.

Felicia looked about in satisfaction. “I’m glad you think so,” she said. “We know that this isn’t an easy decision. Seeing your loved one comfortable and well cared for makes it a little less difficult.”

Anna didn’t think anything was going to alleviate her guilt. Hadn’t she spent countless sleepless nights agonizing over her decision? It wasn’t just guilt, she’d miss her mother in some ways—especially those moments Betty came to life like the parlor lamp in their living room when the sunlight hit it just so, turning its crystals into dancing prisms.

They were heading back downstairs when a tabby cat came bounding from the shadows to rub up against Felicia’s leg. She scooped it up, scolding affectionately, “There you are, you naughty boy. Where have you been hiding?” She held him out for Anna to pet. “Meet Sunshine, our resident mascot. My husband told me I was silly for naming this place after a cat, but it seemed fitting. The residents all love him and Sunshine is an equal opportunity host—he never spends more than one night in the same room.” A look of mild consternation crossed her face. “Your mother’s not allergic to cats, I hope.”

“No, she’ll love him.” Anna smiled, thinking of Boots.

It wasn’t until they were back in Marc’s car that she let out her breath. “If there’s something the matter with that one, too, I don’t want to hear it. Let me go on wearing my rose-colored glasses a little while longer.” He gave her a mysterious smile, but remained silent as he started the engine and pulled away from the curb. It wasn’t until they’d gone several blocks that she surrendered with a sigh. “Okay, you win. What’s wrong with it?”