After suffering some serious consternation about the money and the necessity and everything else that goes along with admitting you can’t—shouldn’t—do it on your own anymore, I decided I needed this exact sort of hug at the end of my life. Especially considering that Simmons was my only alternative.
When I finally arrived, I promised myself I’d behave. I wouldn’t give this place up. Not for anything. Not for anybody.
And I couldn’t let myself forget that. Sure, our little scheme gave me a fun skydiving buzz, but I reserved the right to pull my chute at any time, and I wouldn’t forget where I had to land in the end. And it was here.
There was no other place but here.
* * *
* * *
Carl had settled in, pert as a cricket, covering everything for Josie, from the week’s schedule to the weather, like we were going on a goddamn cruise. The way he ran his mouth made me worried to leave him unattended, so I stayed put to supervise—even as the music from Sit and Be Fit trickled out of the atrium and into the dining hall, reminding me that I was missing the opportunity to exercise next to my favorite resident, Alice Roda. She was my Jane Fonda replacement, but even better, since I didn’t have to watch her through the boob tube.
“Hopefully, it doesn’t rain this week like the forecast says,” Carl told Josie, like we didn’t spend every waking second inside.
“When have we ever given two shits?” I said.
Carl didn’t even pause to tell me to mind my manners. He pointed to the sunshine outside the window. “I want it to be nice like this while you’re in town.”
Anderson, perched on the nearest table, regarded Josie, who had the ice pack squashed to her face. “Where you from?”
I held my breath.
“Minneapolis,” she said.
“Minnesota, huh?” Anderson studied her. “How’d you skip out on the accent?”
A shrug. “Just . . . did.”
“You a Gopher?”
“A what?”
“She’s not,” I declared in an exhale, because that girl had probably never been north of the Mason-Dixon Line, let alone gone to college. Building a cover required fibbing, but there was no need to lose our heads about it.
Anderson shot me a glance. “You’re not planning on giving her one of your higher-education talks, are you?”
“I save those special for you.”
“Right.” He eyed the foyer, where the entrance’s automatic doors were stuck open. Big Charles had parked his scooter there and fallen asleep. This elicited a half smile from Anderson. “I better move Chucky over and start lunch prep.” The other side of his smile appeared when he looked down at Josie. “Am I setting an extra place?”
“Absolutely,” Carl said.
“Great. I’ll make sure to stick it on Duffy’s tab,” he said with a wink in his voice, “as a thank-you to Josie for saving his life.”
I waved him off, annoyed at him for bringing that up, but he was right happy with himself as he disappeared behind the swinging door to the kitchen. Carl immediately started back up with his nonsense—something about game night—while I sank farther down in my seat and tried not to listen.
The tempo from the muffled music changed shapes, smoothing out, so it had to be time for weights. I craned my neck to see who’d taken my workout spot, and there Alice sat, framed by one of the beveled glass panes in the atrium’s door. She was curling two-pounders, bringing them to her snowy white pinned-up hair, then back down to the lace collar of her blouse. She turned right then and spotted me spotting her. And, like always, I suddenly felt like being a gentleman. I straightened up, cleared my throat. Alice did this to me. Maybe because she smelled like rosewater perfume, or because she had the most delicate little nose, or maybe it was her eyes, which were the color of barrel-aged whiskey. Whatever it was, there was something to it.
I raised my hand in greeting, and she lifted her little dumbbell shoulder high to return the favor. Even after she fixed her attention away from me, I kept watching her, and it left me stirring in my seat. A week from now, if things went south, I could be packing my bags with only one place to go: Simmons. And this moment—me admiring Alice Roda—it didn’t exist there. Carl and I, we didn’t exist either. Nothing really did.
The more I thought about it, the more my excitement for our adventure turned into revulsion. I could hardly sit still. It didn’t help that Carl’s voice droned in my ear, talking about ice cream and art projects and sing-alongs. I couldn’t take any more.
“Enough already,” I exclaimed.
Carl stopped midsentence. “Excuse me?”
“Enough of this bullshit.”
Josie smirked. “What? You’re not a fan of canasta on Tuesdays?”
I waved my hand erratically in her direction. “You need to call your mama.”
Josie’s smile wilted.
“I’m sure she’ll be glad to hear from you, and then we can all sit down and talk about a better way to do this little reunion tour.”
Carl’s voice went suddenly shaky and tentative. “I’m sorry, Duffy, but this isn’t the time.”
“When is, pray tell?” I spoke the words like a dare, cupping his shoulder like a big bully. It felt stiff and bony in my palm, but I didn’t let go. “Maybe you’d like to talk to her too, seeing how you lost her number. How long has it—”
“Stop it,” Carl said, shaking off my hand.
We looked at each other, both breathing unreasonably hard.
“Don’t you have something to do besides sit here with us?” Josie asked me.
“No,” I said simply.
“Go find something, then,” Carl said, with feeling.
He’d never declined my company before, and even though I didn’t necessarily blame him right then, it still stung. The hurt actually slowed me down, made me grab a breath. When I spoke again, I tried to make my appeal as a friend, because that’s what we were: friends. First and always. “Don’t you want to talk to your daughter though?” I said.
The parts of Carl’s face that were tied up in anger let out a bit, giving way to something that looked closer to an ache. In time, that turned into a meek nod.
“See now?” I said. “That’d make everybody happy. Josie, why don’t you give your mama a call to come pick you up.”
Her brow knitted. “I . . . I can’t.”
“Oh, sure you can. You got one of those phones, don’t you?”