“How are you holding up today, Don?”
“Oh, the obligatory question,” he says, straightening his posture like the good student I’m sure he was. “Fine. Very fine. And how are you?”
“Oh, I’m good.” I smile unconvincingly, and he raises a wiry white eyebrow.
“Don’t lie to me,” he says, a stern edge to his voice.
Once upon a time, Don was a college professor, and a strict one at that, I’ve been told. There’s no use hiding anything from the man. But we technically haven’t gotten the green light to talk to residents about Riverside’s financial woes, so I’ll have to beat around the bush.
“I’m just tired. Spent the last few nights up late, trying to figure out a predicament.”
There. It’s true, but vague enough that it shouldn’t raise any red flags. Don is skeptical, however, squinting at me like he’s trying to read my mind.
Not a chance, Don.
Eventually, he relents, leaning forward with a huff and reaching out one hand. I take his palm in mine, soft and scratchy at the same time, his papery skin marked with age spots. My heart hurts whenever I remember just how old he is. Ninety-four on his last birthday. I can’t handle much more loss in my life, but I also know he won’t be around forever.
“I’ve been alive for over ninety years, Maren. And I haven’t seen many people work as hard and as long as you do. If you work for it, it’ll happen.” With that, he pats my hand lightly and leans back into the armchair with a sigh. “Now, eat your breakfast so you can get back to it.”
My eyes prick with tears, but I blink them away. I haven’t cried in front of a resident yet, and I don’t plan on crossing that line today.
“Yes, sir,” I whisper with a wry smile.
Without another word, I finish my breakfast while Don resumes his morning nap. On the way back to my office, I flag down a CNA and ask him to check on Don in an hour. His neck cramps up if he sleeps on it wrong, after all.
Back at my office, Peggy is waiting at the door.
“I’m sorry, did I forget a meeting?” I ask, reflexively reaching for my phone to check my calendar app.
“No, no, not at all. Just wondering if we could chat for a second,” she says, sounding worried.
“Of course.”
Peggy follows me inside, closing the door behind her before slumping into the chair across from my desk with a heavy sigh. The moment we make eye contact, she bursts into tears.
I spring into action, grabbing the tissues from on top of my filing cabinet and sliding them across the desk toward her. She takes a tissue with a soft thank-you and wipes the tears from her flushed cheeks. The bulky beads on her necklace clatter with each shuddering breath.
“What’s going on?” I ask, a lump forming in my throat as I prepare for the very worst she could say.
“Oh, you know,” she says with a sniffle. “Accounts payable says we’ve got until the end of the month before we have to cut payroll. I’ll be forced to lay off so many employees,” she says, then dissolves into another puddle of tears.
It takes every ounce of stone-cold professionalism in me not to give in to the tragedy of it all and cry with her.
“Isn’t there anything we can do?” I ask, my throat tight. “There’s got to be something.”
“Well, not that I’ve found. We can look into loans, but I don’t know how we’d ever pay them off. Unless a big donor sweeps in and saves the day, Riverside as we know it is done for. It’s just gotten too expensive to operate,” Peggy chokes out.
Pulling herself together, she scoots forward in the chair, a new determination in her eyes. “Maren, you’re such a wonderful, hardworking young woman. You should look for another job sooner rather than later, before everyone else starts looking. Put me down as your reference. I’ll tell any potential employers how incredible you are. You would be a godsend to any employer.”
“Thanks, Peggy,” I say with a weak smile, wishing this conversation were over. Actually, I wish this conversation was one I never had to have. All I want to do is run out of here, hop on the Red Line, and take it straight to my uptown apartment where I can cry in peace, away from everyone.
Peggy pulls me in close and gives me a big hug before she leaves.
I squeeze her tight, knowing that whatever I’m feeling must be amplified tenfold for her. She’s been here for over a decade, so I can’t imagine what this must be doing to her.
The rest of my morning passes in a blur of appointments and reports. I’m pulled away from scanning my emails only by my phone dinging with a reminder.
Lunch with Scarlett.
Still numb, I pack up my purse and lock my office, stepping out into the midday glow of summer in Chicago. The café we picked is only a short walk away, and I’m reaching for the door just as Scarlett approaches.
“Hey!” she calls out, all sunshine and warmth in her flowy pink top and cream cardigan, her rainbow-hued crocheted purse slung over one shoulder.
All it takes is one look at my best friend, and the emotions of the day come barreling forward, releasing the tears I’ve been holding in all day.
Scarlett rushes toward me with open arms and a worried expression. “Oh my God, Mare. Are you okay?”
“Not really,” I manage to say, sniffing loudly and wiping away tears that now freely stream down my cheeks.
“Let’s grab a table, and you can tell me all about it, okay?”
Scarlett does all the talking, thank God. She orders my favorite soup-and-salad combo for me and a chicken salad sandwich for herself, before guiding me to the most secluded corner table available on the patio. By the time the food is served, I’ve tearfully confided in her about the whole depressing situation at Riverside.
“That’s heartbreaking.” Scarlett sighs, leaning over to rub my back with small, comforting circles. “I’m so sorry, Mare. What a disaster.”
“Thanks for listening.” I sniffle, dabbing at my eyes with a paper napkin. “Can we talk about anything else now? Please?” I blow the steam off of a spoonful of lemon rice soup.
“You know I’m always here for a good distraction. You won’t believe the date I had last night. The bastard showed up in a Hawaiian shirt—short sleeves, flower pattern, garish colors, the whole nine yards.”
“Nooo.” I laugh, shaking my head in gleeful commiseration.
Scarlett goes on a lot of dates, and they’re usually pretty terrible across the board. In her search for Mr. Right, she’s compiled an extensive canon of disaster stories, all told with an incredible sense of humor. While I do feel for her latest dating disaster, I’m already perking up at the hilarious situation she has once again found herself in. She was right—she always provides a great distraction.
“Like, I know it’s summer and all, but I thought we collectively burned all Hawaiian shirts back in the early 2000s? As a society? Like, no, dude! There are rules!”
I’m full-on belly-laughing now, the drama of the day nearly forgotten. I can always count on Scarlett to lift my spirits.
When we finish our lunches and say our good-byes, I hug her a little longer than usual.
The rest of the afternoon passes by in a fog. My resident meetings are uneventful, and my paperwork even more so.