Chapter 1
“Good morning, Bernie.” Vivian Tillett, the director of the Sugar Creek Gap Nursing Home, or as others would refer to it, senior living, stood at the front desk. Her unruly dark hair, in much need of a highlight, dangled around her face. She shoved it off her forehead. “You okay? You’re running late.”
Okay. Vivian wasn’t being nosy. Well . . . not exactly. Sugar Creek Gap, Kentucky, was just a blip on the grand map of the United States, and around these parts, we all knew each other’s schedules, phone numbers, and all the way down to when we went to the doctor. Not because we aired out all our laundry, as we said it in the South, but because we had a knack for just seeing things and making conversation about it.
Some might call it idle gossip, but we like to think of it as caring for our community and those living in it.
So when Vivian asked me if I was okay, it was only for the fact I’d been running about one hour late on my mail carrier route. And people were nuts about their mail. The customers on my route knew my schedule better than I did.
It wasn’t uncommon for someone to see me and say, “Well, it must be time for lunch. Here comes Bernie.”
The residents of the senior living facility were no different, even though they picked their mail up in the small tin communal boxes in a mail room. They were similar to the PO boxes we had at the post office.
“I’m good.” I gave Vivian a little nod and shoved back my shoulder-length auburn hair. I should’ve put it up but decided to leave it down to help shield me from the chill in the fall air. “I was at Grady and Julia’s last night spending time with Clara.”
I couldn’t stop gushing about my six-month-old grandbaby. The first grandbaby to my only baby, Grady. Who wasn’t so much a baby anymore.
“Can you get over how much they change? And so fast?” Vivian put her hand up to her chest and let out a little gasp.
“I know. Every chance I get, I go over to the farmhouse and visit or jump at the chance to babysit.” I let out a long sigh and couldn’t stop myself from wondering what she was doing this morning. “She’s so smart. She’s doing a lot more babbling, and now she’s pointing.”
“You know that Grady of yours is smart.” Vivian tapped her temple. “I bet she takes after her daddy.”
“I bet you’re right,” I agreed. “But Julia is very smart too.”
Oh gosh. There I went. I even had a big long talk with myself about this when Julia and Grady first told me they were pregnant. I said to myself, “Bernie, don’t be going and sounding like all those other grandmothers that made you roll your eyes. You know, when they told you how cute their grandbaby was and how smart.”
I even told myself not to open my mouth and just spatter off all that nonsense. But here I was loosening my tongue and letting Vivian know that I’d completely lost my marbles over this baby.
“I’m sure she is, but you have so much influence on Clara.” She shook a finger at me just as her phone rang. “You’re a smart cookie.” She picked up the receiver. “Good morning, Sugar Creek Gap Senior Living. This is Vivian Tillett.”
I could have waited around to tell her more of the cute things Clara was doing, like taking her sock off every time it was put on, which drove Julia crazy but was still adorable. Plus, I could have talked about how she giggled so loudly when I blew raspberries on her little neck. Instead, I patted the mailbag strapped across my chest and headed on down the hallway that led me through one of the many cafés in the nursing home.
If I had to live here when I was older and needed assistance, it wouldn’t be a bad gig. They had two big white-tablecloth dining rooms, two cafés that were open all day, a library, hair salon, swimming pool, game room, fitness room, and a movie theater.
Today’s feature was That Touch of Mink staring Doris Day and Rock Hudson. A good one, but I didn’t have time to pop my head in and watch a few scenes because I had a package for the manager of the hair salon, and in my experience, when women didn’t get their beauty products on time—meaning they watched the tracking number very closely and if it was a day late—boy, did I hear about it.
This was probably why I had so many friends along my route. I made them all feel special, and I knew something about each one. People would never believe all the subtle secrets your mail tells about you.
The nail salon was located just past one of the cafés and a sitting area, behind a little frosted-glass door that had Hair Salon posted on a little sign outside the door.
“Knock, knock,” I said and opened the door. “Why my goodness.” I jerked back and smiled when the small room with only two hairdressing chairs was full of eight people.
Harriette Pearl and Ruby Dean occupied the chairs, Gertrude Stone was under the big hairdryer, and Millie Stone was sitting in a chair off to the side.
Jenny Franklin had her scissors in one hand and her comb in the other, and her lips were flapping away as she turned Harriette all ways to Sunday.
“Mornin’, Bernie!” Harriette threw her hand up in the air, particularly happy to see me since I wouldn’t have even seen her at her house on my route until noon. “Don’t be givin’ me no look. I’m not moving here.”
“Hi, Bernie.” Ada Leigh Dykes, the only hairdresser I knew to work at the nursing home salon, was barely visible from the thick mist of hairspray she was spraying all over Ruby’s hair. “This is our new setup.”
“Hey, honey.” I patted Dora Lee Dykes, Ada’s daughter, who had the same middle name as her mother but spelled differently, which wasn’t unusual in the South.
People down in these parts were very proud of their names and heritage.
“Hi, Mrs. Butler, how are you today?” she greeted me then walked over to Gertrude, lifted up the hairdryer head, and unrolled one of the curlers in Gertrude’s hair. “Just a few more minutes,” she told Gertrude and rolled the piece of hair back up in the curler, tilting the dryer back over top of Gertrude’s hair.
“I’m good.” I slipped her the package and the other magazines they subscribed to for their clients.
“As you can see, I’ve taken the vacant hair stylist position because Alvie was just getting too crabby about me doing hair in the basement.” Jenny fanned the comb in the air. “Said I was trying to poison him with all them chemicals.” She pointed the comb directly at me. “I told him, Alvie, if I wanted you dead, I’d use your shotgun to kill you.”
“But Mrs. Franklin overheard me telling someone at Wednesday-night church spaghetti supper that Mama was looking for a new stylist until I finished getting my license, and here she is.” Dora Lee drew her hand over Jenny like Vanna White on the Wheel of Fortune television game show.
“Good for you.” I dragged my finger to point at my other four customers who weren’t residents of the Sugar Creek Gap nursing home. “And y’all?”
“Wherever Jenny goes, so does our hair, Bernadette.” The way Harriette Pearl said my name reminded me she was much older than my fifty-year-old self, which told me to mind my manners. “We don’t up and abandon our people.”
“Nope.” Millie Barnes had already picked up one of the new magazines Dora Lee had put on the small table next to the chair. She flipped through it and didn’t bother to look up, but she continued to talk. “I liken it to going to the gynecologist. Once you got a good one, you don’t change. And that’s Jenny.”