Page 91 of Look on the Bright Side

“No,” Ellie said. “That’s a…a hobby?”

“Um, sort of? I mean, I’m alone in the world, so I need to take care of the details myself.”

“But as a hobby, Joy?”

“Just to see which funeral homes offer what,” she mumbled. Yes, she’d been to at least five funeral homes in the past year. Yes, it gave her some pleasure to make sure she’d get a beautiful casket and urn. Yes, it was comforting, sometimes, to imagine herself dead, if only to be with Paulie again. And sure, she could see how someone like Ellie Smith would never have those types of thoughts at all.

“Have you ever seen a therapist?” Ellie asked.

“I just never found anything I loved,” Joy said. “The makeup artist stuff was kind of fun, but to be honest, my specialty was getting married. And the thing I loved most was being with my brother.” She grimaced. “I’m probably a little addicted to plastic surgery. There’s not much to me, Ellie.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Ellie retorted. “You’re incredibly bighearted, for one. You’re so interested in other people. And I get the impression that you’re very empathetic.”

“What does that mean?” Joy asked.

“You feel the feelings around you. I bet if Lark is sad, you’re sad. Or if your brother was upset, I bet you were upset.”

Joy’s mouth fell open. “That’s true!”

“As for the husbands, you were just looking for a place to belong. I get it. Listen, I’d love to keep talking, but I want to get some painting in today. That’s my therapy. All my fury at Gerald, splattered on the canvas. I can’t tell you how good it feels to not be working on a sunset.”

“Rage-painting,” Joy said, nodding.

“See? Empathy. I’ll see you tonight, okay? My turn to cook.”

The conversation left a niggling feeling in Joy’s brain. She should be doing something. Funeral planning as a hobby did sound weird. She just wanted to make sure her ashes and Paulie’s would be buried together, or scattered together. Just together somehow. He’d been her person.

When you lost a spouse, you were a widow, and everyone knew to offer condolences and ask how you were doing and offered to fix you up when enough time had passed. If you lost a child, well, there were people who’d check in on you for the rest of your life, understanding that you were damaged goods from then on out. At least, Joy assumed you would be.

But when you lost your person, and that person was your sibling, you didn’t get the same respect. Paulie had been Joy’s person. The first one she’d call. Her favorite friend to do things with, whether it was gossip or see a movie or eat. She had nobody now. Her mother still walked the earth, but she didn’t count. And until recently, Joy had never had a female friend. Lark was such a sweetheart, but she was decades younger than Joy.

But Ellie…Ellie was becoming her friend. When they’d first met the day Lark moved in, Ellie had cocked a curious eyebrow at her. Joy saw a woman with paint-stained clothes, a trim figure and a face untouched by Botox or filler. One of those irritating earth mother types, she’d thought, certain that Ellie was drawing her own negative conclusions about Joy. And yet here they were. Ellie was going through a rough patch with her marriage, and Joy was empathetic. Ellie was full of energy and life, even while she was figuring stuff out with Gerald (who’d always seemed a little pompous to Joy).

But for the past few weeks, the two women had talked and laughed and shared and bonded.

Suddenly, Joy wanted to do a little better. Be a little more. She could be the type who’d take lessons here and there, try new things, have more in her day than the internet and her own upkeep. She was…what was that word? When you had energy but weren’t sure what to do with it? Restless, that was it.

“Come on, Connery, we’re going for a ride,” she announced. The dog tore circles around her, yelping with delight.

Route 6 didn’t have any traffic heading west today, so she breezed down to Orleans. She’d take 6A, maybe, to kill more time. Maybe she’d start antiquing. That was a big deal on Cape Cod. She could learn to love antiques and fix them up and sell them. Except she didn’t know how. But she could learn! Or maybe she could learn to sew. There was a fabric store in Orleans. She could make her own clothes. Become a designer. Or she could go to Rock Harbor and see if she liked deep-sea fishing. Actually, not that one. She hated fish, and the idea of hauling one out of the water, touching its cold skin, already had her dry heaving a little.

Okay, what else? She did love open houses, that little glimpse into someone else’s life. Yes! She could become a real estate agent. But she knew from selling the town house and buying this place that there was a lot of paperwork involved. Legal stuff, very boring. So not that, either. Oh, what was that career called, where people brought in furniture and throw pillows and made an empty house look sophisticated and full of promise? So it would sell quickly? She could do that! She was good at buying stuff, that was for sure, and life with Paulie and Abdul had upped her awareness of quality furniture.

“You want to be a whatchamacallit, Connery, baby?” she asked. He grinned up at her, his brown eyes twinkling. Paulie would have loved her fur-baby.

She was checking her right eyelash in the visor mirror when a sign on the left caught her eye. With a screech of tires, she took a hard left into a wide driveway flanked by gates, causing Connery to skitter on the seat.

“Sorry, baby, sorry!” she said, reaching over to steady him.

A white and blue carved sign with gold letters announced Bayview Senior Living Community. Below that, a smaller sign read Model home tours available daily.

Basically, an open house, plus a chance to see the staging. There was the word. Staging. She’d check it out.

A senior living community, huh? Her mother lived in crappy little senior housing development (trailer park) in Florida and hated everything about it, but that was her calling card, wasn’t it? Joy could tell this place was nice. Expensive landscaping, brick sidewalks, gray-shingled buildings with white trim and window boxes. Very Cape Cod, very tasteful.

She found a parking space, clipped on Connery’s leash and went into the main building.

“Welcome to Bayview,” said an attractive woman behind the counter. “Can I help you?”

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