Page 93 of Look on the Bright Side

“We have music therapy, art and movies. There’s a master gardener who teaches about houseplants and window box herb growing.”

“Where are my shoes?” one woman bellowed. She only had a few wisps left for hair. “You stole my shoes! I know you did! You! Black lady! You took my shoes.”

Vicki ignored her. “We also have certified therapy animals come in once a month. And once we find a new activities director, I’m sure that person will come up with some new ideas, too.”

Activities, huh? It didn’t look like some of these people could do much more than sleep and…well…die, Joy thought.

“You have beautiful hair,” Bob said. “I could look at hair like yours all day.”

“Thanks, hon,” she said. “I pay a lot for it.”

“You’re a beautiful lady. Would you like to date me?” he asked.

“I’m all set, thanks,” she said.

“Give me back my shoes!” the balding woman bellowed.

“Betty, I don’t have them,” Vicki said calmly. “You’re wearing shoes.”

“These are not mine,” Betty said. “These are not my shoes!”

“Did you check your closet?” Joy asked. “I bet they’re in there.” She remembered going to see Nonna in a nursing home…people parked in hallways, tied to their wheelchairs, or wandering in johnnies through the halls like extras in a horror movie. This place was quite nice. Money could buy a lot of comfort, that was for sure. As always, she felt a rush of gratitude for Abe. Best ex-husband she’d ever had.

“Anyway, would you like to see the restaurant? That’s another dining option,” Vicki said.

“That activities director job…what are the requirements?” Joy asked.

“Really, it’s about personality,” Vicki said. “A person who’s fun, tolerant, comfortable with the community, creative…”

“How about me?” Joy asked. “Can I apply?”

•••

An hour later, Joy was a part-time assistant activities director at Bayview Senior Living Community, Memory Care Unit, as long as she passed a background check, which she would. She’d make forty cents above minimum wage, had a flexible schedule and wasn’t sure what the heck she’d signed up for.

Aside from doing makeup for Paulie, she hadn’t had a job since she worked at O’Dell’s Auto Parts when she was first married to Frankie. She wasn’t sure she’d last very long, but you know what? She had a job. She had somewhere to go every day where people would be waiting for her.

She couldn’t wait to tell Ellie and Lark.

SEVENTEEN

ELLIE

Let me know when you’ll be out of the house. I need to get some things.

Such was the nature of her communications with Gerald these days. No frills. Ellie had been living with Joy for weeks now, and she had to say, she didn’t miss Gerald. Nope. The man who’d talked about her in such a skewed way? The man who’d been flirting with and confiding in another woman, sharing secrets about their life, intimating that he was a poor, neglected husband while his work-obsessed wife just glided through life?

She didn’t miss that asshat at all.

She did, however, miss the old Gerald. The pre-iPad Gerald. His humor, his thoughtfulness, his devotion, his friendship, his style of fatherhood and grandparenting. She missed their ridiculously good sex life, though the thought of that right now made her queasy. Had he ever fantasized about Camille Dupont when they were making love? If so, she’d castrate him.

She hadn’t told anyone but Joy and her sister. She and Grace had met for lunch in Falmouth, and Grace had been so kind and sympathetic. But there’d been a note of gratification in Grace’s voice and expression, as if she’d been waiting for this moment, when Ellie and Gerald were proven to be plain old married people, not the golden couple. An expectation finally realized. Grace’s husband was horrible, and now, finally, Ellie’s husband was, too.

Grace had been putting up with Larry and his infidelity for decades. Oh, she never had any solid proof, she always said, and she didn’t want any. To know would force her hand, and Grace didn’t want to start over. Didn’t want to “air their dirty laundry,” as Mom would say. He was a good provider. They had their rhythm, their marital flow. “Larry’s distracted lately,” Grace had said six or eight times in the past thirty-some-odd years. That was her code for what was clearly cheating behavior. But Grace stayed, neither she nor Larry quite miserable enough for divorce.

“I don’t think you should’ve moved out,” Grace had said over lunch. “Your odds of divorce just skyrocketed. It’s pretty hostile, Els. An act of war.”

“I am at war,” Ellie said. “I’m defending me. I’m Ukraine, just sitting there, minding my own business, and he’s Putin, deciding to launch a strike against our marriage. You’re damn right, I’m hostile.”

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