Page 1 of Half Baked

ChapterOne

Maddie

My stomach churned as I stood in front of St. Vincent’s Village on a cold late Tuesday afternoon in January. I’d only been living with my Aunt Deidre since last September, and I was already seriously considering moving her here. I felt like I’d failed her.

Still, there was no denying her dementia had gotten progressively worse over the past few months. Yesterday, I’d taken her to Nashville to see her doctor, and he’d forced me to face some cold hard truths. It was becoming more and more dangerous for her to stay at home, despite all the precautions we had taken. It would be safer for her to live somewhere with twenty-four-hour care.

I’d cried a good part of the two-and-a-half-hour car ride home. Thankfully, my best friend, Mallory, had driven us. Mallory had decided to stay in Cockamamie, and she’d even found a new remote job that gave her the freedom to help out with my aunt occasionally. To say I was grateful was a massive understatement. Having her around was keeping me going. Because my aunt was the only family I had left, and she rarely remembered me. And Noah, the man who’d pledged himself to me before Christmas, had visited his family for the holidays and returned a changed man. He’d told me he had to take a break from our relationship. He still had issues he was working through, and he wasn’t as far along with them as he’d thought. It had seemed to torture him to say it, to mean it, but he’d gone and done it anyway.

I hadn’t seen him since.

I’d never felt more alone in my life.

But standing outside in the cold feeling sorry for myself wasn’t going solve anything. The pity party was over. Time to deal with reality.

I squared my shoulders and opened the front door, reminding myself of what Mallory had said before I’d left to come here. This was only a cursory visit to check things out. It didn’t mean that Aunt Deidre had to come here.

But we both knew that she probably did. Especially since she’d gotten out of the house twice last week. That and it was the only residential care facility in town qualified to take her.

A receptionist greeted me at the front counter with a warm smile. “You must be Maddie. I’ll let Ms. Farrow know you’re here.”

“Thanks.” I turned to study the photos of some of the residents on the wall—all smiling and having fun. I doubted Aunt Deidre would feel that way. Then again, she likely wouldn’t even know where she was most of the time. Most of the time. She still had lucid moments, and what kept me up at night was thinking about how she’d feel about all of this in those rare moments when she remembered everything—and knew I’d plucked her from her comfortable home.

“I see you’re studying the photos,” a voice said from behind me.

I turned to see a woman who looked like she was in her forties standing next to the receptionist’s desk.

I offered a weak smile, still in disbelief it had come to this so quickly. “Guilty as charged.”

“I admit they’re propaganda,” she said with a self-deprecating smile, “but our residents reallydolove it here.” She extended her hand. “I’m Ms. Farrow, director of St. Vincent’s Village. I understand you’re looking for help with your aunt?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced out, “Yes.”

She gave me a sympathetic smile. “I know this is a difficult decision, not to be made lightly, but hopefully we’ll settle some of your fears on your tour of the facility.”

“It’s not that I don’t want her at home,” I said, frustrated by the way my voice caught. “But her doctor says her dementia has progressed too rapidly…”

She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “There comes a time when you’re actually doing your loved one a favor by moving them to a facility. You’re fortunate that we have an available bed. We have a very attentive staff here that’s on duty twenty-four hours a day. There are safeguards that just aren’t realistic for you to employ at home.” She patted the side of my arm. “But no decisions are being made at the moment, right? You said you were just here to tour.”

“Yeah.”

“Shall we get started?”

The facility was clean, bright, and cheery. I’d been to depressing nursing homes before, so that made me feel better. Ms. Farrow showed me the game room, the cafeteria, the outdoor courtyard, and then the memory care unit.

While some residents lived in actual apartments, others had private rooms. The memory care unit was undeniably impressive, with its own cafeteria, courtyard, and fitness facility.

“We find that keeping their bodies active is good for their minds,” Ms. Farrow said, which started a new cascade of guilt.

Should I have kept Aunt Deidre more active?

“This is the room we have available,” she said, moving down the hall toward an open door.

The room had a living area, a small bedroom, and a bathroom. The living area and bedroom faced a landscaped bed filled with a mixture of evergreens and bare deciduous plants. It was…nice.

A phone rang, and Ms. Farrow slipped it out of her pocket and glanced at the screen. “I need to take this. Feel free to continue looking around; I’ll be back in a moment.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

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