Page 102 of Too Old for This
I hadn’t planned on that, but what the hell. It’s not my credit card. And I’m not the one who is going to lose my job.
Norma:I can try. Why? The camera isn’t good enough?
Burke:Not if it doesn’t lead to anything.
He is truly a terrible man. I always knew he was, but here’s the proof, all laid out in front of me. I could probably prove entrapment with this conversation if it wasn’t taking place on Norma’s phone. And if I wasn’t pretending she was still alive.
Fine. Burke gets to do whatever he wants. I suppose that’show law enforcement works these days. They lie, they listen in on conversations, they plant illegal cameras in people’s homes without a warrant.
Wait, that’s not fair. Burke isn’t a cop anymore. He’s just a criminal like me.
—
The next morning, I step in front of the camera for the first time.
While wearing my old bathrobe and slippers, I use the walker and shuffle into the dining room from the kitchen. The plates and glasses are still on the table from the night before. I pick up a glass, return to the kitchen, and set it down. I go back and do it again. Every time I walk into the dining room, I’m on camera. And I’m using up that battery.
Instead of imagining smashing Burke’s head with a hammer, I think about him watching the video on his phone and screaming in frustration. As difficult as it is, I don’t laugh.
Once the table has been cleared and the chairs are pushed in, I go through the kitchen and into the hallway, where I ditch the walker and head upstairs. Half an hour later, I leave through the garage and don’t go near the sitting room again. Instead, I head to the Harmony.
Again, a text from Burke is waiting.
Burke:She uses that walker all the time?
Norma:Yes, I told you that.
Burke:Doesn’t mean it’s real.
That makes me laugh. He’s getting so funny in his old age. And he doesn’t even know it.
I extend Norma’s stay at the hotel until Wednesday, and Ialso text Tammy. She has officially become tired of covering for Norma.
Tammy:I’m sorry about your daughter, but I can’t keep working 7 days a week.
Norma:I get it.
Tammy:What do you want me to tell Patrice?
Presumably, this is Norma’s boss, a woman who hasn’t bothered to check in with an employee whose daughter is missing. I hate Patrice already. Which is a little strange, since I can’t muster up any sympathy for Norma, either.
Norma:Tell her finding my daughter is more important than working right now, so if she has to fire me, then that’s her choice.
Tammy:Got it. Of course.
One last thing. Online, I find a generic picture of a doll. It’s old and ragged with one missing eye and a bald patch where the hair used to be. I post it on Norma’s social media.
Keeping this for when my Plum returns.
#WhereIsMyBabyDoll
—
It’s possible Sheila and Bonnie have given up on me. They’ve stopped commenting on my clothes and don’t bother with dirty looks. They also don’t bring up Oak Manor or Serenity Village or ask when I’m going to sell my house. It’s as if they’ve accepted that I’m another parishioner who will be gone soon, moving on to the next phase of life. We all know that means incapacitated or dead.
Collectively, I think we all know Archie’s wedding will bemy last big event. After Sunday service is over and everyone gathers in the vestibule to socialize, Morgan’s visit continues to be our main topic of conversation.
“That dress she picked is rather sparkly,” Bonnie says. “I hope this wedding is in the evening?”
