Page 109 of Too Old for This
“But, Mom—”
“I need some time to think about all of this. I will speak to you later.” Before Archie can say another word, I end the call.
A lot of things run through my mind, and none are good. But the very worst part is what Archiedidn’tsay. He talked aboutsenior living options up here in Baycliff, and he talked about helping me find one and selling the house. What he did not do is invite me to live down in California, near him and my grandchildren. And I wasn’t about to ask.
I’m not saying I necessarilywantto live there, but it would be nice if Archie wanted me to.
He does not.
That feels worse than learning he tracked my phone.
—
Every week, I find a reason to use duct tape. Today, it’s for my phone. I tape it to the kitchen counter, because it’s never leaving this house again. I do not have time to dwell on my son and his tracking app right now.
Back to my routine. Rather, my new routine of pretending Norma is alive and I am almost an invalid.
I head to the Dew Drop and check her phone. Norma finally received a text from her boss, Patrice, informing her she’s been put on leave from her job. That’s what they did to me at the bank in Spokane, and it meant I had been fired. Now the same thing has happened to Norma. Good thing she doesn’t need a job anymore.
Meanwhile, Burke continues to push Norma to do something. She’s been trying, or so she claims, but no luck so far. But it scares me that he’s so forceful about it, that he won’t let it go. Now I’ve got to figure out how to end this.
There is one way. It’s been in the back of my mind, percolating like an old coffee machine. The problem is, I’m not sure if I can pull it off.
In the meantime, everything else in my life continues asnormal, except for the part about my son. I’m still too angry to speak to him. He leaves me two messages, both filled with apologies. Neither has helped.
On Thursday, I walk into bingo the same as always. Glenda gives me an expectant look, like she’s been waiting for me. Her coral lipstick is so perfect I want to smear it.
“No guest with you this week?” Glenda says.
It takes me a second to remember Morgan was here just last week. Feels like a month has passed since then. “Just me. And I brought this spinach dip.”
Glenda’s little nose tilts up. “Store-bought spinach dip. So wonderful.”
“I knew you would like it. You always have such good taste.”
Sheila is waiting at our table, but Bonnie can’t make it tonight. More problems with her daughter, and she has to babysit her grandkids.
“Guess I won’t have to worry about that,” I say.
“Babysitting? I thought Morgan would be buttering you up for that.”
“She didn’t mention it. And it doesn’t sound like Archie wants me moving to California and interrupting their lives.”
Sheila scoffs and grabs a chicken dumpling off my plate. Not everyone buys their food from the store, and I’m grateful for those who still take the time to cook. The dumplings are much better than my spinach dip.
“Who wants to change diapers anyway?” Sheila says.
Nobody does. But I would change my grandchild’s diaper if anyone asked.
After losing at bingo, I head back over to the Dew Drop. For the past few days, I’ve come here during the day or in the early evening, but this is the first time I’ve been here after dark. The walkway in front of my room overlooks the parking lot. It’s a hub of activity with lots of cars and music and people milling around. The lot appears to be an extension of the strip club, like an open-air party, and I become a little mesmerized by all the activity. For a long time, my evenings out have been limited to church or a restaurant.
A woman catches my eye. She is tall and thin and wearing slacks with what looks like a bustier. Her hair is cropped short, and she has a no-nonsense way about her. I don’t know if she’s in charge, but she acts like it. Sometimes, that’s all you need.
I watch as a few people ask her questions. She points this way and that, directing a man to this person or that person, like the people are just cars and Cropped Hair is the traffic light.
When an irate man walks up to her, screaming and pointing to another woman, Cropped Hair keeps her cool. She does not yell, does not overuse her hands when she talks. She separates them, distracting one with a drink and the other with something in a little baggie.
The more I watch, the more I understand what she is doing. She treats everyone like they’re crying children and all they need is a shiny new object to focus on. The same thingused to work for Archie. I always kept little toys and candies in my bag in case he…
