Page 52 of Too Old for This
“We don’t allow gambling for money,” Dana says. “It’s all just for fun.”
I doubt that. This place is filled withadults, not children.
Another big difference between Oak Manor and Serenity Village is the medical care. Oak Manor has a full-time clinic with a doctor on staff. Serenity Village has a part-time nurse practitioner.
“What’s the average age of your residents?” I ask.
“Seventy-eight.”
It was about the same at Oak Manor, which means I would be one of the younger people here. That’s something I haven’t been for a long time, and I get a weird sense of pleasure from it. The desire to be young never goes away.
Before I leave, Dana gives me a stack of brochures and a price list for the units and fees.
“If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to call,”she says. “I know this is a very big decision, so if there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know.”
“Thank you. I will.”
On the drive home, numbers swirl around in my head. Last night, I tried to calculate how long I’d be able to stay at Oak Manor. If I sold the house, four years wouldn’t be a problem. More than that means I would have to move out and go somewhere else.
I wonder how often that happens. How many people move into a place like Oak Manor and have to leave when they can no longer pay the bill? At Serenity Village, I would be able to stay longer, but how much longer is the real question.
CHAPTER 29
I walk into church with my back straight, head up. Sometimes you’ve got to play it that way. Like you’re proud even when you aren’t.
Glenda is waiting near the snack table, as always, and her gaze sweeps over me. I’m still using my cane. I’m also wearing my most comfortable lounging clothes: grey fleece pants with a matching shirt and a pair of sneakers. Not my usual evening attire.
I hand her my party tray of vegetables, cheese, crackers, and dip. Her eyes widen. She had been so focused on my clothes that she didn’t notice the food.
“Isn’t this nice,” she says. “And it’s store-bought.”
“Yes, it is.”
I give her a big smile before walking away. Yes, I am ten minutes late. Yes, the tray came straight from the deli section at the grocery store. No, I do not care.
Sheila and Bonnie are deep into the first game of the night. Sheila looks me up and down the same way Glenda did, her expression landing somewhere between horror and disappointment. Bonnie fills up my punch cup with her flask.
“G-52!”
“Are you okay?” Bonnie whispers.
“I’m fine. What did you bring this week?”
“Mini pecan pies.”
“B-10!”
“Crab-stuffed mushrooms,” Sheila says. “You?”
“A party tray from Spend n’ Save.”
“You did not,” Bonnie says.
“Yes, I did.”
“But why?”
“Because I’m too old to make something fancy every week,” I say. “Or to dress up for bingo.”
