Page 98 of Too Old for This
“I’ll let you know.”
Delia leaves me with her card and a sympathetic smile. She walks back out to her fancy car, taking with her my dreams of living in a fancy place like Oak Manor.
CHAPTER 53
Before I have a chance to mess up the house again, my phone rings. At least it’s not someone at my door. I’ve had enough guests for the rest of the year. But I don’t recognize the number on my phone.
No, wait. Yes, I do recognize it.
“Hello?”
“Hello. Is this Lottie Jones?”
That voice. Oh, yes, I know who this is. But I play stupid anyway. “Speaking. Who’s this?”
“This is Jax from InterDial.”
Oh, Jax. It’s been so long. And you do make me smile. “Hello.”
“I heard you were trying to get hold of me.”
“Yes. I was rather upset about the way our call ended. You said you wished I was dead.”
Pause.
“I shouldn’t have said that. It was inappropriate and wrong.”
“Thank you for saying that, Jax. I’m glad to hear you’ve learned your lesson about how to speak to people.”
“I have. Definitely. And I’m really sorry.”
“Good.”
“One more thing,” he says. I hear rustling in the background, followed by the sound of a door closing. When Jaxspeaks, his voice is different. Lower, more like a whisper. An angry one. “I’m really sorry you aren’t dead yet, you old hag.”
Click.
I smile.
Now, this is the kind of thing I should be doing.
I should be sitting inside my lovely condo at Oak Manor, looking out at my patio. Or up in a turret room at Tranquil Towers with a view of the garden. And I should be spending my days talking to people like Jax, showing him that old hags like me can be a real asset to society. We aren’t a drain. Not all of us, anyway. Some of us perform valuable services in the community.
Between that and the new grandbaby, my life would be quite full. It might not be as exciting as my early years, but it would be enough.
First, I have to get rid of Burke.
—
One of the most important rules I have is never to document anything. No written lists, no using a computer that isn’t mine. Get it done, get rid of the body, leave nothing behind.
Today, I break that rule. Temporarily. I write down all the options for Burke, a script of what I should or should not text to him, and how he might answer back.
Not easy, considering I don’t know him that well. It’s all a guess, and I hate guessing. People try to make it sound important by saying things likean educated guess. Most of the time, it’s still wrong.
What I don’t want to do is live the rest of my life—no matter how many years are left—thinking Burke will pop upbehind me. It’s bad enough he has done it now, and that he’s been talking to Norma for weeks. The last thing I want to do is spend my golden years living in fear.
When I’ve scripted our conversation every way I can think of, I grab a matchbook. One by one, I light up my notes and throw them into the fireplace. Smells a hell of a lot better than Norma or Plum did. And all the others.
