Page 92 of Afternoon Delight
Meg
On Sunday, Mom asked me to go with her to Barbara’s. A neighbor was donating some small furniture items to the thrift store, but they were too big for either of their sedans.
“Eleanor’s husband, Hal, usually collects these sorts of things with his pickup truck, but his gout is terrible right now,” Mom explained as I drove.
“He’s the talker?” I was familiar with most of Mom’s circle from my time here with Dad. I’d kept up on the gossip during our regular phone calls.
“He never shuts up,” Mom said with a shake of her head. “Eleanor is a saint, staying married to that. She’s visiting her sister, helping get her garden in. Can you imagine going to all that work at my age? Digging manure into the ground, stooping to sow seeds, weeding and watering so you can sit in a stall in the heat of summer trying to sell a head of broccoli at the farmers’ market?”
“At least they see sunlight. I’ve spent years hunched over a laptop in a cubicle, crunching numbers that have no actual value.”
“To each their own, I suppose.”
Barbara’s apartment was only ten minutes from Mom’s, but I’d never been there. Mom directed me to visitor parking beneath an L-shaped condo building.
“This is a nice place. Have you thought about moving here?” I asked.
“Barbara tells me every time one comes available. Your father and I looked at some of these units when he first got sick. He wanted us to downsize while he was still alive so I wouldn’t be stuck with all the work of moving. I was letting go of enough at the time, so I told him I wanted to stay in the house. I’m glad we did.”
I bit my tongue, accepting that Mom would have to make her own decisions when she was ready.
Barbara buzzed us up to her third-floor condo. The living room opened onto a large balcony full of flower pots and had a lovely view of the communal garden, where colorful tulips were blooming beneath a bush covered in bright yellow flowers.
“Bill is golfing or he’d be here to help us. It’s nice to see you again, Meg. How, um… how are things at the shop?” Barbara met my eyes with a brave refusal to be embarrassed.
The furry handcuffs. Right.
“Georgia is going to start coming back to work this week, so I’ll be leaving soon.”
“That’s good news for her, but…” Barbara sent Mom a concerned frown. “I’ll be sorry if Vickie follows you. My ulterior motive in asking you here today is to show you Isabella’s apartment.”
“Barbara,” Mom protested.
“What?” Barbara was unrepentant as she led us into the hall and called over her shoulder. “It’s a mirror of mine. Isabella is moving to be closer to her sister in Kelowna. You already know half the people here. Last year, you did nothing but complain about the lawn service and house maintenance. All of that’s taken care of here.”
Mom gave a beleaguered sigh but managed a pleasant smile for the woman who opened the door to us.
Isabella pulled an oxygen canister behind her as she showed us into her spare bedroom, which was tidy and well-dusted. She pointed out the bench and night tables.
“There’s no rush to take them. My grandson and his wife are expecting a baby, so I’m here through the summer. But Barbara said you might be interested in buying this unit?” She directed the question at Mom. “I’d expect market value, but it would be a tremendous load off my mind if I didn’t have to fuss with showings.”
Rather than protest that she wasn’t ready to move, Mom said, “Is this real hardwood?”
“I can’t have carpet,” Isabella said. “The spring pollen bothers me too, which is why I bought the unit with the sunroom instead of the balcony.” She pointed out the full bath as she walked us back to the living area and the jut of space surrounded by windows, offering a view of treetops and a small park with a pond that looked to be within easy walking distance.
“It’s cozy to read here in the winter,” Isabella continued. “Lots of morning sun, but as you can see, the direct sun is already gone for the day now. That’s good in the summer. Otherwise, it gets too hot.”
She led us through the rest of the unit, pointing out her high-end appliances and quartz countertop.
“I was a pastry chef for twenty years. I still enjoy cooking and baking, but I don’t do much of it these days.” She nodded toward the canister. “It’s a lot to be on my feet.”
“Do you want to sit down?” I offered.
“I’ll show you my bedroom first.”
The bright, sunny room was at the end of the hall. It had a walk-in closet full of neatly organized shelves. The view was just as nice, and the ensuite bathroom was huge.
“I like the walk-in shower separate from the tub. That’s a big help for me.” Isabella had a plastic bench in the shower so she could sit while washing. Like the rest of the apartment, the bathroom was immaculate—no doubt because mold and dust were as bad for her lungs as everything else.
