by G M Barlean
Gloria swallowed hard. “I was out of line,” she began.
“Yes, you were. Honestly, I can’t believe they’re willing to talk to you. They were absolutely livid after you left last time.”
“I’m sure they were.” Gloria expected this admonishment and was ready. “Ms. Weldon, I’m incredibly sorry for my behavior. I came on way too strong. I approached them like a rabid reporter, as if it were still 1974. I feel terrible about it. I’m glad for the opportunity to apologize to them. My enthusiasm got the better of me.”
Ms. Weldon nodded, but her eyes didn’t show empathy. “These are some of the nicest women I’ve ever met. You must treat them with respect or I won’t be able to allow you to go any further with this project.”
Gloria felt like a naughty child in a third grade class. She nodded and heat crawled up to her cheeks.
Linda continued. “From what the women have told me, they visited at length about you. And they actually want to talk to you. I don’t understand it, but it’s their choice. They’re all of sound mind, and as long as you visit with them here, in a safe environment, we all feel good about it. But please, don’t upset them. This is their retirement. They aren’t on trial.”
“I understand. I promise to be respectful.” Gloria hung her head in shame.
“Okay, so on to the positives. What are your plans?” Linda steered them back to the business at hand.
Gloria had taken a bite of the cookie. She chewed quickly, then swallowed. “I’ve read all the articles in the archives. Plenty to choose from when it comes to the missing person and accusations of foul play. But, there aren’t any personal interviews with the women. I want to know what they have to say… their side of the story. A body was never found. Then the paper dropped the story. The rumors remain about the Thorns of Rosewood getting away with murder. I guess I’d like to write about the facts. Maybe put an end to the rumors and hear their side of things.”
Linda nodded her head as she listened. “I see you’ve put a lot of thought into this.” She smiled, her hands resting lightly upon each other. It seemed the storm of threats had passed. Kindness washed over her face.
“Yes, I have,” Gloria answered with a smile. “I want to focus on facts—do a fair and unbiased story. That’s my goal. Tell the truth from their perspective.”
And she also wanted to know a lot more about the woman who went missing, Naomi Talbot. An idea she’d keep to herself for now.
“Sounds like this could be a good book if written well.”
“I think it will be. And it will be well-written.” Gloria wasn’t sure if she was offended by the comment or not.
Linda’s words were encouraging, but the look on her face was serious. Gloria felt a little sweat at her temples.
The administrator stood and came around the desk to sit beside her. “I’ve thought a lot about this, too. The first thing you need to know is we here at Meadowbrook take the safety and peace of our residents very seriously. It’s our job—my job—to protect our clients.”
Gloria held her breath. The winds of cooperation seemed about to change. She’d thought this whole thing had been too good to be true.
“But I’ve visited with the four women and they’ve told me they do have something to say, after all.”
Gloria perked up.
“The women have contacted a lawyer. With her help, they came up with a contract we all feel will be suitable.”
Contract?
“Provided you honor the contract, they are amiable to being interviewed.”
Linda picked up a blue folder lying on top of one of the many the piles on her desk. She handed the legal document to Gloria.
Gloria scanned the papers. Although her excitement blurred the words together, she could see it was the real deal. She hadn’t expected anything so formal. No fly-by-night writing would be acceptable here, not that she intended to do anything less than her best work.
“Don’t be intimidated.” Linda’s voice remained friendly. “They have to protect themselves. I’m sure you understand.”
Gloria understood. Legal issues came with the territory of running a newspaper. But she hadn’t been prepared to be handed pages and pages of legalese.
Leaning back in her chair, she nibbled on the cookie as she read. The contract had all the expected bells and whistles. Plenty of legal jargon laced throughout. She flipped to the page with the terms. Her eyes grew wide and she swallowed hard. Then she looked up at Linda with questions ready to spill.
Linda’s face showed she’d been waiting for Gloria to read those words on the last page.
Before she could ask any questions, Linda began to explain. “Basically the bottom line is if you publish without the women and their lawyer’s approval, there will be legal consequences. They will not approve the contract if your work is anything less than honest and fair. If you publish without them signing off on the product, they will prosecute to the fullest extent of the law.” She smiled stiffly.
Then came the one-two punch. “And you can’t publish this book until the women have passed away.”
Bomb dropped. Big explosion. Her brain blanked. It was all Gloria could do to not let her jaw drop.
“Until they’ve passed. You mean died? They have to die?”
That could be years and years from now. These women could outlive her, for all she knew.
Linda leaned back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. “It’s the only way they’ll work with you on this. I’m sorry, but these are the women’s stipulations, and I agree with them. So does their lawyer. This information will bring attention they don’t want—never wanted. They’ll only meet with you if you agree to these terms.”
Gloria tapped her fingers on the papers in her lap. She gripped the contract tight in her hand. Her face sagged in disappointment. She wanted to write this story, but waiting for people to die? So morbid. Like an ambulance chaser. A ghoul.
She began to mull it over. It would take time to write the story. Time to find an agent. Time to lock in a publishing contract. It could realistically take years for the project to reach completion. Of course, she would do this all while she continued to work at her full-time job. And, although she was a small town newspaper editor, she was nobody’s fool. She’d done her due diligence. Being published was no walk in the park.
Then something occurred to her. “How is their health?”
Even as the words left Gloria’s mouth, she couldn’t believe she’d asked such a revolting question. “I’m sorry.” She looked down in embarrassment, releasing her grip on the contract and letting it fall into her lap. “Forget I asked that.”
Linda smiled and answered. “It was a logical question. They’re all in pretty good shape actually. This is assisted living, not a nursing home. The only reason they’re even here is because they were all alone and missed each other. The women simply wanted to spend their final years together. All of them may well be here for many years to come… although one never knows.”
Gloria could feel her forehead wrinkling. She took a deep breath and tried to weigh the pros and cons. The main thing she kept thinking was how much she wanted to learn the truth—even if only for herself. It was as though she had to know. Damn inquisitive-reporter personality of hers.
“Did I mention”—Linda’s eyes locked with Gloria’s—“the women want to give you a full confession?”
Gloria put her hand over her mouth to cover a gasp. Confession? That could only mean… Her mind began to race and she felt her heart accelerate.
Linda’s voice pulled her back to the moment. “So, you see, it’s going to be a big story. It will sell books. And it’s going to rock the town of Rosewood. It should be worth your wait.”
That settled it. Gloria needed to write this story. Two years, five years, ten years. It didn’t matter.
“I’m in,” Gloria said with a quick nod. She had to meet these women. Birth mother or not, these four women held the secrets to a story she had to write.
/> Gloria started to dig through her purse. “Let me find a pen?”
Linda handed one across the desk and Gloria’s hand twitched in excitement as she accepted it with a broad smile.
Chapter 5
Linda Weldon and Gloria shook hands. The deal was done. “Send someone to show Ms. Larson to the sunroom,” Linda said over the intercom. “I’d take you down, but I have another appointment.” She was already shuffling papers around on her desk.
“No problem.” Gloria only had to wait a moment before an aide arrived.
Walking down the hallway of the facility, they met old people in tracksuits and tennis shoes with little weights in their hands and looks of purpose on their faces. Not one room held any evidence of people withering away, ignored and forgotten.
Her escort opened a set of French doors into a large sunroom. Trees and gardens filled with flowers beckoned from the wall of windows facing south. The aide directed Gloria to a glass patio table with padded wicker chairs. Air filtered into the room through two windows cranked open near the table.
Sun beat in and she could feel sweat forming on her brow. She fished a tissue from her pocket. “It’s pretty hot in here.” Fanning herself, she hoped the aide would take pity and put them in an air-conditioned room.
“Debbie likes the sun room so she can smoke.” She made a face and shook her head. “Terrible habit, but she’s been doing it since she was thirteen, so there’s not much hope of her quitting now.” She shrugged. “Amazing she’s made it to eighty.” The aide shook her head, then shielded her mouth as she leaned over to Gloria. “I’m pretty sure Josie sneaks a smoke when she can.” She pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. “I’ll turn on a fan for you and bring you a pitcher of ice water, how’s that?” She bustled over to a tall oscillating fan and directed it at Gloria.
The breeze fluttered the curtains and chilled the beads of sweat now formed on her neck. “Thank you.”
Once alone, Gloria set out her laptop, tape recorder, and a folder filled with information. Then she heard the sound of elderly women in the hallway.
They were coming.
She stood and faced the doorway—more than a little nervous. Blouse adjusted. Hair pushed behind her ear. She dabbed at the sweat on her face and neck. She was going to show them she wasn’t mean and pushy. The shuffle of walkers and thumps of canes neared the doorway. It was time to face the women rumored to be killers, and the first thing she had to do was apologize.
Yellow tennis balls on the ends of a walker, then the toe of a thick-soled white sneaker hinted at the approach of one of the ladies. A bent-shouldered, white-haired woman came into view. The walker’s yellow balls squeaked on the sunroom’s tiled floor. She entered the room, then stopped to adjust her pants. She looked up at Gloria through thick glasses and scrunched up her nose.
“Damn pants fit too soon,” Tanya said with a Midwestern drawl.
Gloria nodded, but had no clue what “too soon,” meant.
“They fit too tight, Tanya. Not, too soon. Too tight.” A scratchy voice came from the second woman now entering the room. Gloria recognized the voice and the face. This one had told her “No comment.” Debbie.
Carrying her own ashtray and a colorful cigarette case, Debbie held a long white cigarette in her knobby fingers, waiting and ready to light up. She used no walker or cane, stood straight, and walked with a slow, lanky gait. She was thin and stringy-looking, like tough meat. Elbow and shoulder bones poked out of her tan sweater, which was buttoned at the neck. Gloria recognized the hard edge to her eyes from the black-and-white photo she’d studied so many times.
“Tanya always gets that wrong.” Debbie shook her head as she spoke to Gloria.
Tanya swatted her hand at Debbie as she passed her. “It’s not wrong, it’s just how I say it. I’m colorful, dang it!”
Debbie landed by the window and lit up her smoke, inhaled deeply, and blew it out the screen. “Ahhhh.” She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Smoke curled in the air above her.
Gloria turned to a new voice coming from the doorway. “Tanya, I love it when you say too soon. Don’t let Debbie pick on you.”
A roundish woman with a cane, stylish glasses, and a pleasant smile entered the room. Her hair still held a hint of auburn. She laid her hand on Tanya’s shoulder and smiled at Gloria. This was Josie. She, too, passed Tanya, who had only made it midway across the room, and it really wasn’t so big of a room.
Josie sat down by Debbie and held out two shaking fingers in a peace sign. “May I have a puff?”
Debbie opened one eye and handed over the cigarette. Josie took a drag. It looked like an age-old habit these two women shared.
“You ought to quit smoking, Debbie. It’s going to kill you,” Josie said with a wry grin as she blew a thin stream of smoke out the window.
Debbie laughed until she coughed. “I’ve lived long enough. At this point, I’m just a pain in the ass.”
Josie smiled. “Oh, you’ve always been a pain in the ass, dear.”
Debbie took another pull of nicotine, closed her eyes again, and ignored the comment.
Tanya and her yellow-balled walker finally reached the table. She eased into a chair across from Debbie.
Gloria gazed at the door, waiting for Betty, the tall, striking woman with a confident face and posture. She entered, wearing a powder-blue tracksuit and white tennis shoes—and not the thick-soled kind like the others wore. Her shoulder-length white hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she stood straight with a certain air of dignity. She made eye contact with Gloria and extended her hand.
“I take it you’re prepared to grovel?” Betty raised her eyebrow in question.
Gloria took Betty’s hand and shook it as she attempted to look as humble as possible. “I am so incredibly sorry for my bad behavior when we first met.”
Betty stared a hole right through her, then gave a curt nod and took her seat.
Turning to the table, Gloria looked from face to face, examined wrinkles and laugh lines, gray hairs and hunched shoulders. She realized the women were not threatening or mean like she’d expected them to be. They looked… forgiving.
The flutter in Gloria’s stomach settled.
Josie cut through the air with terse words. “No need for niceties. We know why you’re here, and you know who we are. Let’s get down to business.” She put her thick-soled shoe up on the last chair at the table and pushed it out. It screeched on the tiles and sat empty—an invitation Gloria had best not refuse. They stared at her in silence until she took the chair.
“Yeah. Let’s get to it.” Debbie squinted her eyes as smoke curled up past her face. “And you’d better behave today. You may not know this about me yet, but I’m kind of cranky sometimes.” Debbie met Gloria’s eyes with a knowing glance, held her in the gaze, and nodded slowly.
Gloria swallowed down a lump in her throat as she met the hard eyes staring at her. And to think, one of the four women in the room had most likely given birth to her. The thought was daunting.
“Good Lord, no need to be pushy. We’re scaring her.” Tanya scolded her friends, then turned to Gloria. “Dear, relax. We won’t bite. And if anyone understands the need to be forgiven, it would be us.”
Gloria cleared her throat. “Well, as you know, I’m Gloria Larson. I’m the editor of the Rosewood Press.” She saw Tanya wince. “I don’t want to do a news piece on you. I want to write your story in a book.” She paused and searched their eyes.
They waited.
“I came across articles about you when I was going through archives at the paper.”
Gloria opened up the file and passed around copies of the articles from the papers.
The women’s eyes followed her hands and darted over the bold headlines and harshly lit photographs of them when they were forty years younger. Gloria watched them, looking for resemblances, gestures, and expressions—any kind of connection she might have with any of them.
But as the room fell silent, the rema
ining sound only Debbie’s rattling breaths, Gloria knew their story was going to be what she had to focus on. Would want to focus on. She was going to have to put her genetic origins second, and it wasn’t going to be as difficult as she’d expected.
Tanya’s shaking hands with papery skin reached out, then drew back away from the articles to touch her mouth. She looked away.
Josie murmured under her breath.
Debbie scowled.
The Thorns of Rosewood continued to stare down at their past, pared down to so much black ink on copy paper.
“Here’s the water and some coffee for Tanya.” An aide’s voice pierced the silence. Only Gloria started. The women remained transfixed.
“Set it down over there.” Gloria stood and pointed at a small table at the back of the room, then walked to it.
The aide began to arrange things.
“I’ll take care of it.” Gloria reached to take the pitcher.
“Oh, hon, I can pour for you. No problem.”
She put her hand on the aide’s shoulder. “Can we have some privacy?” Her voice was firm.
The aide looked up and her eyes flicked from Gloria to the table of elderly women.
“Oh, I understand,” she whispered and nodded. “I’ll shut the door behind me so you’re not bothered anymore.”
Gloria smiled and mouthed, “Thank you.”
Once the aide left, Gloria finished pouring five glasses of water and a cup of coffee since it sounded as though Tanya preferred it. She walked back to the table and set them down. Josie picked up her glass with a trembling hand and gulped down half the water. The room was too quiet. Too tense.
Gloria cleared her throat. “I want to write your story. The town of Rosewood only remembers the one-sided articles they read in the newspaper. You were all silent to reporters. It left everyone with more questions than answers—and questions breed gossip.” She paused and waited.
No response.
“And of course, the biggest question is, what happened to Naomi Talbot?”
Tanya’s hand rose to her mouth.
Josie began to rub her arthritic hands.