“Carly,” a man said, his volume raised. “She’s a physical therapist who works here. You must know her.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the receptionist said. “I don’t know the name.”
“Well, look at a list or something,” he said. “You must have an employee directory.”
Astrid stayed behind the broad lobby Christmas tree and peered between its long branches laden in gold.
“There is no Carly on the list,” the receptionist said. “I think I heard that the therapists are contracted through an agency, not employees.”
“What’s the name of the agency?”
“That’s not information I have, but I can try to find out.”
“You do that.”
The young woman at the desk picked up a phone and pushed several buttons before dipping her head and lowering her voice. Astrid watched the man. He didn’t look like the demanding sort, but he certainly acted the part. A flash of dark hair caught in her peripheral vision, and Astrid raised her head slightly to see Carly cautiously leaning over the railing at the top of the stairs. She should have been in the middle of a session, but the sound of the insistent man surely would have carried up the stairs to the therapy room. Blanched, Carly quickly withdrew.
The receptionist put the phone down. “I’m afraid I can’t answer your question.”
Because she hadn’t gotten an answer, or because she’d been instructed not to give out the information? Astrid suspected the latter.
“Then just point me to wherever the physical therapists work,” the man said, his tone abruptly becoming congenial. “I’m an old friend. I just want to say hello.”
Astrid didn’t believe that for a moment.
“If you’d like to leave a message,” the receptionist said, “I’ll give it to the therapy supervisor. She’ll know whether someone named Carly is assigned to this location.”
“I’m here now,” he said. “Wouldn’t it be easier if I just popped in and saved you the trouble?”
“That’s not our policy, sir. No matter who comes in the building, we verify the reason for the safety of all our residents.”
Behind Astrid, the elevator doors opened, and she looked over her shoulder. Carly emerged, glanced at Astrid, and turned to walk swiftly down the hall to an exit that would take her to the other side of the building. There was no parking lot over there, just a sidewalk that looped the building and a small area where people could take their dogs. The duffel hung from Carly’s left shoulder, and as she walked she pulled it to the front and unzipped it partway to plunge her hand in.
It was no easy feat to turn the scooter around in small spaces, but Astrid managed and rolled off in the direction Carly had gone. This man was somehow the reason Carly began carrying a baseball bat. But even on wheels, Astrid couldn’t catch up with Carly, who shoved open an exit door and was out of sight.
Astrid once again turned around. This time she rolled into the lobby without taking refuge behind a Christmas tree. The man was gone.
She smiled at the receptionist. “My, what an insistent visitor.”
“We don’t get many like him, that’s for sure.”
“Did he leave a message, after all?”
“No. He just said he would contact Carly another way.”
Astrid cocked her head. “May I say I think you handled the situation quite well?”
“Thank you. He did rattle me a little. He finally said he had to get to work himself.”
Astrid pushed off again and crossed to the front door. She hadn’t been outside since arriving at Sycamore Hills more than a week ago. Winter air blasted in when the doors parted, but Astrid had never been afraid of a little weather, and the sidewalk was dry. She rolled out far enough to be sure the doors would close and then steadied herself on a bench. Pulling up the collar on his brown bomber jacket, the man strode to the end of the curved driveway that came through the portico. For a moment, Astrid feared he would pace around the corner of the building, where there was more parking. Carly had exited the other side of the building, but if she went to her car and this man explored the parking lots, he might yet find her. Astrid would never be able to roll around fast enough to warn Carly.
The man paused at the corner, looked down the side of the building, and checked his watch. He turned toward a vehicle parked in front, a fancy SUV-type of car that Astrid never learned to tell apart from all the other SUV models. He opened the door and got behind the wheel. She would just stand there long enough to make sure he left.
The doors behind Astrid whooshed open.
“Goodness,” Maureen said, “when they told me you’d gone outside I couldn’t believe it. It’s freezing and you have no coat. Come back inside.”
“A breath of fresh air never hurt anyone,” Astrid said. The man’s car started and he backed out of his parking spot.
“It’s cold, and you have your foot to think of. You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to start a rumor that I’m thoroughly lacking in common sense.” Astrid turned her scooter around, watching as the man left the parking lot and turned onto the road.
Now the question was where Carly had gone.
CHAPTER 17
Carly waited. She didn’t go to her car. Truman knew her car all too well. A new car was rising on her convoluted priority list. She’d get a different car that he couldn’t spot easily, and she’d have the windows tinted so no one could look in easily. The next job would have to be farther away, and she’d have to figure out what to do for Tyler.
At first Carly huddled in the chilly stairwell, sitting on a step beside the exit. When three employees came through, each one asking if she was all right, she ventured outside. With the duffel over her shoulder and her hand on the bat inside it, she stuck herself to the exterior wall and inched to the corner where she could get a good look at the front parking lot.
The SUV—the same one she’d seen the other day—eased into traffic on the road. The exit door had closed behind her, and she didn’t have a badge that would open it, so she freshened her grip on the bat and followed the sidewalk that took her back to the front of the building. So far he hadn’t circled back. It was the middle of the day. He should be at work.
But he knew where to find her. Again.
Carly took her phone from a pocket, debating whether to punch in a number. Just because he’d tracked her down didn’t mean he knew where Tyler’s new school was, and the school was strict about having authorizations on file for anyone allowed to pick up a child. They even required photos, which none of the other schools had done. For now, she wouldn’t call the school. Instead her finger hovered over her mother’s contact listing in her phone. Her mother had worked for the same company for the last twelve years—and they already had an alert and a physical description at the reception desk. Carly dropped her phone back in the bag. Eventually she’d tell her mother about today, but in the meantime Carly didn’t need maternal advice. She knew what she had to do.
She went through the automatic front doors and fixed her intention on the wide public staircase, making sure her agency ID bag was plain to see in case anyone stopped her. At least she hadn’t left a patient hanging when she made her escape. Now, though, her free hour was just about up. Only a few minutes were required for what she had in mind.
At the far end of the room, one of the other therapists worked with a man who had fallen and injured his rotator cuff. He glanced up only briefly, and Carly went to the corner of the room that functioned as a shared-space office. On one of the laptops the therapists used, she opened a new document and began typing. She didn’t need a lot of time. She’d done this often enough that she only had to alter a few words in the letter imprinted in her brain.
Privilege to work.
Admire the patients.
Circumstances have shifted.
Two weeks.
Carly hit PRINT and walked over to the printer to receive the single sheet it spit out before anyone else saw it
. There was nothing to do but give up and move on. The police weren’t much help, and she certainly didn’t want to endanger any of the residents of Sycamore Hills with the possibility that Truman would force his way past the front desk.
Patricia, who supervised all the therapists—physical, occupational, and speech and language—strode into the room. Carly folded the sheet into thirds and sat down at a desk and started flipping through a procedures guide. With the letter still in one hand, she shuffled several folders. She knew what she had to do, but every time she got nervous.
“Good morning,” Patricia said, draping her coat over the back of a chair.
“Good morning,” Carly said.
Patricia glanced at the desk where Carly sat. “I thought we discussed the necessity that you get your paperwork up-to-date on your own time if that’s what it takes to keep up.
Carly removed her hands from the folders.
“I caught up over the weekend,” Carly said.
“Good. A fresh start. It won’t always take this long, now that you’ve learned our system.”
Carly nodded. “I … I …” She swallowed hard.
“What is it, Carly?” Patricia stepped closer.
Carly thrust the letter toward her. “I’m sorry. I really hoped I would be able to stay much longer.”
Patricia’s forehead scrunched into three distinct rows as she unfolded the paper.
“A resignation?” Patricia said.
“Two weeks’ notice.” The words caught in Carly’s throat, giving her a gravelly tone. Starting tonight, she would spend her evenings on the Internet looking for a job. Maybe she’d take a break from working as a physical therapist. Another type of work could make it harder for Truman to find her. She couldn’t ask her mother to move to another county or even another state, but she and Tyler certainly could.
“I’m sure this is not necessary,” Patricia said. “I run a tight ship, but that doesn’t mean I don’t value what everyone on the team brings.”
“I appreciate that,” Carly said. “I really do. It’s not working out for … other reasons. It has nothing to do with you or Sycamore Hills.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Patricia opened a locker and stowed her purse. “You’re a fine therapist with a lovely, gentle touch for the older population we serve here.”
“I’m really sorry.” Carly didn’t know what else to say.
“Two weeks, it says here.”
Carly nodded.
“I have a counterproposal.” Patricia put the folded letter on the desk and slid it toward Carly. “Let’s make sure the stress of the holidays isn’t influencing your decision. I won’t start the wheels moving on this just yet. In two weeks, the holidays will be behind us, and we’ll talk again then.”
No one had ever refused Carly’s resignation before. Her last supervisor had told her to gather her things and go the same day. She stared at the paper on the desk, not wanting to pick it up but not wanting anyone else to see it, either.
“Two weeks,” Patricia said. “The same two weeks you offered me. You have nothing to lose. If after we talk you still feel you should leave, I’ll work with you for a short transition.”
Carly ran her tongue over her dry lips. “All right.”
“It’s Christmas! Let’s just enjoy the season without making life-altering decisions. Anything can happen in two weeks.”
That was just it. Anything could happen in two weeks.
CHAPTER 18
After a week and a day at Sycamore Hills, Astrid had figured out the dining room. She knew what time to go down for a meal if she wanted to socialize with Betty’s Brood, and what time to go if she preferred to sit by the window and linger in solitude. This was one of the lunchtimes when she wanted space to think. Betty’s Brood had come and gone, and Astrid slid into a seat and ordered the tomato soup and a tuna sandwich—choices that wouldn’t put the kitchen into chaos at a time when Sam would be trying to close up lunch and prepare for dinner.
Something was wrong with Carly. The baseball bat. Sneaking out a back exit. Tears when Astrid talked about Heinz.
Today wasn’t a therapy day for Astrid. If she saw Carly at all, it would be an incidental encounter. But Astrid would be ready. There was more to the story than Heinz. The last of the lunch eaters straggled out. Astrid declined dessert—ice cream wasn’t her favorite—and accepted a cup of coffee to top off her meal. The young woman who waited on her had figured out that Astrid liked a generous dose of milk in her coffee, though she would drink it black if she had to. She had done too many things in her life out of necessity to make a fuss about milk. Staring out the window and wondering what the back gardens, now crusted with snow, would be like in the spring, she lifted her coffee cup for a final swallow.
“Well, look who’s closing down the joint once again.”
Astrid pulled her gaze from the window and smiled at Sam.
“I order the simplest items when I come down late,” she said. “But you may tell me at any time that I should come earlier.”
Sam folded himself into a chair across the table. “I understand solitude. Not everyone likes a crowd every moment of the day.”
“Yes, very true,” Astrid said. Alex and Ingrid had been out of the house for ages, and Astrid had become quite accustomed to keeping her own hours, including eating when she felt like it or got in the mood for something in particular.
Sam pointed to a square table against a wall. “We have a suggestion box. You can be anonymous and tell us exactly what you think.”
“Why would I not just tell you to your face?” Not that there was anything to remark on. She was still getting used to the freedom of eating without the trouble of cooking and cleaning up. She was likely to gain five pounds in her first month at this rate.
Sam laughed. “Some people like it that way. Maybe they think I’ll put arsenic in their food if I don’t like their opinions.”
“Do you get many comments?”
“Thankfully, no.”
Astrid pushed her empty coffee cup away. “I should get out of the way so your staff can do their jobs.”
“You’re not in the way,” Sam said. “In fact, I’m glad I ran into you. I know you’re new here, and I heard you didn’t bring a car.”
“True enough.” Even if she had argued more firmly with Alex about hanging on to her reliable old car, she couldn’t drive right now anyway.
“I’m in a choir for Christmas,” Sam said. “In fact, I even have a solo.”
“Congratulations! I’m sure it will be lovely.”
“You could come hear me—on Christmas Eve. If you want to, I’d be happy to come fetch you.”
“That would have been delightful,” Astrid said, “but I will be with my children and their families.”
Sam nodded. “That’s nice for you. I just thought I would offer.”
“Maybe Carly would like to go. You could at least ask.”
Sam pushed air out of his lungs. “I try to ask Carly a lot of things, but she always looks distracted or like I’m disturbing her.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Keep trying,” Astrid said. “Something tells me Carly could really use someone on her side.”
“I’ll think about it.” Sam stood up. “Time to transform this place into a dining wonder.”
“What’s on the menu tonight?”
“Pot roast for a hundred people.”
Astrid laughed. “That’s no small feat.” She pushed her chair back and reached for her scooter.
“Don’t forget you owe me some German recipes,” Sam said, holding the scooter steady while Astrid got her knee situated on it.
“You’ll be pleased to know that my cookbooks surfaced in the unpacking.” She didn’t need the cookbooks, both because she had prepared her favorite foods hundreds of times and because she no longer had the large, comfortable dining room that made cooking for groups rewarding. Finding the missing or
naments would have pleased her more than figuring out what to do with cookbooks in her shiny but compact kitchen. She should give them to Ingrid or to Gwen, Alex’s wife.
“See you at dinner,” Sam said. “I know you don’t like ice cream, but maybe you’ll have room for apple pie.”
Astrid wagged her eyebrows and pushed off. Both her orthopedist and Carly were consistently vague about how much longer she would need the scooter, but Astrid was ready to skip the walker phase and exchange her wheels for a cane.
Several times a day now, the gold-strewn tree in the lobby reminded her of the missing ornaments. She could do nothing until Alex came home. Somebody must have gotten the boxes mixed up, and the one she wanted was in a storage unit to be sorted later. She hoped they were there and he was confused about what he’d done with them. This might be the first Christmas without the ornaments since the year she rescued them from the rubble. Astrid turned away from the tree and rolled to the elevator and pushed the up button. Getting out on the second floor, she paused on the broad landing when she saw Betty’s Brood were playing cards at the round table.
“Always room for one more,” Betty said.
“Come sit next to me,” Mae said.
Astrid shook her head. “I must go back to my apartment and practice picking up marbles with my toes.”
The remark got the laughter she expected and Astrid resumed her course. At the door to the exercise and therapy room, she slowed and scanned as much of the room as she could see through the opening. Carly was wiping down some equipment and looked up.
“Hi,” Carly said, sounding tentative.
“Don’t worry,” Astrid said. “I haven’t gone dotty. We don’t have an appointment today. I just wanted to see how you are.”
Carly shrugged one shoulder. “All right.”
Astrid bit back the temptation to comment that she had seen Carly avoiding the man in the lobby the previous day. Carly might tell her what that was about, but on her own terms. The duffel with the bat was once again against the wall behind a desk. In the meantime, though, Astrid could continue her story.
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