by Nan Rossiter
“Time flies when you’re havin’ fun,” Maeve said, laughing.
“It does,” Pam said. “Are you sure about staying?”
“Absolutely! I hope Pete feels better!” Maeve said as she set the crackers on the tray. “And say hi to Macey if you see her.”
Pam reached for her sweater. “I will.” She pushed open the side door and then looked over her shoulder. “Make sure Mr. Hawkins remembers we have happy hour today.”
“Oh, right! Thanks for reminding me.”
When the architects drew up the plans for Willow Pond Senior Care, the town’s strict historic regulations had limited the changes that could be made to the old farmhouse, so the company had hired a highly respected local craftsman with extensive knowledge of Southern homes to restore it to its original charm and glory. Ben Samuelson and his crew had gone to great lengths to protect the floor-to-ceiling windows, wide hardwood flooring, and massive stone fireplace before gutting the interior, removing the cracked plaster walls, and turning the entire front of the house into a welcoming common room—complete with built-in shelves for a library and furnished with tables for games and puzzles, a large flat-screen HDTV for movie nights, and enough comfortable seating for all the residents. The back of the house was transformed into a bright, airy dining room with a screened-in breakfast porch on one side, and a beautiful state-of-the-art kitchen on the other. The upstairs—once bedrooms—had been turned into a bright, sunny office space and storage rooms.
While Ben and his crew worked on the restoration of the farmhouse, a different company was brought in to build the addition—a one-level square structure with a garden courtyard, the design of which had also been approved by the historic commission. It was accessible by a glass-enclosed crosswalk and had white clapboard siding and tall windows to match the farmhouse. Each cozy apartment had French doors that opened either into the garden courtyard or onto the expansive lawn.
Maeve hurried down the long corridor, which was often used by the residents for their daily constitutionals, and turned left. She continued to walk briskly, thinking about the residents on the porch—waiting for their snack—and finally stopped in front of the last door on the right and knocked.
“C’mon in,” a voice drawled.
Maeve pushed open the door. “Mr. Hawkins?” she called softly.
“Yes, ma’am,” the old man said, sitting up in his leather recliner.
Maeve looked around the room at the piles of boxes and frowned. “Do you need help unpacking?”
“Oh, no,” he replied, waving dismissively at the boxes and leaning back in his chair. “There’s no hurry. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
Maeve nodded. “Okay. Well, I came down to remind you that we have happy hour tonight—it’s always on the last Friday of the . . .”
“Thank you for the reminder, but I’m not interested.”
Maeve frowned. “Are you sure? Everyone’s out there, and I think you’d enjoy . . .”
“I’m sure. Thank you.”
“Okay, well, don’t forget we have dinner at five.”
“I won’t forget.”
“And let me know if you need anything. I’m happy to help.”
The old man nodded and mustered a reassuring smile.
Maeve smiled back, but she still worried as she closed the door. She paused in the hallway to let Gage know she’d be working late again and then hurried back to the kitchen, still picturing the old man in his recliner, silently gazing out the window. She had witnessed similar scenes before: elderly folks who’d been moved—sometimes against their will—into senior living. Some came willingly, it was true—and even looked forward to the opportunity to socialize with folks their age—but others resented it. It made them feel as if it was the end of the line—as if they’d lost their home, their freedom, control of their lives, and their independence. Life no longer had purpose or meaning, and they often became withdrawn and depressed. Maeve had studied the psychological effects such changes had on the elderly, especially when the move wasn’t voluntary. And she knew, from experience, that a successful adjustment depended on a person’s attitude. If they didn’t have a positive outlook, it was difficult to lift their spirits or get them to engage. Mr. Hawkins was obviously not happy about his new arrangement, but if anyone could cheer him up, she could . . . and she loved a challenge!
She pushed open the door of the kitchen and Sal looked up from spreading cornmeal, flour, and spices on his work counter. “I wondered where you disappeared to,” he said. “Kate was looking for you. She already took the tray out.”
“Okay. I was reminding our newest resident about happy hour.”
“Mr. Hawkins? Is he coming?” Sal asked as he dipped a long translucent white filet into a bowl.
“No,” she replied with a frown. “I think he’s having a hard time. . . . I hope he comes to dinner.”
Sal nodded as he laid the filet, dripping in egg, onto the cornmeal and flipped it to coat both sides. “If he doesn’t, we can bring a plate down to him.”
Maeve nodded and then raised her eyebrows. “What is for dinner, Sal?”
He smiled. “What does it look like?”
“Catfish?”
He grinned mischievously. “Don’t tell Miss Gladys!”
Maeve laughed. “I won’t. We’ll see if she complains about having fish again.”
Sal laughed. “She better not!”
Maeve was about to go out and help Kate when her phone hummed. She looked at the screen and saw a photo of Gus lying in the sunshine with his head between his paws, looking forlorn. She shook her head and typed: Tell him not to look so sad—I’ll see him soon! Then she slid her phone back in her pocket and stepped out onto the porch where she was greeted by a chorus of “Here’s Maeve!” and “We knew you didn’t get lost!”
“I didn’t get lost,” Maeve said, smiling as she picked up empty paper plates and napkins.
“Would you like a little vino?” Gladys asked with a wink as she held up her glass and gestured to the bottle of Chardonnay she and Addie were sharing.
“No, no,” Maeve said, laughing. “Someone has to behave around here.”
“We never behave, do we?” Gladys said, eyeing Addie with a mischievous grin.
“I behave,” Addie replied, feigning indignation and eyeing her friend. “You’re the mischievous one. I heard you stopped by Mr. Hawkins’s apartment and tried to give him a kiss.”
“Pshaw,” Gladys said, her eyes sparkling. “He was happy to see me. Everyone enjoys a warm welcome when they’re the new kid.”
“Oh, dear,” said Maeve, looking alarmed. “Did you really?”
“Absolutely!” Gladys said. “He said, ‘Don’t ever do that again!’ but I know he was just foolin’. Playing hard to get, that one!” She refilled her glass, and Maeve frowned. She wasn’t a big fan of happy hour, but she knew that just because the residents were older, it didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy a cocktail now and again. They were adults with fond memories and human desires like anyone else. They couldn’t help it if they were trapped in old bodies. They were alive and kicking and had the capacity to enjoy life just as much as the next person.
“Maybe you should give him a little time to adjust,” Addie suggested.
Gladys took a sip of her wine. “Oh, I’m giving him time,” she said with a seductive come-hither smile, her cheeks rosy from the wine . . . or was it the lusty conversation?
Maeve shook her head. The staff were well aware of the shenanigans, clandestine encounters, middle-of-the-night visits, and walks of shame (or fame) that went on, mostly because Willow Pond, like any other residential community, was a hotbed of gossip, and some of the ladies—Gladys included—were notoriously flirtatious and chatty. Even with the addition of Mr. Hawkins, the ratio of men to women, however, was four to fourteen, and this only made the men more attractive to the ladies. Three of the men—the Olivetti twins and Aristides—were used to the attention, but Mr. Hawkins was not, so the staff ne
eded to make sure he wasn’t made to feel uncomfortable. At the same time, Maeve had to constantly remind herself that, despite their age, the residents still felt natural human desire.
“Gladys,” Maeve said quietly. “I think he lost his wife recently, so please make sure you give him room and time to adjust.”
“Humph!” Gladys grunted. “I’ll give him all the room in Texas and all the time in heaven.” And Maeve knew, because she’d said something to her the old woman probably wouldn’t even talk to him again—never mind just give him a little space.
Just then, Sal pushed open the screen door. “Ten minutes till dinner!”
“We’ll be right in,” Maeve called back, picking up glasses and napkins.
She reached the end of the porch where the men were sipping cans of Budweiser, and Kate, who’d overheard the tail end of Maeve’s conversation with Gladys, was shaking her head. “Still up to her old tricks.”
“She is,” Maeve agreed with a smile. “I hope I have her sex drive when I’m her age!”
“I don’t even have it now,” Kate said, laughing. “I can barely stay awake when I get home!”
“I know what you mean,” Maeve said, laughing. She picked up the untouched glass of lemonade on the table next to Ivy and then spied Tallulah, the cat, curled up in the old woman’s lap. “Ready for dinner, Miss Ivy?” she asked, but the tiny lady didn’t answer. She was gazing solemnly at the swans gliding across the pond.
11
“HEY,” MAEVE SAID, COMING INTO THE KITCHEN AND UNLOADING THE contents of her arms onto the counter. She hugged her sister and knelt in front of Keeper, who wiggled all around her and pushed his bowed head into her chest.
“You are such a good boy,” she whispered into his fur, making him wiggle even more.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” Macey said. “I don’t know how I used to get everything ready before you started coming.”
“I don’t know, either,” Maeve teased, grinning. “It’s not my fault you didn’t invite me.”
“Did you make blackberry cobbler?” Macey asked hopefully.
“I did,” Maeve said, “which reminds me! The ice cream—” She reached into one of the bags and pulled out several pints of ice cream to put in the freezer.
“What kind did you get?” Macey asked, opening the freezer.
“Tennyson’s Plain Ole Vanilla, of course,” Maeve replied. “Is there any other kind for blackberry cobbler?” she teased.
“There’s Sweet Irish Cream,” Macey said, putting the containers on the shelf.
“Oh, I brought that, too!” Maeve said, smiling and handing it to her. “But that’s not for the cobbler. That is just to have!” She looked around. “Where’s Harper?”
“Still in bed!” Macey said.
“No!”
“Yep,” Macey said, nodding. “She stayed up late reading the book you gave her.”
“Harriet the Spy?” Maeve asked, smiling.
“Mm-hmm. She devours every book you give her—I even caught her with a flashlight under the covers.”
Maeve chuckled. “Good for her!”
“You can wake her, though—she needs to get up and take her medicine.”
“Okay,” Maeve said. She tiptoed up the stairs and peeked into Harper’s room.
The little girl was flopped across her sheets, reading, but when she heard a sound in the hall, she looked up. “Aunt Maeve!”
“You stayin’ in bed all day?” Maeve teased, giving her a hug.
“I might,” Harper said, laughing. “What are you doing here?”
“Did you forget today is the picnic?”
Harper frowned, and then her eyes lit up. “I did forget!” She eyed her aunt’s shirt, hopped out of bed, pulled open her dresser drawer, and riffled through it, looking for her version of the same shirt. “Found it!” she said triumphantly, holding it up with a grin. They’d gotten the same shirts when they’d been shopping together, and although Macey had declined to get one, they knew she really wanted one because it said in big letters: I HAVE RED HAIR BECAUSE GOD KNEW I NEEDED A WARNING LABEL!
“Wearing it?” Maeve asked.
“Of course!” Harper said, pulling her pajama top over her head, but before she pulled on the T-shirt, she stopped to look in the mirror. “Thanks, Kari,” she whispered solemnly. “We’re a team now.”
Maeve smiled wistfully—she knew, because Macey had told her, that Harper made sure to thank her friend every time she got dressed. She’d also shared that Harper said she would never forget the promise she’d made to Lana. Kari’s heartbroken mom had found the courage, after her little girl’s tragic accident, to make the difficult decision to donate her organs, and Harper had received Kari’s heart. Afterward, Harper had promised Lana—who she’d known before the accident—that she would always carry her spirit with her, too, and she would visit Lana so she could listen to her daughter’s heart.
Maeve watched as Harper ran her finger lightly down the scar and then solemnly crossed her heart, before pulling her shirt over her head and brushing her hair out of her eyes. Next, she pulled on her shorts and socks and grinned at her aunt. “Ready!”
“It’s about time,” Maeve teased, getting up from the bed. She watched in amazement as Harper slid along the hardwood floor to the top of the stairs. In the year and a half since her surgery, Harper hadn’t had any noticeable side effects or setbacks. She had more energy than she’d ever had before, and her doctor said she could even play sports. The most important thing she needed to do was remember to take her medicine, but that was the one thing she always seemed to forget.
Harper slid into the kitchen. “I’m here!” she announced to her mom.
“It’s about time!” Macey teased as she—with Keeper at her feet, watching intently—chopped the celery for her potato salad. “Have some breakfast and take your medicine.”
“Okay!” Harper said brightly. “What can I have?” she asked, looking around the kitchen.
“You can have an apple cider doughnut,” Maeve said, coming into the kitchen behind her and reaching for the box she’d brought.
“Are Gage and Gus coming?” Harper asked hopefully, as she reached for a doughnut, suddenly realizing Maeve’s two usual sidekicks weren’t with her.
“They are,” Maeve confirmed. “A little later.”
Harper nodded, and then Macey noticed their matching outfits. “Nice shirts!”
Harper grinned. “I know. We gingers have to stick together!”
Maeve laughed. “We do!” She looked at Macey. “Mace, you still have to get one.”
“I know,” Macey replied. “We forgot to look last Saturday when we were shopping.”
“We will next time,” Harper said.
“Okay, Harp, take your medicine before you forget—it’s right there on the counter.”
Harper put her doughnut on a plate. “Anyone else want one?” she asked, holding the box open.
“Me,” Maeve, said, reaching for a second plate. “I was breathing in their wonderful scent all the way over here. Mace, you want one?”
“No, thanks,” Macey said, “but Ben might . . .”
“Ben might what?” her husband asked, coming into the kitchen and wondering what his wife was volunteering him for now.
Macey nodded to the box. “Want a doughnut?”
“Ooh, you twisted my arm,” he said, smiling at Maeve. “I knew there was a reason we continue to invite you.”
Maeve rolled her eyes, and he chuckled. “Are all women born knowing how to do that?” He loved teasing his sister-in-law, whom he’d known since she was in sixth grade.
“Do what?”
“Roll their eyes.”
“We are,” Maeve said. “It’s because we have to put up with you men.”
He laughed. “Want some coffee?” he asked as he refilled his mug.
Maeve nodded with her mouth full. “Mmm, yes, please.”
Ben poured a second mug and spied Keeper gazing longingly at Maeve. �
��You are such a beggar!”
“He’s fine,” Maeve said, giving him a small piece. “How can you say no to this guy? He’s so darn cute.”
“That’s the problem,” Macey said, as she scooped the celery into the bowl.
Maeve smiled and licked the sugar from her lips. “Okay, now I’m ready,” Maeve said. “What can I do?”
“Want to chop onions?” Macey asked.
“You want me to cry?”
“You won’t cry if you do it right.”
Ben popped the last bite of his doughnut in his mouth and eyed Harper. “You helping me?”
“Yep!” Harper said, giving Keeper her last bite, too, and hopping off her stool. “You comin’, Keep?”
Macey looked over. “I doubt he’s going to leave the kitchen when there’s food prep going on.”
“Yes, he will,” Harper said, reaching for his collar. “Oh! Where’s his new bandanna?”
“Over there,” Macey said, nodding to a bag on the counter.
Harper pulled out the red, white, and blue bandanna, and while he stood patiently, wagging his tail, she tied it around his neck. “There!” she said, stepping back to admire him. “You look so handsome!”
“That reminds me,” Maeve said, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “I bet Gage will forget.”
“Yeah, they’re supposed to be twins today,” Harper said. Then she turned toward the door. “C’mon, Keep.”
“Don’t forget your medicine!” Macey reminded again.
“Oh, right!” Harper said. “I’d forget my head if it wasn’t attached,” she said, repeating the phrase she’d often heard Macey say, and Macey shook her head—mentally noting the truth in the theory that kids noticed what their parents did and said.
A moment later, Harper was out the door with Keeper in tow, and Macey was opening the fridge to retrieve two green peppers and a bag of carrots.
Maeve picked up the container of deviled eggs she’d made with eggs from Gage’s hens. “While you’re in there, Mace, can you find room for these?”
Macey eyed the large, flat container while Maeve peered over her shoulder at the overflowing contents of her sister’s fridge. “Sheesh, Mace, I don’t think you have enough food!”