Rosie smiles and looks between us. “Oh, don’t worry, dear. I’m not worried at all. In fact, I have a very good feeling about all of this.”
16
MAREN
“I’ve always said that Hayes should settle down with a nice girl like you.”
Rosie peers at me through her cat-eye glasses, popping another mint from the jar on my desk into her mouth. She’s graciously agreed to let me stop by my office and send out a few emails before dropping her off at bingo. But now, comfortably seated in the chair across from my desk, she seems to be entirely uninterested in giving me any quiet time for concentration.
“Rosie,” I say, regretting the long-sleeved dress I put on after Hayes dropped us off at my apartment. It’s suddenly very warm in here. “I don’t know if—”
“He’s a real sweetheart, my grandson. And a gentleman, when he makes the effort. I’ve always told him that if he’d just treat a young woman like he treats his grandmother, he’d have been married by now. Although I don’t mind the attention,” she says with a giggle, one hand resting on her heart.
A smile slips through my defenses. There’s something so disarming about Rosie . . . you can’t help but tell her all your secrets.
The truth is, I like where Hayes and I are right now, in this sort of friends with benefits, will-they-won’t-they scenario. I can’t know for sure if it’ll last longer than one of his typical summer flings.
I try very hard not to think past our next hookup. I’d much rather think about the mind-blowing sex we’ve been having, the complete abandon in which I give my body over to his hungry mouth and hands.
Memories of his thick length, pounding me into oblivion, awaken a familiar tension deep in my belly, grounding me back in the present where the innocent old lady across from me is clueless to my dirty thoughts. A little reluctantly, I close my laptop, giving Rosie my full attention.
“The truth is, I really like Hayes. A lot.”
Rosie chuckles. “I can tell.”
I swear this room’s temperature has spiked ten degrees since we got here just fifteen minutes ago.
“I think Hayes likes me too. Well . . .” I pause, thinking. “He’s at least attracted to me.”
“I doubt there’s a difference in Hayes’s head,” Rosie says knowingly, and I feel my heart clench.
Doesn’t she know that she could be setting me up for the disappointment of a lifetime?
“True,” I say, scratching my temple. Rosie leans closer, and unconsciously, so do I. “It’s just that he’s never really been the commitment type. There’s always been something holding him back.”
She’s nodding before the words are fully out of my mouth. “There has been. But once he’s with the right girl, none of that will matter anymore. Believe me, I know.”
With a slow sigh, I lean back. As wise as she is, I have no idea if Rosie’s right about this one.
I clear my throat. “Well, enough talk about all that. Ready to win some high-stake rounds of bingo?”
Rosie angles a single wiry eyebrow, but says nothing more. Instead, she collects her purse and gestures for me to lead the way.
My guest seems to like Riverside even more than I do. Bingo isn’t until ten, and Rosie isn’t one to wait around, so she insists I give her a tour of the facility. She’s fascinated with every nook and cranny as I walk her down each resident hallway, through the medical ward, past the courtyard, and back into the main corridor, finally stopping in the media center.
But when we walk through the double doors of the game room, I spot a handful of aides rearranging the seating, and remember that a summer camp choir is joining us this morning.
Making sure that Rosie is comfortable by the room’s small kitchenette, brewing herself some tea, I help seat the residents who wander in one by one. Some are confused, others grumpy, but the majority are eager for another exciting event to take place. The group of thirty or so kids is a total hit with our residents, visiting from a local children’s summer camp for the second time this week.
Lucky for us, our fundraiser allotted Riverside a lot more than just money. With the press coverage and corporate involvement, the attention on our little operation has rejuvenated both our financial status and our programming. Even the alderman’s office is involved now. There’s a consistent stream of messages in my in-box, small business owners and HR departments asking how their company can contribute.
If the local children’s choir isn’t visiting, then vendors are dropping by to donate fresh fruits, veggies, jams, and cheeses in a simulated farmer’s market, reminding our memory-care residents what it’s like to shop for groceries. One of the neighborhood’s art collectives even visited last week, providing all the paint, brushes, smocks, and canvases to make a glorious mess of abstract art pieces now hanging along the walls of the main corridor. I’m most excited about the after-school “Reading Buddy” program we’ll be offering come late August, where school-age kids will read to our residents, and vice versa.
Before long, a few dozen residents are crammed into the room, wheelchairs and sofas rearranged to serve as audience seating. At nine thirty, the kids file in, wearing matching green polos and khaki shorts.
Scanning the room, I find Rosie standing where I left her, but she’s not alone anymore. Don, world-class charmer that he is, leans over his own cup of tea and murmurs some joke that has Rosie positively rocking with laughter.
“Uh-oh, that can’t be good.” I chuckle, approaching them with my arms crossed over my chest and a playful sternness to my voice. “I see you’ve met Don, Rosie. Don’t believe anything he says, especially if it’s concerning the meatloaf.”
“We hadn’t gotten that far,” Don exclaims in mock-earnest, turning to Rosie to ask, “Have you ever seen the 1973 movie Soylent
