“A penny for your thoughts,” he whispered.
She mustered a smile and thought how crazy it was that she couldn’t just say what was on her mind. If she’d only realized, back then, what a profound effect her actions would have on the rest of her life—but how do you know when you’re eighteen . . . and scared? “Nothing,” she whispered back, kissing him. “Just thinking about how nice it would be to wake up next to you every day.”
His face brightened. “So . . . you’ll move in?”
She laughed. He sounded so hopeful. “Okay, I’ll move in!”
“Yes!” Gage said, and then he looked down at the Lab squeezing between them again. “Gus is happy, too.”
She laughed. “I think he just wants more pizza!”
10
EVEN THOUGH WILLOW POND SENIOR CARE DID INCLUDE CARE IN ITS name, the elderly folks who lived there weren’t considered patients and they didn’t require a tremendous amount of care. Dinner was provided every night and there were daily activities, including crafts and an enthusiastic book club; there was an ecumenical church service every Sunday, and a happy hour (instead of cookies and lemonade) on the last Friday of each month, but the staff didn’t administer medicine or become involved in personal care. Most of the residents had pill trays, which they—or their families—filled . . . and then they tried to remember to take them, too. They each had their own kitchenette, private bathroom, bedroom—all of which were equipped with emergency pull strings—and a living room furnished with their own furniture, TV, and sometimes a computer. Some folks even had Facebook pages to keep up with their families’ activities and photos—although Addie insisted that Instagram was more hip, or so she’d been told by her grandchildren!
The staff included Maeve, Pam, and Kate—who staggered their start times to cover the 7:00 A.M. to 7:00 P.M. days, with Maeve usually taking the early shift because she didn’t have kids. Janey, a part-timer, came in on weekends. They also used the Willow Pond van to drive the residents, who no longer drove, to the grocery store or Walmart once a week, and there was a Willow Pond car, too, if someone had a doctor’s appointment—of which there were many! Jim, the handyman, lived in one of the apartments and was available for overnight emergencies; Maryellen, the housekeeper, kept all the kitchenettes and bathrooms sparkling and often helped the residents change their sheets, if needed; and there was chef extraordinaire, Sal. Finally, there was LeeAnn, who worked magic from her upstairs office and took care of an endless myriad of tasks—from billing and scheduling activities to coordinating rides and resident turnover. Together, this formidable group looked after their elderly charges and made sure everyone was safe and accounted for, so when Pam asked Maeve to cover for her again—as she often did when one of her kids needed something—Maeve was happy to help.
“Maeve, I’m so sorry to ask . . .” Pam said as she hurried into the kitchen of Willow Pond Senior Care. “I have to take Pete to the doctor—he came home with a sore throat, and I have a feeling he might have strep.”
“Oh, no!” Maeve said, looking up from putting cheese and crackers on a plate for the last Friday of the month happy hour. “Poor Pete! I can absolutely cover for you. My sister said the school is a giant petri dish right now.”
Pam nodded as she dumped a can of defrosted frozen lemonade into a pitcher for anyone who didn’t partake (the residents were responsible for their own wine or beer). “He just got over a cold, and he’s so busy with end of the year activities—he has two field trips coming up and the school picnic, not to mention sixth-grade graduation, so he’ll be disappointed if he has to miss any of it.”
“Is Pete in sixth grade already?!” Maeve asked, offering her a cracker.
“He is,” Pam said, taking one. “Thanks . . . and I can come back after his appointment.”
“No, no,” Maeve said. “If he doesn’t feel well, he’s going to want his mom.”
“Thanks, Maeve, I owe you one . . . I actually owe you more than one.” She added water to the lemonade, stirred, and set the pitcher on the tray.
“You don’t owe me anything,” Maeve said. “I don’t have kids, so I don’t have all the worries and responsibilities you have.”
“Someday you will,” Pam teased, laughing. “And then, I will be there for you.”
“Maybe,” Maeve said.
“What do you mean? Maybe? You and Gage make a wonderful couple, and I think it’s great you’re moving in with him. You just have to put everything in the Lord’s hands.”
Maeve laughed. “You sound like my grandma.”
“Your grandma must’ve been a very smart lady, and I know from experience—things with Big Pete”—as she always referred to her husband—“weren’t always smooth sailing,” she said with a smile. “Every couple has issues they have to contend with . . . obstacles they have to overcome. . . . Relationships take work—and lots of patience! You just have to listen to your heart, Maeve.”
Pam looked up at the clock above their heads. “Sheesh, how’d it get so late?”
“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
