Page 6 of Delay of Game (Norwalk Breakers #4)

SIX

GRACIE

June’s Diner didn’t bother with a paved parking lot or a clear sign or friendly servers. The meat-and-three restaurant had been open for as long as I could remember, and Aunt Mercy dragged me there every weekend before she left for the memory care facility.

The woman behind the counter grunted a greeting, her name tag reading Jenny even though last week it said Alice and Norma the week before.

I ordered two country ham plates with mac and cheese, fried okra, and greens. Normally, I’d steal okra off Aunt Mercy’s plate and order peanut butter pie as my third side, but I opted to order a pie separately.

The food was cold by the time I pulled put her new home. As I wrote my name into the visitor log, I asked for the directions to the kitchen. The nurse behind the front desk directed me down the hall before calling for Mercedes Fournier over the PA system.

I set the bag of food on an empty table, pulse racing as I waited for my aunt. When we lived together, I could chart Aunt Mercy’s moods like a map. I could tell in the morning if we’d have a good day or a difficult day. I could tell at a glance if she remembered me.

But when she shuffled into the dining hall, her watery blue eyes wide as she looked for someone familiar, I didn’t have a clue. I’d spoken to a nurse the day before, but he only gave me a rundown of her day: the games she’d played, the food she ate, how long she slept.

I sat still until her gaze drifted over mine, flitting away and then back again.

“Gracie!” she exclaimed.

I stood, biting back tears as her arms wrapped around me. I tucked my face into the crook of her neck, inhaling lavender under the antiseptic smell that permeated the place. “Aunt Mercy. I bought us dinner.”

“June’s?” she asked, pulling back and peeking into the bags. “You’re an angel.”

“I need to heat it up. I bought a whole peanut butter pie, too,” I gushed.

She gingerly pulled away. “I don’t like peanut butter pie.”

The almost imperceptible pacing of the statement caught my attention. Of course she didn’t like peanut butter pie. She hated peanut butter. She hated pies. She didn’t like the consistency of whipped cream, and she only ever bought it because otherwise, I stole her okra.

She smoothed out her skirt, nestling into her seat. Her attention stayed on the table, not me. I frowned. Had I misread her greeting? Maybe an aide had told her my name. Maybe she’d only had a glimmer of a memory, passing and now gone.

I shook off the worry. “I’m going to heat this food up and be right back, okay?”

She nodded with a faint smile. I squeezed her arm before gathering up the food and making my way to the kitchen.

The cook directed me to a bank of microwaves and hot plates, a camera positioned overhead, the feed no doubt piped into the nursing station to make sure residents didn’t burn the place down.

I took two from a stack of plain white utilitarian plates stacked on the end of the table. The melamine plates were meant for durability, not aesthetics. They weren’t made of delicate bone china, decorated with intricate paintings of flowers.

I sighed, dropping my head as the meal heated and letting my cheerful facade fall away, just for a minute.

“Dinner is served!” I said with a flourish, placing a plate in front of my aunt and taking the seat next to her. “I would have taken you out but…”

But the nursing staff said an outing to the diner might agitate Aunt Mercy so late in the evening.

The words died on my lips.

“How was your day?” I asked instead.

“Oh!” She dropped her fork, her eyes lighting up. “I played bingo with a group of women this afternoon.”

“Bingo?” I raised an eyebrow. “Really? That sounds like fun.”

Aunt Mercy dropped her voice, eyes darting around the room. “It’s the best way to get information. Even without the wine.”

Some of the stress holding my chest tight released. “Yeah? Is that a fact?”

“I found out that Kitty is carrying on an affair with Mr. Angus Clevons from the third floor.” She waggled her eyebrows, and I bit back a laugh.

“An affair, huh? That’s what these people get up to? Maybe if they had wine at bingo, that wouldn’t happen.”

Aunt Mercy shrugged. “It’s not bad here. When they’re not watching.”

My body recoiled before I could stop myself. “Well, the staff are paid to keep an eye on everyone. Make sure they’re safe.”

I metered the words, emphasizing them as I willed the conversation to stay rooted in reality.

“Not the staff,” she hissed, leaning closer. “The men. They stand by my bed while I sleep. They’re so quiet.”

In the early stages of her disease, I’d taken Aunt Mercy’s claims of shadowy figures outside our home seriously.

We didn’t live in a bad neighborhood, just an old one.

While downtown Norwalk gentrified and grew, our residential neighborhood stayed mostly the same.

Sure, there was poverty in the form of run-down houses and light graffiti, but not actual crime.

No murders, no assaults, no theft, but enough drugs to make the threat of those crimes a possibility.

When Aunt Mercy had woken me from a dead sleep, claiming someone broke into her room, I called the cops. The second time, I installed security cameras. The third time, one police officer gently suggested that maybe the problem wasn’t an intruder, but Aunt Mercy.

I reached across the table, covering her hand with mine. “That sounds really scary. I’m sorry they kept you up.”

“They don’t keep me up, dear,” she smiled wanly as she picked her fork back up. “But they really shouldn’t stare.”

“They shouldn’t,” I agreed, a lump forming in my throat that I swallowed back down. I returned the smile. “I was cleaning your room the other day. We forgot your blanket: the quilt with the starbursts. I meant to bring it with me but forgot.”

“You should keep that one.” She waved her fork in the air. “Or better yet, give it to Linda. She always loved the colors on that quilt.”

She dropped her late sister’s name as if she’d seen her yesterday and she hadn’t died ten years ago. I bit my bottom lip. “That’s a really good idea. I’ll ask.”

We finished eating, and I walked Aunt Mercy back to her room before flagging down the nurse on her floor as I headed toward the exit.

“How’s she doing?” I asked with all the nervous energy of my kindergartener’s parents after the first week of school.

“She’s great!” The woman wearing pink scrubs and a stethoscope enthused. Brenda, by the name on her badge. “A real hoot. She fits right in.”

“And she’s happy?” I asked, tears springing to my eyes even though I’d asked dozens of times since I’d abandoned her here.

The nurse’s face fell. She took a step forward, resting a hand on my shoulder. “She’s had some good days and bad days, but you know how that goes. Overall, I’d say she’s thriving here. She’s eating well, taking part in group activities, and making new friends with the residents.”

“And you’d tell me if she was unhappy?” I asked, sucking in a breath.

Of course, Aunt Mercy was happy here. She was miserable with me, stuck at home, without friends and transportation, with a grandniece who lashed out when she explained for the fiftieth time that the things she heard and saw weren’t true.

The nurse leveled her gaze at me. “We’ve had residents, in the past, who didn’t fit into our community.

Trust me, we’d let you know. We’d help you find a place that was a better fit for her.

But she’s wonderful. She’s going to be fine.

” She pursed her lips for a moment. “You’ll be fine, too. You did the right thing.”

I nodded, swallowing a sob. “Please let her know I’ll be back on Thursday. And call if she needs anything. Anytime.”

“Will do, honey. You have a nice night.”

I fled the facility, only stopping once I was outside my car, sucking in cold air. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out.

Gloria.

“Hey!” I answered, voice pitched too high on the precipice of hysteria.

“Gracie! I meant to call you earlier this week, but it’s been crazy. Probably not as crazy as it has been for you, but…”

“Kindergarten prep is no joke.”

“It’s not. Thankfully, Rob took care of most of the shopping. I’m in charge of the important part: helping Ms. Mila pick out a school wardrobe. Can they wear princess dresses to class?”

“I had a boy who came in a Spiderman outfit for the entire first half of the year. Princess dresses are fine,” I laughed, the tension in my shoulders draining. I slipped into my car, keeping my eyes off the building in front of me.

“Good. She’d be devastated if she couldn’t dress up. But that wasn’t why I called. I called because I stopped by the hardware store the other day and made you a key for the studio.”

My brow furrowed. “A key?”

“Right, so you can drop by whenever.”

My heart skipped a beat, excitement building. I tamped it back down. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I told you, besides Rob and I, no one is using the pottery studio. I’d love for it to get more attention. You’d be doing me a favor. And with our schedule, well, it’d just be easier if you had a key. Unless you decided you don’t care for pottery? That wouldn’t hurt my feelings.”

“No,” I blurted out. “It’s not that. Rob doesn’t mind?”

“If you have a key to my studio? Frankly, that’s none of his business, but no, he doesn’t mind. Why don’t you swing by tomorrow evening and he can show you around?”

“Not you?” The question slipped out of my mouth.

“I have a hot date tomorrow, but I don’t want to hold you up. He’ll be happy to show you the ropes.”

I doubted Rob would be happy to show me around. He didn’t seem like much of a teacher, and despite the apology, I doubted he wanted to see me.

“I actually have a thing?—”

Gloria cut me off. “It’ll take ten minutes, tops.

At least stop by and get the key so you can glaze your pieces.

Trust me, once you get your first piece finished, you’ll be hooked.

Let’s schedule a dinner on Sunday, too. I’ll give you an official tour with where you can find supplies and the cleaning checklist and all that? ”

My mouth twisted into a frown. I didn’t have a plan. Didn’t have friends. Didn’t even work full time currently. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

“Dinner won’t be as decadent as last time. Rob is on his training meal plan, so roasted chicken and vegetables, but I’ll add in a dessert for us ladies. Say, five?”

“Should I bring something?” I asked, reeling.

“Your beautiful self. We’ll see you Sunday, and I’ll let Rob know to expect you tomorrow evening. Night, love!”

She hung up, and I lowered my head onto the steering wheel. Spending more time with Rob wouldn’t be bad. He’d apologized and probably would give me the bare minimum tour before leaving me alone. And an evening in the studio sounded nice.

I started the car and drove back to an empty house, glad for something to look forward to.