Page 66 of How Lulu Lost Her Mind

“No one wants you to die, Ms. Patricia,” Simon assures her.

“Be quiet!” Mom snaps, her anger clearly overruling her passionate nature. “You don’t know anything. She wants me gone so she can make Sutton Hall a bed-and-breakfast.”

I groan. Not that again.

Simon rises from his seat. Lindsey scoots her chair back and poor Jim jumps up like he can’t get away fast enough.

“I’ll get your meds, Patricia.” Lindsey makes a quick exit with Jim on her heels.

“Are you leaving me, Dr. Simon?” Mom smiles up at him as if the past few seconds haven’t happened.

“Afraid so.” Simon helps Mom to her feet. “Thank you for lunch. It was delicious,” he says, but I notice he hasn’t eaten much, especially compared to Jim, whose plate looks licked clean.

She offers her cheek and scowls at me over his shoulder. “You don’t get to watch my shows ever again,” she whispers loudly, as if no one else can hear her. As if listening to her yell about Melvin Thompson’s white balls is some sort of reward for good behavior.

I watch Mom shuffle from the room, madder than ever. So much for a giddy afterglow.

“Do you have a hat?”

Since Simon and I are the only two left in the room, I assume he’s asking me. “No. Why?”

“I want to show you something?”

For a split second, I imagine Simon ripping off his shirt to Joe Cocker’s “You Can Leave Your Hat On.” “What?”

“I’m not going to tell you. You’ll just have to come with me.”

I doubt he’s going to show me the Full Monty, and I follow him into the hall because I’m intrigued and have nothing else to do.

“I parked my truck out front.”

I turn toward the parlor and he heads toward the kitchen.

“This way, tee Lou.”

“You said you parked in the front.”

“I did.”

“That’s the back of the house.” You’d think since he’s worked on this house for twenty-five years, he’d know the difference.

He points to the front door. “That’s the back.”

I walk toward him. One of us fell on our head one too many times as a kid, and it wasn’t me. “The kitchen is at the back of the house,” I tell him.

“But this wasn’t always the kitchen. This used to be a grand entry just like the one at the back of the house.” He shakes his head as we walk outside. “Front of the house to you.”

“What?” Maybe it is me. Maybe I’m the one who fell on my head and just doesn’t remember.

He points to the columns and transom above the doors. “Originally, the front and back were identical.”

“What?” He puts a hand on the small of my back and we walk to the passenger side of his truck. “Why?”

“River side and road.” He opens the door and helps me inside. “If guests arrived by river, they had the same view of the house and grounds as guests arriving by buggy from the roadside.”

He closes the door and I’m still confused.

“There isn’t a road back here,” I point out as he gets in the driver’s side. “It’s on the other side of the house. The front side.”