Page 2 of Too Old for This

I lean against the counter, feeling a little winded.

Plum is on the floor, the blood from her head is a bright red spot on the black-and-white tile. It was disappointing that I had to hit her twice. But in my defense, I wasn’t prepared for this tonight.

First, the cleanup. If I’m one minute late, that blood in the grout is going to be a problem.

I rummage around for a plastic grocery bag. They’re in short supply these days; everything is reusable. I find one stuffed deep in the back of a drawer and wrap it around Plum’s head, tying it at the neck to prevent her blood from spreading farther.

With that done, I push her body aside.

Hydrogen peroxide gets rid of what’s left. I’ve known for decades that neither bleach nor ammonia is good enough. You have to use peroxide. But I suppose all of that is on the internet these days.

Next, Plum’s car keys. They’re in her pocket. I head outside and find her little silver compact parked on the half-circle driveway, right in front of the house. The inside does not look like an airplane cockpit. The car is an economical model without all the bells and whistles.

Plum has quite a bit of stuff in her car. Empty coffee cup, bottled iced tea, trash left over from lunch, and some clothing. It looks like she changed her shirt right before knocking on my door.

In the trunk, I find a bag with gym clothes, sneakers, a water bottle, and an energy bar. No electronic devices.

I head back into the house. She brought a tote bag inside with her. It’s in the kitchen next to her chair, and I nudge her body with my foot to get to it. Files, wallet, lipstick, mints, and a variety of other things that can wait. The problems are her phone and her laptop.

I’m hardly a Luddite. I have a Wi-Fi network, my own cell phone, even a computer, but I am no expert. It’s impossible to keep up with advances today. If I take a nap, I miss some new technological advance. And I love my naps.

Regardless of what’s new and improved or better, faster, stronger, I make one assumption about modern life: Every device is being tracked. I learned that a few years ago in a free class at the library. Now I’ve got to decide how to swing this data into my favor.

I pick up a cookie. Shortbread, full of butter and sugar.

Plum’s gadgets will track her here, in my home, at this moment. If I destroy the phone and laptop, my house will be her last known location.

That won’t do.

Now I have to get dressed and go out, no debate about that. Certain things need to be done, and you can’t skip any of them. Nobody wants to end up in the pokey.

I use that word because it sounds better than prison , not because it’s from my generation. I’m not that old.

Once I get all bundled up in a coat, boots, hat, and gloves, I wipe down the gadgets. For me, it’s rather late at night. My day should be long over. But for some, the world is just getting started. I remember those days when life didn’t begin until the sun went down, but that was fifty years ago.

I pull out of the driveway in Plum’s car and head down the street. The houses here are large, same as mine, but they’ve been added to, redone, rebuilt. That makes me, and my outdated house, the bad stepchild of Bluebell Lane. But, as I mentioned, I’ve been called worse.

There are only a few places left in Baycliff to get a taxicab that accepts cash.

My options are limited to the major transportation hubs: the airport, the train and bus stations.

Plum is—was—young and impatient. I saw that for myself.

Not the type to waste time traveling on a train or bus. The airport it is.

I pull into the parking lot and pick a place in the corner, where it’s the darkest. Lot of shadows. That gives me a chance to drop her phone and laptop on the ground. I run over both. Twice.

Plum’s digital life ends here.

My last stop is the arrivals pickup, where I dump the electronics in the garbage and search for a cab.

—

Plum’s body is not big. She was short and petite, and I should be able to drag her right across the floor.

This is difficult to admit, but I’m a little afraid that something will go horribly awry and I will end up with a broken hip or arm or leg. An injury like that would be disastrous.

I take a sip of tea before heading to the backyard. My garden is in the center, vegetables on one side and herbs on the other. The rest of the yard is overgrown. It’s tended to a couple times a year when I break down and pay someone to do it.

In the garden shed, I get my wheelbarrow.

Once it’s in the kitchen, I tip it sideways next to Plum so I can shove her right into it, then stand it upright. Again, I take a minute to rest.

I hate that this is necessary. My body has been turning against me for a while now, acting like it’s no longer happy to be here. The worst part is that my mind is still sharp. I am constantly aware of my body’s rebellion.

I swallow a few ibuprofen and get on with it, wheeling Plum into the garage and over to the freezer.

It opens from the top, which means I have to prop up the wheelbarrow and drop her in from above. The process is not pretty and takes an extraordinary amount of effort, but finally Plum is inside. I slam the freezer shut and roll the wheelbarrow back out to the shed.

The last thing I do before going to bed is plug in my rechargeable chain saw.