Page 23 of Too Old for This
I don’t leave the house until Sunday morning at nine forty. The service starts at ten on the dot, and Pastor Doug does not appreciate it when people are tardy.
Sheila is right inside the front doors. Today, she is a vision in yellow, and her statement necklace is made of seashells. I’ve never been as fashionable as she is, not even when I was young and trying to be stylish.
“Have you seen Bonnie? I swear to God, that daughter of hers…” Sheila stops and takes a step back, staring at the cane in my hand. “What happened?”
“Just a bit more pain this morning,” I say.
“Knee or hip?”
“Both.”
She makes a face.
“Tell me about Bonnie.”
Sheila whispers in my ear as we walk to our seats, telling me about how Bonnie tried to bring Danielle to the church the other evening, hoping Pastor Doug could talk some sense into her.
Sheila pauses when someone asks me about the cane, which happens more than once.
Glenda makes a point of coming over, along with Mary.
Suzanne waves from afar, mouthing “Are you okay?” I nod back to her.
Today’s service is about grace, one of Pastor Doug’s favorite topics. After attending the same church for so many years, I’ve started to recognize his sermons. They may not be word for word the same, but close enough. My memory isn’t completely gone yet.
Normally, I force myself to focus on what he is saying. After the service, Doug stands at the door of the church, taking a moment to speak with each of us. I like to bring up my favorite lines.
Today, I don’t bother. I let my mind wander to wherever it wants, and it goes straight to Kelsie.
It’s been almost two days. Maybe someone has found her, a friend from yoga or someone from the softball team when she didn’t show up on Saturday. Or a colleague, perhaps Detective Tula. But she hasn’t been mentioned on the news yet. She might still be in the shower, right where I left her.
Every time I think about Kelsie, the shame of my mistake hits me all over again. The disappointment. And I remind myself that whatever happens next is out of my control. It makes me feel like a little girl, when all I could do was watch how others reacted.
Today, I don’t have a chance to mention the service to Pastor Doug, because he asks about my cane.
“Lottie, are you all right?”
“Just old, I’m afraid. The arthritis is getting worse.”
He lays a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You know you’re always in my prayers.”
“I appreciate that so much.”
I turn down Sheila’s invitation to lunch and go straight to my car, not wanting to deal with any further questions. This cane isn’t for show. It really does help, and it has for a long time, but I’ve avoided using it in public. My pain was a weakness I never wanted to show.
—
Mondays are so difficult. It was that way at the bank, and it’s the same way in retirement. The guy at the phone store keeps looking at me like I’m crazy, and I’m starting to feel irritated. I tap my fingers on the counter.
“We do have simpler phones now,” he says. “They have fewer apps and options, but you still have access to the internet, driving directions, and your email.”
He isn’t trying to be patronizing or insulting. Not intentionally. He believes he is helping me, which is all well and good, but I’ve told him three times I want a phone that does not connect to the internet. Maybe I’m overreacting and being paranoid. Maybe I need to be.
“Thank you for all the information,” I say. “But I’d prefer just a phone. Nothing else.”
“Well, that’s kind of the problem.”
“Problem?”
“We don’t carry dumb phones.”
The phone display runs the length of two walls. All the phones are attached with a cable so they can’t be stolen, and there must be at least thirty of them. “Every single one connects to the internet?”
“Yeah, that’s what people want. If you really want a dumb phone, you can probably order one online, but since you’re under contract, that’s going to be a little tricky.”
The bell above the door rings. Another customer walks in. I leave without saying another word.
By the time I get home, I’m exhausted. Trying to explain myself—and what I want—has become a chore on so many levels. I take out my phone, place it on the kitchen counter, and write a sticky note:
Phone
A reminder to leave it here.
Finally, I sit down in my chair and check the news online.
It’s something I’ve done several times a day since Friday night, a near obsession I hate myself for, but that doesn’t stop me.
Surrender only goes so far. There are some things you can’t let go of no matter how hard you try.
Mine is wondering if I’m going to be arrested for my latest murder.
Three days after I left Kelsie in the shower, she shows up.
Local Woman Found Dead
Authorities say a 29-year-old woman was found dead at her home in Salem on Saturday night.
Kelsie Harlow was discovered when police did a welfare check on behalf of a concerned family member.
Officers found Harlow in her bathtub, where she had apparently slipped and hit her head, causing the fatal injury. The death has been ruled an accident.
The article says exactly what I’d hoped for: It was an accident.
But this is only the first shoe to drop.
I close my laptop, push myself up and out of the recliner. Time to clean up the mess I’ve made. That might be the real secret to life. Stop trying to clean up everybody else’s mess, and concentrate on your own. Neither one of my parents ever learned it.