Page 35 of Too Old for This

Sheila and Bonnie were serious about going to lunch. After Sunday service, we head to our favorite family-style restaurant. Bonnie persuades the hostess to give us a booth in the far corner, away from all the children. A rather impressive feat on a weekend.

The restaurant has kept some of the old diner customs in place, like the overturned coffee cups on the table.

We turn them right side up, and a waitress comes by to fill them.

The menu is much different, though. Not as much grease.

All three of us order the senior special: an egg-white omelet with spinach, no bacon or sausage, a fresh bowl of fruit, and whole grain toast, no butter.

I am the only one not wearing a dress or a hat. Sheila has been giving my outfit the evil eye all morning.

“Your behavior is concerning,” she says.

Bonnie places her hand on Sheila’s wrist. “What she means is, we’re concerned about you.”

I shake my head, giving them a firm tsking. “You can stop with all the concern. I haven’t been diagnosed with anything other than old age. And since I live alone, I’ve decided it’s better to start making arrangements now, while I’m still in good health.”

Sheila purses her lips. Bonnie sips her coffee. At our age, the future is unpleasant to talk about.

“You’re considering Oak Manor?” Bonnie says.

“Depends on what I get for the house. Serenity Village is closer to my budget. But there are some others I’d like to check out. I’m also considering moving down to California, to be closer to Archie and the grandkids.”

“Moving?” Sheila says.

Bonnie gives me a sad face. “That would be terrible for us, but I understand if you want to be close to the kids. Especially with the new baby.”

“I don’t believe it,” Sheila says. “You don’t want to be around babies.”

Yes and no. I do want to be around my grandchildren, but I don’t want to raise them or be the built-in babysitter.

Stephanie always loved it when I was around and available to watch the kids, but I don’t know what Morgan will be like.

Yes, I want to spend more time with Archie and the grandkids.

Olive and Noah don’t need a babysitter anymore, but the newborn will.

Before any of that can happen, I need to find out if Archie wants me in California. He hasn’t asked me to move down, and I’ve never brought it up.

“And you’re sure this is what you want?” Sheila says.

What I don’t want is to have this conversation right here and now. I’ve got a dozen other things on my mind, starting with a phone call from Tula a few hours ago.

—

It wasn’t a complete surprise, given what I had been up to. Tula wanted to know if I had heard from Norma again.

“It’s so funny you ask that,” I said. “Norma called me last night. And I have to admit, I didn’t really understand what she was talking about.”

“Did she mention something about finding the right questions?”

“She did. And I think there’s a note involved? I didn’t really understand it all.”

He exhaled hard, blowing into the phone. I was happy to hear that. Tula sounded as frustrated as I felt—though for very different reasons. I sat down at the kitchen table, wrapped my hand around my hot cup of coffee, and waited for him to continue.

“She said she thinks someone is trying to stop her from finding Plum,” he said. “But then five minutes later, she said someone was helping her.”

“That sounds like a strange way to help.”

“Can you do me a favor and let me know if you hear from her again? She seems to be running her own…investigation.”

“Absolutely.”

I hung up feeling pretty good about my progress so far. Norma was probably trying to figure out which “he” the caller was referring to—Cole or Tula or both. She also received my note, which had been left at the front desk. I paid a stranger twenty dollars to deliver it.

Then I called Norma again. With the prepaid.

It was late last night, around eleven o’clock, and she was in her room instead of the bar. Norma answered the phone on the first ring, her voice thicker and heavier than usual.

I imagined her sitting on the bed, her hand clasped around the phone. Today’s landlines are so boring. The old ones had the curly wires attaching the receiver to the base. I thought about strangling her with one of those.

But I had a job to do. I pressed Play on the voice-changing program. No male voice this time.

I used a little girl.

“Mommy?”

“Plum? Oh my God!”

“Mommy, why did you leave me?”

“Baby, I—”

Click.

—

Sheila bangs her spoon against the coffee cup. “Are you even listening?”

“Yes,” I say. “But I haven’t made any decisions yet, so we’re just going around in circles. If I decide to sell the house and move, you two will be the first to know.”

Bonnie and Sheila exchange a look.

Apparently, I hadn’t been listening. I’d missed something.

“We were talking about your sudden change in appearance,” Sheila says. “And how sometimes that can be a sign of depression.”

“I’m not depressed.”

“It would be completely understandable,” Bonnie says. “With everything going on with Archie and the wedding and the grandbaby…I would feel overwhelmed, too.”

“I just got tired of putting on makeup and wearing uncomfortable clothes. And at my age, I don’t have to.”

Sheila mashes her lips together, biting back whatever bad words are floating through her mind. I think she takes it as a personal insult that one of her friends has decided to be so unfashionable.

“This is coming from a place of love,” Bonnie says.

“It feels more like judgment.”

“The world does judge based on appearances,” Sheila says. “So we aren’t the ones judging you. Everybody else is.”

I shove a big omelet bite into my mouth. This conversation has taken a turn I wasn’t expecting. Nor do I appreciate it.

“We just want you to be happy,” Bonnie says.

When I’m done chewing, I ask what their plan is. “You have a doctor or therapist you want me to see?”

“Yes,” Sheila says.

Bonnie takes out her phone. “I got a few referrals, so I’ll send them to you. No pressure, just something to think about.”

As if I need someone digging through my mind.

This is one of the many difficult things about friendship. On the one hand, friends are supposed to look out for you. To let you know when you make bad decisions or stray down an unhealthy path. All well and good, assuming they know the good path from the bad one.

On the other hand, they’re looking out for their self-interest as much as anyone else. Sheila and Bonnie see their future in me. They see their own fears about physical and mental decline, and they don’t like the reflection in the mirror.

I’m not the only one who might end up rotting alone in my house.