Page 48 of Too Old for This
I had a plan for that finger.
It was supposed to be chopped up and put in the garage with the rest of Norma, but yesterday when I got home from the Harmony, I was in a hurry.
The ice in the container had melted, leaving behind a small pool of water.
I wasn’t sure if I would need her finger again, so it went straight from my bag into the freezer. The one in the kitchen.
Now Norma’s finger is stuck in the container, encased in ice. After being thawed and refrozen, it looks shriveled and grotesque. Her opalescent nail polish sticks out against the wrinkled skin.
“That’s not real!” I bend down and snatch up the container.
Morgan stares at me, her mouth still open in shock. Her hand moves, gesturing toward the finger, but no words come out.
I grab the lid off the floor and shove it on top, hiding the finger from her view. “It’s a prop. For a play.”
“But I could’ve sworn it was real.”
“No, no! Why would I have a finger in my freezer? That’s ridiculous.” And now I don’t know what to do with the finger except put it back in the freezer. “It’s a thing for a play, a prop.”
Morgan places a hand over her heart, as if trying to slow it down. I know that feeling. “A play? You’re in a play?”
“No, not me. God, no. I’m just helping out with the props and costumes, things like that.”
She nods, looking from me to the freezer. It’s still open.
“Well, you’re doing a great job. It fooled me.”
I pull her desserts out and slide them onto plates. “Come, let’s go back into the dining room.”
In my head, I am screaming at myself.
I know better. I knew better. After what happened with my phone and Kelsie, it was obvious I shouldn’t be doing this anymore. Ever since, I’ve been trying to move past this and get back to my retirement, so my body and mind can decay in peace.
Then Norma showed up and drugged me.
If you look at this situation objectively, that’s when things started to go haywire. If Norma had been able to contain herself, I wouldn’t be arguing with Morgan about a finger.
She follows me back into the dining room and sits down, turning her nose up at the cookie sandwich in front of her.
“I really thought it was real,” she says.
“If it were real, I’d never be able to eat this incredible dessert. I can’t stand the sight of blood. Real blood, I mean. That blood is just corn syrup and food coloring.”
“But why is it frozen?”
“To keep it from getting mushy. It has to look real. We’ll have to freeze it every night as well, because the play runs for a week.” The words are just coming out of me now, building a story around a play that doesn’t exist.
“Archie never mentioned you were involved in the theater.”
“It’s a church play.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “What kind of church play needs a severed finger?”
My knowledge of the Bible comes in handy. There’s a reference for everything. “It’s about Adoni Bezek. From the book of Judges?”
Morgan furrows her brow. I see the first whisper of a wrinkle between her eyes. “I went to church when I was little, but I don’t remember that story.”
“The Old Testament can be quite violent. Bezek cut off the fingers of kings so they couldn’t fight.” Actually, it was their thumbs and large toes. But close enough.
“Kings? But that looked like a woman’s finger.”
“Kings and queens. In our interpretation, Bezek doesn’t discriminate.”
Morgan tilts her head one way, then the other. “What a weird idea for a church play.”
I nod along with her and make a face. Like we’re on the same page. “It wasn’t my first choice, but I’m not on the planning committee.”
She doesn’t touch her dessert. She sits at the table looking a little queasy as I eat every bite of my cookie sandwich.
A few times, she looks away and stares off into space, zoning out of our conversation.
Morgan is still thinking about the finger.
I understand. It’s not every day an appendage like that falls out of someone’s freezer.
I try to imagine something like this happening to me. If, for example, I was at Sheila’s house and we were cooking some food for bingo night and I found a finger in her freezer.
Well, I would be shocked. I cannot imagine any reason why Sheila would have a finger in her freezer. There is no reason, as far as I can tell. Not unless she secretly had killed someone and chopped off their finger to open their phone.
That would cross my mind, but only because I’ve done it myself. It’s hard to believe that exact scenario has gone through Morgan’s mind.
I reach over and pat her hand. She smiles a little.
“I’m sorry that scared you,” I say. “Have you always been squeamish around blood?”
“No. Just…fingers, I guess?”
“It was the shock. You weren’t expecting to see that.”
“No. I definitely was not.”
Before the finger incident, I considered asking Morgan to stay at the house instead of moving to the hotel.
Now that idea seems downright dangerous, almost like my subconscious wants me to make mistakes.
I have a whole body chopped up in a freezer, and this is not the time for guests.
Maybe my brain is screaming at me to stop this nonsense and retire for good. And I’m trying. I swear I am.