Page 55 of Too Old for This

Twenty minutes after “Norma” leaves, I make a late visit to the hotel. It’s different on a Saturday night, more people are around. The bar is half full, and the noise drifts out into the lobby. Not an appealing place to me, but I can see how someone lonely would be drawn toward it.

In the room, a text is already waiting.

Burke: You did it!

Yes, I did. Finally, I am one step ahead of Burke.

Norma: How does it look?

Burke: Clear, good sound. But I think she’s already gone to bed.

Norma: Probably. She’s not in good shape.

Burke: I missed the dinner, though. Did she say anything?

Norma: Nothing useful. I told you, she goes in and out. Loses track of what she’s saying .

Burke: Are you staying there a few more days?

I hadn’t planned on that, but what the hell. It’s not my credit card. And I’m not the one who is going to lose my job.

Norma: I can try. Why? The camera isn’t good enough?

Burke: Not if it doesn’t lead to anything.

He is truly a terrible man. I always knew he was, but here’s the proof, all laid out in front of me. I could probably prove entrapment with this conversation if it wasn’t taking place on Norma’s phone. And if I wasn’t pretending she was still alive.

Fine. Burke gets to do whatever he wants. I suppose that’s how law enforcement works these days. They lie, they listen in on conversations, they plant illegal cameras in people’s homes without a warrant.

Wait, that’s not fair. Burke isn’t a cop anymore. He’s just a criminal like me.

—

The next morning, I step in front of the camera for the first time.

While wearing my old bathrobe and slippers, I use the walker and shuffle into the dining room from the kitchen.

The plates and glasses are still on the table from the night before.

I pick up a glass, return to the kitchen, and set it down.

I go back and do it again. Every time I walk into the dining room, I’m on camera. And I’m using up that battery.

Instead of imagining smashing Burke’s head with a hammer, I think about him watching the video on his phone and screaming in frustration. As difficult as it is, I don’t laugh.

Once the table has been cleared and the chairs are pushed in, I go through the kitchen and into the hallway, where I ditch the walker and head upstairs. Half an hour later, I leave through the garage and don’t go near the sitting room again. Instead, I head to the Harmony.

Again, a text from Burke is waiting.

Burke: She uses that walker all the time?

Norma: Yes, I told you that.

Burke: Doesn’t mean it’s real.

That makes me laugh. He’s getting so funny in his old age. And he doesn’t even know it.

I extend Norma’s stay at the hotel until Wednesday, and I also text Tammy. She has officially become tired of covering for Norma.

Tammy: I’m sorry about your daughter, but I can’t keep working 7 days a week.

Norma: I get it.

Tammy: What do you want me to tell Patrice?

Presumably, this is Norma’s boss, a woman who hasn’t bothered to check in with an employee whose daughter is missing. I hate Patrice already. Which is a little strange, since I can’t muster up any sympathy for Norma, either.

Norma: Tell her finding my daughter is more important than working right now, so if she has to fire me, then that’s her choice.

Tammy: Got it. Of course .

One last thing. Online, I find a generic picture of a doll. It’s old and ragged with one missing eye and a bald patch where the hair used to be. I post it on Norma’s social media.

Keeping this for when my Plum returns.

#WhereIsMyBabyDoll

—

It’s possible Sheila and Bonnie have given up on me.

They’ve stopped commenting on my clothes and don’t bother with dirty looks.

They also don’t bring up Oak Manor or Serenity Village or ask when I’m going to sell my house.

It’s as if they’ve accepted that I’m another parishioner who will be gone soon, moving on to the next phase of life.

We all know that means incapacitated or dead.

Collectively, I think we all know Archie’s wedding will be my last big event. After Sunday service is over and everyone gathers in the vestibule to socialize, Morgan’s visit continues to be our main topic of conversation.

“That dress she picked is rather sparkly,” Bonnie says. “I hope this wedding is in the evening?”

Sheila clucks her tongue. “Bling isn’t just for nighttime anymore. You’re showing your age.”

“My age always shows. Nothing I can do about that.”

“It’s her wedding,” I say. “And unlike Archie, it’s her first. She can wear whatever dress she wants.”

“I understand, but that’s why she needs so much guidance,” Sheila says. “Women like Morgan are the reason why we have wedding consultants and planners. You can’t just let brides run around out there in the wild. They don’t know what the hell they’re doing.”

I have to give her that one. Not only has Morgan taken on this whole project by herself, but she seems to be making all the decisions.

“She has picked out a lovely venue. It’s that huge mansion out by the creek,” I say. “And her menu looks quite tasty, though I did steer her away from too much seafood. The reception is in the garden, and you don’t want fish sitting outdoors for too long.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Sheila says. “Brides need to be steered.”

“Guided,” Bonnie says.

“Exactly.”

Bonnie is the first to leave. Sheila and I are alone, and I continue talking about the wedding to keep her from getting off topic. She does it anyway. Sometimes it’s aggravating how good her memory is.

“Did you ever figure out who that woman was? Norma?”

“Yes!” I say. “I totally forgot about that. Her name wasn’t Norma. That was Maura . We worked together…Oh gosh, it was forever ago. Eons. ”

“Really? I could’ve sworn she said Norma.”

“Well, I talked to her. It was Maura. She was here for a few days, trying to decide if she wants to move full-time. Still hasn’t decided.”

Before Sheila can say another word, Glenda interrupts us.

I see her teeth coming first, followed by her floral dress.

She makes a point of wearing her best frocks on Sunday, most of the time with a matching hat.

Glenda looks me up and down. She has done that since I stopped dressing up, but her smile never wavers.

“You look so fresh this morning,” she says to me. “Did you go to the spa and get that antiaging facial? I’ve heard it’s incredible.”

“Yes, in fact I did.”

She smiles. As she goes on and on about this week’s raffle prize, I imagine hitting those white teeth with my hammer, and I wonder what kind of sound that would make.

I snap out of it soon enough. As much as I would like to enjoy this daydream, my schedule won’t let me. I have to get home. Time to give Burke another little show.

Again, I put on my bathrobe and shuffle through the sitting room, pausing to mutter at myself a few times before lying down on the couch.

I meant to just rest my eyes for a minute but ended up falling asleep.

When I wake up, I shuffle back to the kitchen, ditch the walker, and eat a very late lunch.

It feels like this should be more difficult.

Then again, Burke is older than I am. How much could he possibly understand at this point?