Page 56 of Too Old for This
My life is in a strange place. At any given moment, I have to think about who I am.
The everyday Lottie, who uses a cane and no longer dresses up? The confused, weak Lottie, who uses a walker and wears a nightgown all day? Or Norma, who wears the same jacket and hat every day and doesn’t need help walking?
It feels like I’ve taken on too much, but I didn’t have a choice. The key is to stop, think, and make sure all three of these personalities are kept separate.
I put on loose clothes, cover up with Norma’s jacket, and drive over to the Harmony. Late on a Sunday, the lot is almost empty. Not that it matters. My car is too old to have GPS, I don’t have my real phone with me, and no one could prove I was ever here.
Norma’s car is in the back lot. I’ve moved it a couple times, driven it down to the store or a restaurant, so it doesn’t look abandoned. I put on a pair of latex gloves before going inside, just as I always do.
The room is clean; housekeeping has already been here and done their job. But before I can grab the edge of the comforter and pull it down, I see it.
The hotel phone is blinking.
I pick it up and hit the Message button, but the call goes straight to the front desk. A woman with a nasally voice answers. She does not bother with a polite greeting.
“Ms.Dixon?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry to bother you with this, but we’re having an issue with your credit card.”
“What kind of issue?”
“After you extended your stay through Wednesday,” she says, “we tried to run another authorization hold on the card. It was declined.”
Dammit, Norma.
“Really? That’s surprising.”
The woman on the phone doesn’t respond to that.
“Hold on. Let me get you another card.” I grab Norma’s wallet. She has several credit cards. I reel off a number. The woman on the phone clicks it into her system.
“Declined.”
“All right, how about this one?”
Click, click, click.
“Declined.”
After four attempts, there are no more cards to try.
“You could try calling the bank. They might extend your credit.” That nasally voice makes her sound judgy. I don’t want to deal with this woman any longer.
“I’ll leave this evening. Can you please be sure to cancel any hold you have on the original card?”
“I can do that.”
“Fine. I’ll be gone within the hour.”
Before she can say anything else, I hang up. And I start packing.
—
The path up always seems so long and laborious, like you’ll never get there. But it’s nothing compared to when you fall back down. It happens quick. All you feel is the pain of hitting bottom. It happened to me in Spokane, when the police leaked my name to the press. And now it happens to Norma.
She was staying in an upscale hotel with nice linens, decent food from room service, and excellent housekeeping.
Not anymore. She has checked into the Dew Drop Inn, the only roadside motel in Baycliff.
It’s also the only motel located across the road from the town’s strip club, Frisky.
Housekeeping costs extra, and the food comes from a vending machine.
But the rooms are cheap, they take cash, and the woman at the desk barely looked at me.
The room has one queen-size bed, two nightstands, and a dresser. The TV is bolted to it. A table and two chairs sit near the front window, which looks out over the parking lot. The neon Frisky sign blinks in the distance.
I put Norma’s things in the closet, her toiletry bag in the bathroom, and I wipe off one of the wooden chairs next to the window. Finally, I get to her phone.
Yes, Burke has already texted.
Burke: Have you talked to her since dinner?
Norma: No. I’ve been a little busy. Had to change hotels. I’m at the Dew Drop now.
Burke: Never heard of it. But it’s important you talk to Lottie as soon as you get a chance .
Norma: Why is it so urgent?
Burke: Because she lives alone and no one visits her.
I don’t know what Burke expected to see on that camera of his. Did he think I was going to walk around my house admitting to murder? Or that I killed someone every day? Maybe he should’ve thought this through a little better.
Or maybe I’m the one who’s wrong. Maybe he is still ahead of me.
That fear rises up on its own. At this point, it feels like I’ve missed so many things it’s become a Pavlovian response.
Norma: I’ll see what I can do .
Burke: You’ll see what you can do?
Norma: Yes?
Burke: Do you want justice for Plum or not?
Norma: I’m trying to find the truth .
Burke: You’re ignoring the truth .
I don’t answer that. We’re done for now.
After hiding all of Norma’s valuables, including the phone, I leave the Dew Drop. The drive home takes less than ten minutes, but the night isn’t over yet.
I change into my nightgown and wander through the sitting room twice, making sure Burke sees me one more time.
On the spur of the moment, I fake a fall.
More of a stumble, really. And I have the walker to help “steady” myself. I continue around the dining room and into the kitchen, disappearing from his view. I figured Burke could use a little action. Probably the only kind he’s getting.
Finally, I check my real phone. Two voicemails. Not texts, actual voice messages. That shouldn’t be noteworthy, but it is. The first message is from my grandson.
“Hi, Grandma. It’s Noah. Just want to say thanks for the birthday presents! I’ve been wanting this video game. And the cookies! You always make the best chocolate chip cookies. Thanks again. Love you.”
Love you.
I replay it a second time, then a third. And once more before listening to the other message.
“Mom, it’s me. Call me when you have a chance.”