Page 57 of Too Old for This

The message from Archie makes me feel a little nostalgic. For a long time, our routine was to talk every Sunday. It started when he went to college, then continued during law school, followed by his first job. Throughout it all, I spoke to my son on Sunday evenings.

The routine changed with cell phones and texting and all the other modes of communication. But tonight, he called at our usual time. Our old usual time.

“Mom,” he says. Not “Hello.” Not “How are you?”

“Good evening, Archie.” I sit down at the breakfast bar, preparing for a long talk. “That’s quite a tone you have.”

“Well, I’m a little upset. You didn’t tell me you were using a cane all the time. Morgan did.”

Morgan. Can’t wait to hear what else she told him.

“I’m fine,” I say.

“When did your arthritis get that bad?”

“It’s not that bad. I use the cane as a precaution.”

“A precaution against pain?”

I hold back my frustration. It’s impossible to describe what arthritis is like to someone who has never felt it before. “The pain comes and goes. I like to have the cane in case it gets bad while I’m out.”

“And do you go out a lot these days?”

“Well, I don’t sit around the house all day knitting, if that’s what you’re implying.”

I hear Archie walking, followed by a door shutting.

“I wasn’t implying anything,” he says. “Is it wrong to be concerned about my mother?”

“Of course not. I’m sorry that Morgan has gotten you all worked up about my cane.”

“She didn’t say you were doing bad. She just mentioned it.”

Archie sounds a little defensive. Good. It’s better than having him attack me. “Well, I hope she had a good time while she was here. Though it was a shock to find her at my door.”

“I’m sorry. That was my fault. I should’ve called.”

At least everyone is on the same page about that. “Morgan seemed to get a lot done while she was here. Her pregnancy hasn’t slowed her down a bit.”

“No, it hasn’t. She has a lot of energy.”

“She really likes that hotel, too,” I say. “The new one downtown?”

“I was surprised she didn’t stay at the Harmony.”

A warning bell goes off in my head, but I’m not sure what it means. The Harmony is a well-known hotel around here. Then again, what a specific place for Archie to mention right now. I clear my throat and wait for him to say more.

“So, how are you feeling about the house?” he says.

“Your house? Have you bought another one?”

“No, no. I meant your house.”

“How do I feel about it?” I ask. “I feel the same way I always do, I guess. It’s home.”

“I know, I’m just asking.”

“You know what this house looks like. It’s out-of-date and a bit run-down. I’m sure Morgan told you it still looks the same as it did the last time you were here.”

“No, she didn’t. I was just asking,” he says. “Since you’ve been using your cane and everything. Maybe all those stairs are getting to be too much?”

Did I limp when she was in the house? Or move too slow?

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Archie’s mood is all over the place tonight. He started out being accusatory, then defensive. Now he sounds disappointed.

“What is going on?”

He sighs. “Morgan said you mentioned something about looking at retirement communities.”

No. Morgan doesn’t know about that, nor did I tell her about the real estate agent. We never talked about any of it.

I don’t think.

“If I decide to move, I’ll let you know,” I say.

“I’ve been looking at some places up there.”

“Places?”

“For senior living. Stephanie and I were talking—”

“She still speaks to you? I had no idea.”

“Yes, Mom. We’re adults. We do speak. Mostly about the kids. But after Morgan returned and said—”

“Wait, do Stephanie and Morgan speak?” I ask.

“What does that matter?”

That’s a no. Morgan and Stephanie are not on speaking terms.

“Go on. You and Stephanie were talking about me. What did the two of you decide about my life?”

“I’m just trying to help,” he says. “You’re up there in that big house all alone, and I think maybe it’s time you consider something smaller. More manageable. A place with help.”

I listen very closely to what he says, parsing through each word. His voice wavers between authoritative and childlike. What I do not hear is an invitation, or even a suggestion, that I move down to California.

“Stephanie said she’s planning a trip up there after the wedding,” he says. “So maybe the two of you can go look at a few of these places, see if any of them appeal to you. And I’m happy to handle any of the details with selling your place.”

“Did I say I needed help?”

“One of them is called Oak Manor,” he says. “It looks really nice, and there’s another one called Serenity Village.”

I did not mention those names to Morgan. That I know for a fact. My memory might be getting worse, but it’s not that bad.

“You just randomly found these places?” I ask.

“They’re on the internet.”

I close my eyes, picturing the look on Archie’s face. The downcast eyes, the vein on his left temple, the way he touches his bottom lip like he’s thinking.

Even on the phone, I know when my son is lying.

“Archibald Matthew Jones,” I say. “You tell me what is going on right now.”

Pause.

“Mom…”

“Yes?”

“I know you went and saw those retirement places,” he says. “Just like I know you went to the grocery store before going to church on Thursday night.”

He can’t see it, but my jaw has damn near hit the kitchen table. “Are you having me followed? Was Morgan following me?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what exactly?”

Big sigh.

I don’t like it one bit.

“It’s your phone,” he finally says. “I’ve been tracking your phone.”