Page 58 of Too Old for This

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

For years, I have worried about that smartphone. About how trackable I am. About the police. It never occurred to me that the real threat was my own son.

“How long have you been tracking me?”

“Just since Christmas, when you were down here.”

Just since. Archie says this like it makes everything better.

It does not. It makes me think about all the places I’ve gone, everyone I’ve seen, everything I’ve done.

Not that I’ve done a lot. Up until recently, my life has been quiet.

But this is how he knew I was looking at retirement communities.

He even called when I was at Tranquil Towers. And I lied to him.

More importantly, he has also tracked my mistakes.

Archie knows I was at Kelsie’s house, but he probably doesn’t know she died. An accidental death like hers was barely in the news here, let alone in California.

But still. That data exists on his phone, as well as mine.

“How did you do this?” I ask.

“It’s just an app.”

“So, when I was staying at your house over the holidays, you put this thing on my phone and you’ve been tracking me ever since?”

“It’s not because I’m trying to pry into your life. It’s because I’m concerned about you, Mom.”

“Concerned.”

“Yes. Look, I’m not trying to be rude, but you aren’t exactly young anymore. And you live alone.”

I have been betrayed before, but this betrayal cuts deep. Yes, I understand that I’m an old woman and Archie is trying to make sure I don’t end up a rotting corpse in my own home, but this goes well beyond simple concern.

“Mom, I really just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He doesn’t sound like he’s lying. But I’m still so angry I would spit into my phone if it would hit him.

“What’s at the Harmony?” he says. “Or who is at the Harmony, I should say.”

“Pardon?”

“The other day, when Morgan was in town. You went to the Harmony before lunch,” he says.

Dammit, he’s right. Morgan and I were texting about our lunch plans, and she wanted me to meet early and…

Dammit. I had my phone with me all day.

“I’m not going to answer that,” I say.

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“Archie, you and I have always been close. But there are some things you don’t talk to your children about.”

“What?” he says. “Oh. Ohhhhh. Mom, who are you—”

“None of your business.”

“But, Mom—”

“I need some time to think about all of this. I will speak to you later.” Before Archie can say another word, I end the call.

A lot of things run through my mind, and none are good.

But the very worst part is what Archie didn’t say.

He talked about senior living options up here in Baycliff, and he talked about helping me find one and selling the house.

What he did not do is invite me to live down in California, near him and my grandchildren. And I wasn’t about to ask.

I’m not saying I necessarily want to live there, but it would be nice if Archie wanted me to.

He does not.

That feels worse than learning he tracked my phone.

—

Every week, I find a reason to use duct tape. Today, it’s for my phone. I tape it to the kitchen counter, because it’s never leaving this house again. I do not have time to dwell on my son and his tracking app right now.

Back to my routine. Rather, my new routine of pretending Norma is alive and I am almost an invalid.

I head to the Dew Drop and check her phone.

Norma finally received a text from her boss, Patrice, informing her she’s been put on leave from her job.

That’s what they did to me at the bank in Spokane, and it meant I had been fired.

Now the same thing has happened to Norma.

Good thing she doesn’t need a job anymore.

Meanwhile, Burke continues to push Norma to do something. She’s been trying, or so she claims, but no luck so far. But it scares me that he’s so forceful about it, that he won’t let it go. Now I’ve got to figure out how to end this.

There is one way. It’s been in the back of my mind, percolating like an old coffee machine. The problem is, I’m not sure if I can pull it off.

In the meantime, everything else in my life continues as normal, except for the part about my son. I’m still too angry to speak to him. He leaves me two messages, both filled with apologies. Neither has helped.

On Thursday, I walk into bingo the same as always. Glenda gives me an expectant look, like she’s been waiting for me. Her coral lipstick is so perfect I want to smear it.

“No guest with you this week?” Glenda says.

It takes me a second to remember Morgan was here just last week. Feels like a month has passed since then. “Just me. And I brought this spinach dip.”

Glenda’s little nose tilts up. “Store-bought spinach dip. So wonderful.”

“I knew you would like it. You always have such good taste.”

Sheila is waiting at our table, but Bonnie can’t make it tonight. More problems with her daughter, and she has to babysit her grandkids.

“Guess I won’t have to worry about that,” I say.

“Babysitting? I thought Morgan would be buttering you up for that.”

“She didn’t mention it. And it doesn’t sound like Archie wants me moving to California and interrupting their lives.”

Sheila scoffs and grabs a chicken dumpling off my plate. Not everyone buys their food from the store, and I’m grateful for those who still take the time to cook. The dumplings are much better than my spinach dip.

“Who wants to change diapers anyway?” Sheila says.

Nobody does. But I would change my grandchild’s diaper if anyone asked.

After losing at bingo, I head back over to the Dew Drop.

For the past few days, I’ve come here during the day or in the early evening, but this is the first time I’ve been here after dark.

The walkway in front of my room overlooks the parking lot.

It’s a hub of activity with lots of cars and music and people milling around.

The lot appears to be an extension of the strip club, like an open-air party, and I become a little mesmerized by all the activity.

For a long time, my evenings out have been limited to church or a restaurant.

A woman catches my eye. She is tall and thin and wearing slacks with what looks like a bustier. Her hair is cropped short, and she has a no-nonsense way about her. I don’t know if she’s in charge, but she acts like it. Sometimes, that’s all you need.

I watch as a few people ask her questions. She points this way and that, directing a man to this person or that person, like the people are just cars and Cropped Hair is the traffic light.

When an irate man walks up to her, screaming and pointing to another woman, Cropped Hair keeps her cool. She does not yell, does not overuse her hands when she talks. She separates them, distracting one with a drink and the other with something in a little baggie.

The more I watch, the more I understand what she is doing. She treats everyone like they’re crying children and all they need is a shiny new object to focus on. The same thing used to work for Archie. I always kept little toys and candies in my bag in case he…

This is no time to stroll down that memory lane. I go back into the motel room and check Norma’s phone. The messages have dwindled down to Burke and some spam. Tammy is long gone, and so is her former boss.

Burke: Why is this taking so long?

Don’t worry. This will all be over very soon.