“As you can see, we’re just finishing dinner service. Residents have the option of having their food in the cafeteria or taking a private meal in their room,” Gail Donner said, adding, “Whatever works for them.”
That last sentence had been uttered three times on their tour already and they hadn’t even been shown Harriet’s room yet.
Nikki and Don had gone on a cruise for their honeymoon, not an expensive one, and the cruise director had kept calling the experience “your style cruising,” while explaining how the food, drinks, and activities were charged, which was code for: We’re going to nickel-and-dime you on everything, since you were too cheap to book a real cruise. The way that Gail said “Whatever works for them” reminded Nikki of “your style cruising” and made her shudder to think of the bill, which would surely be intercepted at the mailbox before she could get a look at it.
Of the purported one-hundred-plus residents of Mercy House, there weren’t many in the cafeteria—maybe ten—but all eyes were on their tour group. Nikki got the impression that even the ones who weren’t making it obvious were sizing Harriet up. She had expected the residents to appear more depressing than they were, sadder, with more drooping mouths and bulges where their diapers were sneaking over their waistbands, but they all seemed to be in good spirits and relatively healthy. She hoped Don was noticing, too; it would make leaving Harriet a little easier.
“There’s limited seating, but a few residents will be joining us at your dinner tonight, Harriet. Leaders in the community we’ve built here,” Gail said. “Don’t worry, there are many more people to get to know, with new friends arriving all the time.”
“Hooray, friends,” Harriet said, her voice flat. This level of sarcasm, a higher cognitive function, was available to her only on good days. Harriet glared at a group of three bluehairs huddled over a table, their lips moving in whispers. Nikki had a strange sense of high school déjà vu.
The cafeteria was a large room, with the same gymnasium-like high ceilings as the foyer. It was hard to believe that there were enough residents at Mercy House to justify all the seats. When they were through staring at the natives, they were walked up the food line to see the steam trays. Nikki had to admit, even this far past lunchtime the food smelled pretty good after her own meal of Cheese Nips and Diet Coke in the car.
“Some guests like familiarity while others prefer more adventurous dining, so we offer a schedule of staples while also rotating in at least one unique dish a night,” Gail said.
“Like Taco Tuesdays?” Nikki heard herself ask, tired of being quiet.
“Exactly,” Gail said, possibly oblivious to Nikki’s tone, but maybe more savvy than all of them.
When they finished in the cafeteria they were brought across the hall to the recreation room. Orderly rows of tables held chess sets and board games, shuffleboard and pool, and a large projector in one corner with two rows of newish-looking recliners in front of it. There was also a row of computers set up in the back, but none of them were occupied. Even in Mercy House, where the Internet could tear down the walls around them and deliver them the world, old folks still weren’t fans of technology.
This room was the most modern. There were brightly colored floor tiles and the walls were painted in pastels, making the rec room into a Chuck E. Cheese for the dentures and arthritis set.
The foosball table was the only nonpassive activity getting play. The rest of the old folks were smiling with their eyes glued to the movie theater–size screen; they had headphones on so it was impossible to tell what their show or movie was about, but they seemed to be enjoying it.
“This is where I want to be put,” Nikki whispered. It wasn’t true, if anything, there was an air of the Orwellian in the pacified, silent crowd. Nikki leaned in close to Don and took his hand, his calluses rough against her skin.
His expression was warm but he didn’t grip her hand back, only gave it the lightest squeeze before disentangling her fingers from his own.
“During the morning and afternoon, most of these tables will be filled, but there will always be a spot for you to do what you want, Harriet,” Gail said. “And if we don’t have the activities you enjoy here, you can put in a requisition order for whatever you need.” Nice, neat, she was careful not to use phrases like, If we don’t have something you had at home.
Harriet was taking her time thinking of a retort; Nikki was familiar with the look. She suspected that the thorniness was all a show, though. The rest home had won Harriet over, otherwise she would not look as awake and healthy as she did. Harriet needed to have her mind engaged or she would lapse into either hysteria or sleepiness.
The foosball game was getting heated, and the smack of plastic feet on the miniature soccer ball became the loudest sound in the large room. That the two old men playing could move that quick and get such power on their spins was impressive.
“It’s very nice,” Don said, stepping in where his mother had drawn a blank.
Behind them, someone who wasn’t a patient entered the room.
“Excuse me, but dinner can be ready whenever you are, Chairwoman,” the dowdy woman said, her attire and smell labeling her the cook, or maybe more like a lunch lady.
“Wonderful, just in time. We can visit the second floor and check on your room after we’ve eaten. I hope you’re hungry, Harriet.”
“Famished,” Harriet said, her tone a mystery to Nikki.