Chapter 7

Maggie

Maggie hops out of the car just before eleven o’clock on Saturday and straightens her kilt. Even though it’s the weekend, Maggie is representing St. Ambrose, so she had to put on her itchy socks, stiff white blouse, kilt, and cardigan.

“Pick you up at one o’clock,” Maggie’s mom says. The building is classier than Maggie remembers it. There’s a red carpet out front with Brayside written in gold, scrolling letters. A striped awning hangs over the sidewalk. The two big planters sitting one on either side of the door are filled with fall flowers. The glass doors slide open, revealing a foyer that reminds her of a fancy hotel.

When Maggie gets inside, she pauses for a moment taking in the space. She’d imagined it smelling like mothballs or cough drops, but detects neither of these things. Good smells come from the dining room and there’s a hint of lemon cleaner in the air. Past the reception area, and to the right of the entrance, is a large desk. An engraved gold sign reads nurses station. A woman in a pale pink cardigan looks up and smiles. “You must be Maggie,” she says, which puts Maggie at ease. She wipes her hand on her kilt before holding it out to the nurse.

“That’s right.”

“Mary Rose Aguilar. I’m the head nurse here. We spoke on the phone.”

Maggie remembers. Harvey had been staring at her from the bed, as if he knew what was going on. For the first visit, it was decided that Harvey wouldn’t come with her. She needed an orientation and could decide how she’d like to spend her time at Brayside. All twenty hours.

Another nurse comes out of the back room. Her name tag says louise. “I remember you,” she says. Most people remember Maggie for her auburn hair. It’s darkening as she gets older, and hangs down her back in waves. She’s got freckles too, which are fading now that summer has come and gone. But Maggie knows it’s not her hair that made her memorable to the staff at Brayside. “You’re Harvey’s owner. Is Harvey here?”

Maggie shakes her head. “Not today. Next time though.” She glances at Mary Rose. “If it’s allowed.”

Mary Rose winks. “Charlie doesn’t know it yet, so keep it to yourself,” she whispers to Louise, then she grins again at Maggie.

Maggie’s memories of the Brayside nurses are foggy, but she’s pleased to see how friendly they are. “Let’s start with a tour,” Mary Rose says. She is shorter than Maggie, but moves like someone who is used to people following her direction.

Beep beep! Maggie jumps at the sound of a high-pitched horn. Behind her, an old man has come to a stop on a scooter. He is bald, except for a ring of white hair.

“Good day, Mary Rose! Who is this?” he asks.

“Mr. Singh, this is Maggie. She’s going to volunteer.”

Mr. Singh nods and with a twist of the handle on his scooter zooms back down the hallway. “You have to watch him on that thing,” Mary Rose whispers. “He takes the corners pretty fast. And he loves tooting his horn, if you know what I mean.”

Maggie smirks, following Mary Rose to the dining room. With its huge chandeliers, it looks like a fancy restaurant. There are fresh flowers on the tables and a whiteboard with today’s menu. A few servers bustle around setting tables.

They leave the dining room and pass a bulletin board with a schedule of events. There is everything from chess to yoga to karaoke to knitting. A few more old people wander past them. They all say hello to Mary Rose and give Maggie a friendly smile.

Mary Rose brings Maggie to a dark room at the end of a short hallway. “This is the library,” she says, and turns on the lights. The fluorescent bulbs hum as they flicker on. “It doesn’t get used much.” Maggie can see why. Boxes of books sit on top of tables and the curtains are drawn across the windows. “A resident used to shelve donations and keep it running, but since she moved on…” Mary Rose shrugs as if there is no hope for the space.

Next, they go to the games room. Unlike the library, it is humming with activity. Small groupings of chairs and couches are set up for people to play cards or chat. Two men are playing pool and another group stands at the shuffleboard court at the far end of the room. There’s even a Ping-Pong table.

“There’s a movie theater too,” Mary Rose says. “And the first floor residents’ rooms are down the hallway. At the end is the courtyard. Harvey used to love going out there.”

“Oh, yes he did!” one of the ladies closest to them says. “We used to watch him from the window.”

“He’d chase the squirrels away. Remember that? He’d take off after them like a rocket! A blur of white.” A lady with fluffy white hair laughs.

“I miss that little Harvey. He was a sweet dog.”

Maggie looks to Mary Rose, who gives her a secretive smile. “Go on. Tell them,” she says.

“I’m Harvey’s owner.” Real owner, she’s tempted to say. “He’ll come with me next time.”

“Lovely!” one of the women says. “Austin will be thrilled. He took such good care of him.”

Maggie keeps her smile in place, but the words irk her. Austin had no business keeping Harvey the way he did. But she remembers she is here representing St. Ambrose and bites her tongue.