Chapter 15

Austin

Mrs. Fradette’s eyes are magnified by her glasses. She looks at me first, then down at Harvey.

“Do I look like I need a therapy dog?” she asks, blinking. There’s a moment of awkwardness from the group of old people standing behind me, but then Mrs. Fradette smiles and it’s gone.

“Harvey was quite familiar with Walt, who used to live in this suite,” Mrs. O’Brien explains. “I think he wanted to see if he was still here.” Harvey picks that moment to stand up and trot past Mrs. Fradette into her suite. He sniffs around her room, checking it out. His leash dangles uselessly in my hand.

“Yep. A regular dog. No manners.” But she’s grinning when she says it. The cluster of old people in the hallway laugh a little. I don’t know if they’re laughing at her comment or at Harvey’s boldness.

I grab Harvey’s harness just before he nudges the door to Mrs. Fradette’s bedroom open. I try to guide him away, but he’s stubborn and sits back on his legs, refusing to budge. He looks at me like there’s been a mistake. Where’s the recliner? I imagine him thinking. Or the couch? I let go of his harness and look him right in the eye. “He’s gone, Harvey. He doesn’t live here anymore.”

Harvey tilts his head at me. He doesn’t understand. “Come on, Harvey,” I say, and walk toward the hallway, hoping he follows. He starts to, then takes a detour to sniff the legs of the kitchen table. It’s in the same place as Mr. Pickering’s was, but Mrs. Fradette’s is round and has four chairs, instead of only two; spread across it are photos. I guess my eyes linger a moment too long because she comes over and says, “I’m working on my collage. It’s harder than I thought.”

All the residents at Brayside have collages of photos hanging on the wall outside their suites. It helps us see who they were before they got old. It’s a conversation starter too, at least it was with Mr. Pickering. But I’ve never seen an old person with as many photos to choose from as Mrs. Fradette. There are hundreds, maybe more. Some are in color and some are black-and-white.

“Hard to pick the pictures you want to use?” I ask.

Mrs. Fradette nods. “A whole life can’t be contained in one frame. I’d need ten.”

“It doesn’t have to be your whole life,” I say. “Just the most important parts.”

She fixes me with a look through those big black-framed glasses. “It’s all important.”

Harvey decides he’s seen and smelled enough and trots back to the hallway. Mrs. O’Brien is still waiting there, but the others have gone to the courtyard. “We’re playing bridge at two o’clock today,” she says to Mrs. Fradette. “We need a fourth. Do you play?”

Mrs. Fradette winks at her. “Only poker for me.”

Like I said, Mrs. Fradette isn’t like the other old people. The look on Mrs. O’Brien’s face as we go to the courtyard confirms it.