Seven

Midafternoon Friday Adele walked across the large open space of Fox Meadow’s lobby. It was a hub of activity with people milling about, many of them in wheelchairs. There was a big-screen television, lots of chairs, and a table laden with baked goodies some church women had provided. Windows lined the front of the brick building, providing an unhindered view of the parking lot.

Sunshine glinted off a shiny black limousine, catching her attention. She watched as it parked on the circular drive just outside the entry. She knew immediately it was Rand Jennings. Only someone who had the ability to pay before even asking the price of admission would arrive in a limo.

Would Graham be with him?

She tried to ignore the tickle of anticipation in her stomach and hurried to grab a nearby communal wheelchair from the receptionist’s office. As she pushed it toward the door, she noticed the chauffeur unloading one from the car’s trunk. Naturally someone arriving in a limo would have his own. She smiled to herself and wheeled hers back.

Adele went outdoors to greet them, something she tried to do for newcomers whenever possible. Waiting on the sidewalk, she wrapped her cardigan closely and crossed her arms against the cold. Graham stood beside the open back door, bent at the waist, holding his arm toward the interior. He wore sunglasses and, again, no coat over a sweater and cords.

The man emerging from the back seat was familiar. He resembled all men over age 70 whose bodies had been ravaged by cancer and its treatments, men who spent their last days down the hall from her office. He was thin and he was bald, facts she knew despite the black winter dress coat and fur cap he wore.

He stepped now unsteadily but on his own to the chair held by the chauffeur. Graham waited near enough to grasp an arm if needed but didn’t hover. His stance displayed a respect for what most men at that point desired: to remain unassisted for as long as possible.

The driver relinquished the chair to Graham, who wheeled it around and pushed it toward the door Adele now opened. As they neared, the old man looked up at her, his eyeglasses a dark tint in the bright sunlight. He raised a hand and fumbled about his shoulder, as if searching for something. Graham reached out and clutched the pale, slender fingers, continuing to push and steer with one hand.

“Hello!” She pulled the door open for them. “Welcome to Fox Meadow. Go right on inside.”

Graham nodded grimly to her as he wheeled Mr. Jennings through the first set of doors.

Adele stepped around them and pushed the large blue handicapped button that automatically opened the next set. Inside she led them off to the left where there was a grouping of vacant armchairs, and she sat down in one beside the wheelchair. Graham unbuttoned the elderly man’s coat and slipped it from his arms. He appeared shriveled beneath a white shirt and bright red cardigan.

She touched the old man’s hand. “How do you do, Mr. Jennings.”

He politely and slowly removed his hat. “You must be Adele!” His voice was low, raspy.

Taken aback that he would know her name, she replied, “Why, yes, I am.”

“Graham has told me so much about you.” Behind the thick bifocals now lightening a shade as they adjusted to the indoors, his eyes seemed to twinkle in the gaunt face.

“He has?” Surprise raised her voice, and then she realized he must be teasing her. She had spent a mere 45 minutes with Graham Logan. But before she could recover, he went on.

“He described you to a T and said you’re the incredibly beautiful, efficient director of this place. Sold him on the spot.”

“Rand!” Graham’s voice jumped an octave.

“Oh, call me Pops. I always wanted to be called Pops. Never too late to start, is it?”

The man was a charmer. The nurses were going to enjoy him. “No, Mr. Jennings, it’s never too late to start anything.”

“Until you’re dead and gone. Like I will be soon.” Matter of fact, with a hint of a chuckle and no self-pity. “Where’s my room?”

“Let’s go right now.”

She walked beside Graham, slowing her efficient walk to match the more sedate movement the wheelchair required. His sunglasses were atop his hair. That luscious pewterstreaked hair.

“So, Graham,” she murmured, giving him a sly smile, “thanks for the compliment.”

He looked decidedly uncomfortable. “You’re wel— The fact is, I didn’t exactly say—”

She laughed. “I know you didn’t. He’s charming! Shall I warn the nurses?”

Mr. Jennings turned his bald head slightly and glanced over his shoulder. “You’re talking about me behind my back. Literally behind my back.” His tone was amused.

“We are!” Adele took a quick double step to the front of his chair. “But it’s all good stuff, Mr. Jennings. Here we go. Right in here.” She led the way into a single room. “You’ve got a nice southeast view. Snow-covered fields and sunshine most of the day. Oh, dear. The bed’s not ready. I’ll grab some linens and take care of that. I imagine you’re rather tired after your trip. ”

“I could use a nap. You’d think the good Lord would take away the need for sleep at this stage of things. Kind of hate snoring away what little time I have left. Graham, park me by the window.”

“There you go, Pops. I’ll get your things out of the car.” Without a backward glance, he strode from the room.

“Mr. Jennings, I’ll get those linens and be right back.”

“Don’t you pay someone else to do that?”

“We’re short a couple of aides today. My job description doesn’t say I can’t do it! Sit tight.”

He chuckled at that.

Adele hurried out the door and jogged toward Graham. From the back, his height and breadth was almost intimidating. The top of his head appeared to nearly graze the low ceiling tiles. His shoulders occupied a lot of hall space.

Why was it she kept noticing the man?

“Graham.” She neared him.

He stopped and turned, his furrowed brow questioning.

She reached his side and touched his forearm. “It gets better. It does.”

“Easy for you to say, Ms. Chandler.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

Hurrying down the hallway, Graham tried to shut out the institutional gray-green walls, the faded black-and-white linoleum, the water stain on a corner ceiling tile. The totally overriding bleak, stark feel of the place. The vacant stares of wheelchair occupants as he passed them.

The warmth of compassionate fingers touching his forearm.

But of course he couldn’t.

Because all of it revolved around Rand Jennings. And the man had always been an integral part of his life. There was no going backward. Adele Chandler, institutional green, the scent of waiting for death…all were permanent fixtures in his foreseeable future.

Graham eyed Adele over the top of his reading glasses. She sat behind her desk, across from him, efficiently shuffling the myriad of papers he was signing.

“Only one more.” Her voice was lilting, as if she were always on the verge of expressing something wildly joyful.

“Ms. Chandler.”

She didn’t correct him by reminding him of her first name. Perhaps she thought as he did, that it was best to keep the distance of formality between them. She met his gaze with a steady one of her own. Her eyes were large ovals that dominated her face. Not quite blue, not quite gray. Like a hazy summer sky. Warm and calm.

“Yes, Dr. Logan?”

He intended to ask another question about hospice, but her tone matched her eyes, and he knew formality was not in the woman’s character. Allowing him to vent his pain came with running the nursing home. She wouldn’t hold it against him. Still…confession was good for the soul.

He removed his reading glasses. “I’m sorry for being short with you earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it. I have this annoying tendency to invade people’s private space. I think it’s because so many of the folks here continuously need it. I forget that healthy adults don’t go around hoping somebody, anybody, will offer comfort.” She gave him a half smile. “I should have read the signals.”

“Signals?”

Her eyelids fluttered downward as she straightened papers. “You know. Those manly signals of self-sufficiency.”

“Oh, those. Evidently I wasn’t displaying them very well.”

She looked back up as if to say something, gave her head a slight shake, and laughed. “Never mind. All right. We’re finished with the paperwork. Any questions?”

He could think of only one. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”