Page 10 of Too Old for This
“Archie’s girlfriend is pregnant, and they’re getting married.”
“Wait,” Sheila says. “Is this the one named after a horse?”
“Morgan, yes. She’s twenty-three.”
“Practically a teenager,” Bonnie says. “And have you talked to his age-appropriate ex-wife?”
“Not yet, no. I’m really trying to let him live his own life and make his own mistakes.”
“Morgan is a big one,” Bonnie says. “But your Archie is still better than my Danielle.”
I can’t argue with that. According to Bonnie, her daughter has always been a handful. I’ve heard some of the stories.
We fall into one of our favorite conversations and debate whose children have screwed up worse. Not that we keep score. That would be absurd. It’s more like we’ve come to understand that there is no mother-of-the-year award, and if there was, none of us would win it. I think that’s rather healthy of us.
CHAPTER 6
Glenda stops me at the door to make sure I take the spinach dip home. Half of it is left. I chalk that up to her table placement rather than the quality.
“Try a hot dish next time,” she says. “You know we have plenty of warming trays.”
“I’ll do my best, Glenda. And thank you for all that you do.”
She smiles. Sometimes I say things just to make myself laugh on the inside.
I practically roll myself to the car, stuffed full from all the food I ate. Sheila brought her chicken-stuffed buns, and Bonnie made her infamous crumb cake. My doctor would be appalled, but it’s not like I’m going to tell him.
Thursday is my favorite night of the week. Yes, it’s mostly old people like me. We’re retired and bored and looking for something to do. All of us come together because no one else sees us. Or wants to.
There are no text messages or voicemails waiting on my phone. Nothing from Cole or the police or anyone else. Good. The lull continues.
As much as I want to check the news and see if Plum has been reported missing yet, I don’t do it from my phone. In fact, I’m a little afraid to search at all, even on my home laptop.
I once brought my laptop to a computer store and told theclerk, a young man named Ernie, that I was afraid of identity theft and hacking and all the bad online things you hear about…on the internet. Though it’s nice that the internet lets you know how terrible it is.
Ernie set me up with a VPN, which he said would block my location and browsing data. I have no reason to disbelieve him; Ernie sounded like he knew what he was talking about. The police and the FBI and the ones who invent things to circumvent VPNs are the people I have nightmares about.
I wait until I get home to check the local news. Decades ago, I used to check every channel—all four of them—to make sure I didn’t miss anything. That was long before twenty-four-hour news and the internet. Information was not readily or quickly available.
A few times, I was stupid enough to attend press conferences by the police. But only because it was so infuriating when the news only showed the highlights. I wanted to see every question and answer.
However, none of this did any good. The information didn’t help me. Either you do it right, and get a little lucky along the way, or you don’t. The most useless thing to do is sit in front of a computer, refreshing the news over and over. That’s a good way to drive yourself crazy.
—
Sunday afternoon, the knock on my door comes right after I return from church. I’ve just taken off my hat. Today I wore the lilac one with the polka-dot ribbon. Spring is here, so we’ve all dug out our pastels and florals. I toss it on the bed and head downstairs.
In the foyer, I grab my walker out of the hall closet. It came from a secondhand shop in a strip mall. It’s the aluminum kind with two wheels in front and rubbery grips for my hands. It also folds up and lies flat against the wall, hardly taking up any room.
“Who’s there?” I say.
“Cole Fletcher. I called you last week about Plum?”
Yes, I remember offering to help Cole, but at no time did I say he could stop by. And yet here he is. There was a time when stopping by without calling was considered rude. I don’t know when that ended, but it was a mistake.
I thump my way over to the door and open it.
Cole is very tall. That’s the first thing I notice, because it’s impossible to miss. His red hair and freckles are a close second.
