Page 15 of Too Old for This
“A gift card.”
Sigh. “Yes, I know. Of course he wants money. But I also want to send something personal. Especially after everythingthat’s happened with his parents…” Another sigh. It’s been a while since I’ve seen my grandkids. They’re teenagers, both have much better things to do than talk to me.
“What does he like?” Sheila asks.
“Video games and skateboarding. And he’s been in trouble twice for smoking marijuana.”
“Hold on. Let me call my sister in Houston. She’s got grandkids like that.” Sheila picks up the phone and has a fast, almost nonsensical conversation. That’s how strong her Texas accent gets when she talks to family down there. I concentrate on my chicken roll.
“Here.” She slides her phone across the counter. The screen shows a picture of what looks like a battleship. The title isMutiny. “Sandra said all the kids are going crazy for this game, and it just came out last week.”
“I wonder if he already has it.”
“Even if he does, he can sell it, right? Win-win for Noah.”
Right.
Sheila holds up a mini lamb kebab. The meat and vegetables are still raw; this is just her prototype. “You know, I have better sticks for these. Something with a decoration on the end, like a wreath.”
“Forget it. Glenda will know it was you.”
Sheila smiles. “You may be right.”
“Let’s just keep it simple but good. And unique.”
She takes a deep breath, squashing down whatever feeling she has about that description. Simplicity drives her around the bend.
What drives me around the bend is the smell of meat cooking.
I don’t know why it bothers me. It shouldn’t, because the smell of my stuffed chicken roll isn’t anything like the stench of burning Plum. But she’s the one I think of.
And let’s be honest, I’m no rookie when it comes to burning bodies.
I have been retired for a while, though. I didn’t use to call it that because it wasn’t a paid job. I had one of those, too. For most of my life, I worked at a bank. First as a teller, then as a personal account manager. Never got promoted beyond that, because I didn’t go to college.
Seven years ago, I retired, and they threw me a lunchtime party with a store-bought cake. My colleagues talked about traveling and fun things I could do, and all I could think was,How the hell would I afford that?I couldn’t even replace the plumbing in my old house.
Myotherretirement began over a decade ago. Every time I felt the urge, I remembered all the work involved. The cleanup, the body, the lull, the anxiety about when or if someone would show up at my door…
Exhausting. It sounded exhausting.
The same thing happened when I was young. I used to go out all the time, always in the bars and nightclubs, staying out late and getting very little sleep. It was worth it until it wasn’t.
Years later, after moving to Baycliff with a new name, Istarted dating again. Every new date was a new opportunity, the chance to find love or a relationship or even a nice companion. But I didn’t. My enthusiasm waned, and one day it was gone altogether.
This was the same. Like so many other things, murder began to feel like a chore instead of a joy.
So I stopped. And I hardly ever thought about it, except in that nostalgic kind of way. Like when I thought about Archie as a small child or my first real apartment. I didn’t want to go back, but I enjoyed the memories.
And then Plum forced me out of retirement.
—
After the first round of kebabs and the stuffed chicken roll, we conduct a taste test and critique. Sheila adds rosemary to the kebabs, and I switch up the stuffing, using breadcrumbs instead of rice and adding a hint of hot sauce. Not too much. We don’t want to give our fellow parishioners more acid reflux than they already have.
“Anything more from Archie about the wedding?” Sheila asks.
“I got a text last night. Morgan has an aesthetics wall.”
