Page 19 of Too Old for This
But I need to think, and I don’t want to pace. That’s what I usually do, pace and move around, but my hip is really starting to hurt from all the thinking I’ve been doing. The walker might be turning into more than a prop. I bought it last year, when the doctor said I needed a new hip. Still haven’t pulled the trigger on that surgery.
I try to get all my worrying out in the bath. Did I say enough but not too much, and did it make sense? Most importantly, did I sound real, or was it a case of bad acting? Do they know my real name and were just pretending not to?
My name change was sealed by a judge, but Plum still managed to find it.
If Tula and Kelsie had brought that up, I was prepared to tell them a few things about what happened back then. Days after my picture appeared in the news, the kids started picking on Archie, calling his mother a murderer, a serial killer, and a psycho. No one was allowed to play with him. And no one at the school had any compassion, because they believed it, too.
I lost my job. Technically, they put me on unpaid leave at the bank “pending the investigation,” but I knew the job was gone. Even my landlord didn’t want me around anymore.
The investigation continued, and I started selling everything, preparing to move out of Spokane. We left the day after the police cleared my name.
And I hired a lawyer to sue the city.
No one knows about that—not the press and not Archie.We came to an agreement before a lawsuit was filed. The payout bought me this big house.
I didn’t tell Kelsie and Tula all of that, but I will if I have to. Nothing says innocent like “Here’s a pile of money. Sorry we screwed up your life.”
A lot of unexpected things could still happen, so I have to focus on what’s coming next. These are the worst, most stressful moments, and preparing for them takes up so much time.
For example, should I wash the old nightgown or leave it a little dirty in case the police drop by again? And will it be Tula and Kelsie who come to my door again, or will the Baycliff police get involved? We aren’t that far from Salem, but police are so strange about their jurisdictions. Figuring those out can be more complicated than committing murder.
I get out of the bath, put on some clean clothes, and sit down with my notepad. It’s the preprinted kind withTo-Do Listwritten at the top in a scrolly, friendly font. With a stubby pencil, I jot down a few things to pick up at the store. But at the top, I writeCall Stephanie.
I’ve been avoiding my ex-daughter-in-law, but it’s about time to face the fear. She has been at the top of my to-do list every day since Archie called with his news. Tomorrow, I’ll contact her. Probably.
CHAPTER 11
I waited too late to go to the grocery store. Now it’s filled with people who have just gotten off work, picked up the kids, or are on their way home from yoga class. My fault. I should’ve come by earlier instead of taking a long bath.
All I need are the ingredients to make a stuffed chicken roll, but I end up with another package of cookies as well.
The automated checkout is shut down due to technical problems, so everyone is forced to wait for a live person. My cart is not full, not even close, yet someone is already complaining.
“She’s going to take forever.”
Three teenagers are behind me. They’re wearing slouchy clothes and are full of angst, staring at their phones as they huff and puff their frustration. One holds a basket filled with soda and chips. Perhaps they don’t know there is a specific line for those with fifteen items and under.
I could tell them that. I could also keep my mouth shut and let them wait as I check out, reinforcing their belief that old people are slow, senile, and useless. Or I could let them go ahead of me and fantasize about ramming them with my shopping cart.
I turn around.
“You only have a few items. Why don’t you go ahead of me?”
They don’t look up from their phones.
“Excuse me,” I say.
One finally glances up. A lock of hair hangs right between his eyes, almost to the tip of his nose, and he has the slightest bit of stubble on his chin.
“What?” he says.
“Do you want to go ahead of me?”
He blinks and nudges his friends, motioning for them to move. All three scramble past as I try to back up my cart.
“Thanks,” he mumbles.
I don’t think about breakinghislegs, just his two friends’. It’s the little things that get me through the day.
