Page 18 of Kylo
I looked out toward the long, sprawling fifty-plus community at the front of the property before turning back to the assisted living building.
It was a sleek, modern structure with four floors of gray stucco and black windows. Out front was a large parking lot. Out back was an enormous patio, a winding path, and lush gardensthat I knew must have cost a small fortune to maintain (and that my grandmother had constant criticisms of).
I moved in through the front doors to the concierge (a fancy way of saying reception) desk. A petite woman sat there, as she always did, with flawless makeup and a head full of long silver hair.
“Hey, Rue! How are you doing today?” Lydia greeted me.
“I’m good. Love your necklace,” I said, eyeing the large, strung, mismatched beads. “Your granddaughter?”
Lydia pressed a hand to the beads. “Yes, she spent the whole weekend with me.”
“Did your daughter have her baby?” I asked, delighted despite never having met the woman.
“She did!” Lydia was quick to pull out her phone to show me a picture of her first grandson.
By the time I signed the digital screen to move past the reception desk, I knew the baby’s full name, weight, length, and what time he was born.
I swerved away from the common areas and toward the elevator, taking the cart up to the third floor of apartments.
My grandmother had the lowest level of care, which was why she was furthest from the staff.
The halls were wider than average to accommodate several wheelchairs or motorized scooters at a time, with warm wood-look vinyl flooring, creamy walls, and paintings that were surprisingly warm and unique—not just mass-market junk.
I made it to my grandmother’s door, finding she’d once again changed out the flowers on the wreath hanging there.
I knocked with my knuckles.
“It’s open,” my grandmother called from somewhere deep inside.
“That’s not safe,” I reminded her as I moved in.
My grandmother’s apartment dripped with her personality from every inch. The walls were painted an absolutely insane flamingo pink, which somehow managed to go with her green velvet sofa. She had floral throw pillows and blankets and a carpet printed with giant monstera leaves. Suncatchers draped down the windows, casting little rainbows all across the room.
It was absurd.
Yet… it worked.
The apartments were all between five and seven hundred square feet. My grandmother had the larger of the units with a small kitchenette, a bedroom, a hall bathroom, and a living room that was big enough for her couch, end and coffee tables, and another table with two chairs that she used as a craft or puzzle station, depending on who she was having over for company.
“Right,” my grandma called as she came out of the hallway in a rich, gemstone-colored kaftan, “because I’m in danger of, what, exactly?”
“Grammy,” I said, shaking my head at her.
My grandmother was about my height and on the thin side, with impressively unlined skin that she credited to staying single for a good chunk of her life, big eyes almost the same color as my own, and a long bob of silver hair.
“I know, I know. It’s your job to worry,” she said, pushing her giant green glasses up before reaching for her latte. “I keep trying to convince them to get one of those fancy espresso machines in the lobby. But they go on and on about blood pressure and blood sugar and all that nonsense.”
“I guess they have to look out for everyone.”
“We’re all grown adults here. We can make our own decisions.”
“Is this one of those decisions?” I asked, grabbing a paperback off the dining table. It featured a half-naked man with bulging muscles and a wicked look in his eye.
“That’s for our new book club.”
“Book club. A smutty book club?” I asked.
“Is there any other kind, my dear?” she asked, wiggling her brows. “Well, to be fair, I’m also in a cozy mystery book club. And a thriller book club.”
