Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
“Is this your house?” she asked him with a touch of awe in her voice.
“No, ma’am, it isn’t,” he told her.
“Well, it’s just glorious. Right out of a movie,” she said, standing there, taking it all in. “Do we know who lives here?” she asked, then frowned at Amory. “Who are you?”
I walked over to her before she panicked. “Grams, it’s Amory Blaine, remember? He brought us here. To …” I paused, having no clue why we were here or what this place was.
“It’s a place with activities that you can participate in,” he told her. “Art classes, board games, crafting, and even story time. There are others here about your age, and they come to socialize as well as learn new things.”
My gaze swung back to the house. As nice as that all sounded, there was a price tag on that, and I knew Grams’s Medicaid would not cover it. What was Amory doing? I’d just met him, and, yes, I liked him more than I had ever liked any other man, but he was stepping too far.
“I don’t think showing us things like this is wise,” I told him, smiling so as not to alarm Grams.
“I know the owner, and I’ve set up something that is free for your Grams to attend. She can come during the day while you are working and going to school,” he replied.
That sounded too good to be true. I didn’t trust things like that. I knew better.
“Nothing in life is free,” I argued. “Everything comes with a price. This is a beautiful place, and I am sure it is just as charming inside. But I think we need to leave.”
“You don’t trust me,” he said with a quirk of his eyebrow.
I wanted to trust him. There were things I did trust when it came to him, but this wasn’t about my body. It wasn’t about me at all. It was about my Grams, and I couldn’t trust him with her.
“I like to paint. Can I paint in there?” she asked as she began walking toward the house.
Crap!
I hurried to catch up with her. “Grams, why don’t we get back in the fancy car.”
She shook her head and continued on. “I like to socialize. I’m rather good with conversation.”
Once she was, yes, but now, she remembered nothing long enough to have a conversation.
“This is a place that exclusively caters to those like your Grams. It’s a memory care facility. Just go inside and see what they offer,” he urged. “Don’t you want your Grams to have activities she enjoys and others her age around for her to visit with?”
Guilt at not being able to give her that kind of life hit me. I did the best I could for her, and, no, our life wasn’t perfect or even comfortable at times, but she didn’t go without. I didn’t visit with her like I should, but I was always busy working or taking care of things in the house. I never had time to sit and just talk to her. I just assumed since she wouldn’t remember it anyway, there was no point.
Was I wrong? Had I been neglecting her?
I stared up at the house as we reached the stairs leading up to the tall double doors.
“Isn’t this home just beautiful?” Grams said as I took her arm to help her with the first step.
“Yes, Grams, it is,” I agreed.
“Do you think someone famous lives here?” she asked, her eyes widening. “Land sakes, do they know we’ve come to visit? I should have brought a Bundt cake. My lemon one with the drizzly you love so much.”
I started to tell her she didn’t need to worry about that when the door opened, and a woman appeared. She looked to be in her mid-forties with short brown hair and bright blue-rimmed glasses, dressed in a matching blue shirt with fluffy sleeves and a pair of cream linen pants. She smiled at Grams, then shifted her gaze to Amory and finally me.
“You must be Mrs. Maude Shelton,” the lady said, looking at Grams.
How did she know Grams’s name? If Amory had told her, how had he known Grams’s name? I’d never told him her name.
I swung my gaze to him, and he winked at me.
What the hell was that? Don’t wink at me. Explain yourself.
“I am indeed,” she replied, holding her shoulders back the best she could.
“We have been looking forward to your arrival,” she said, walking out to greet us. “There is a special story time today. We have an author visiting, and she’s reading her book in the silver room instead of the library. The silver room has much more comfortable seating, and there is a spot saved just for you on the coveted teal sofa.”
Grams looked at me. “They have an author here,” she whispered loudly. “I told you someone famous lived here.”