Rumor(19)

He entered through the tall gate, which made more sense now, and approached the double front doors. He cleared his throat, planted his hands at his hips, and stared at his shoes. While his thoughts darted in five different directions—Beck, Carolyn, Grace, the club, his own scheduled vacation—his heart filled with purpose.

His cell buzzed, and he pulled it from his pocket to find Pete’s message.

Safe Haven runs $6300 a month for full care of Alzheimer’s patients. Ashby has no personal long-term insurance, but she does have Medicaid, which covers very little. Ashby’s doctor visits and medication are partially covered by Medicare. Family picks up the bulk of the overall cost for care.

Which meant Grace was footing a monthly bill of somewhere between four and five thousand dollars.

He sucked a deep breath, blew it out, and knocked.

A muffled female voice called, “Come on in.”

With a hive of bees buzzing in his chest, Josh pushed the door open and glanced into the foyer.

“I’m in the kitchen,” the woman said from somewhere deeper in the house.

He stepped into the small tiled foyer and shut the door. The thick, fresh scent of pine hit him first, which he guessed was coming from the tree in the window of another room facing the street. This formal living room had been decorated elaborately with pine branches and holly leaves on the fireplace mantel, and prettily wrapped presents stacked alongside the brick hearth.

Two elderly women—much older than Grace’s mother—sat on either end of a blue sofa watching television. Neither took their eyes off the set when Josh walked in. Both sat upright and still, hands in their laps, reminding Josh of a pew in church. The rosary sliding through one of the women’s fingers might have helped that impression along.

“Hi there.” Josh stepped into the living room, and both women turned to look at him.

The woman with the rosary returned her attention to the television without a word. The other woman did the same but pointed at the screen with a pride-filled “That’s my husband, right there, Regis.”

Josh glanced at the TV where Regis Philbin, a popular morning talk-show host from years past, was interviewing a celebrity in what had to be a rerun. Josh’s rough age calculation made the statement possible but, he guessed, highly implausible.

“Really,” he said, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “He’s a pretty big celebrity.”

The woman nodded, her smile blissful. On screen, applause erupted, and Josh glanced over to find Philbin speaking to the camera with a grin, a wink, and a “We’ll be right back. Don’t go away.”

“That was just for me,” the supposed wife said, never taking her gaze off the television as a commercial for toothpaste replaced the talk-show rerun. “That smile, that wink. Just for me. And the message too.” She sighed dramatically. “He’s such a sweet man.” She seemed lost in her own world a long moment before she popped out with “Tammy’s making tuna sandwiches for lunch.”

Josh was still trying to find the relevance in the two disjointed topics when movement drew his gaze to the room beyond. A woman in her early sixties with black-and-silver hair, wearing a bright red, kiss-the-cook apron, appeared in an archway, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.

“Oh, hello. I’m sorry. I thought you were one of our regulars.” She started through the living room and offered her hand. “I’m Tammy, owner of Safe Haven.”

“Josh—” he started.

“Tammy,” the older woman interrupted. “Did you just see Regis wink at me? He knows I love it when he does that.”

“Handsome devil,” Tammy responded. Then to Josh, “Do you mind talking in the kitchen? I’m making lunches.”

“Sure.” He followed her past a dining table that could seat twelve and into a large kitchen where the wall over the sink was lined with windows looking out onto a garden. At the center of the garden, Grace sat at a table with Carolyn.

At first glance, Josh’s heart took a hit. Carolyn, the vibrant, funny, free-spirited sixty-five-year-old, had aged ten years since he’d last seen her. On the table, a bowl of cereal…Cheerios…sat between the women who were each threading them onto a piece of yellow yarn.

“How can I help you?” Tammy asked.

Josh refocused on Tammy. She leaned her hip against the counter, where bread was laid out next to a large bowl of what clearly looked and smelled like tuna salad. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m a friend of Grace and Carolyn. I don’t know how your visitor rules work… I’m just in town for a few days and thought I’d stop by…”