Abby and Ivy, convinced wrinkles were contagious, refused to set foot in the senior community, and Nash was always too busy, practicing, playing, or preparing for sports. I knew it was unlikely he’d come to visit other people’s grandparents. That didn’t make my friends bad, but it would have been cool if I could have shared the experience with them. It was something I’d always done on my own.
Mr. Worthington was my favorite resident at Pine Tree Village. For a gentleman who was eighty-nine years old, he was quite cute. Mr. Worthington was alert, mobile, and in shape. We walked the hallways or outside commons areas together. He always dressed in khaki pants and a cardigan sweater and kept his fuzzy white hair neatly combed.
Every time I visited Pine Tree Village, I was always greeted by the receptionist, who had me sign in and pointed me to an area where the staff could use an extra hand. Today’s visit was extra special. It was Halloween and I’d dressed as Little Red Riding Hood. I wore a red hoodie, the arms loosely tied around my neck and the body as a cape, along with a black bodice, white T-shirt, and red flippy skirt. I finished off my fairy-tale look with white folded socks and a pair of Juliette’s black pumps she’d left behind in her closet. It wasn’t a good idea to pass out candy to the residents, so I came with “Happy Halloween” pins I’d made instead. I grabbed a small basket my mom used for magazines and stuck a loaf of bread in it.
The normally hospital white lobby was decorated with black and orange streamers, cotton-candy-like spiderwebs, and ghost, mummy, and black-cat die cuts. A sign posted in the lobby read: HALLOWEEN DANCE AT 7 P.M.
I teetered over to the reception desk, where I was welcomed by a very friendly witch.
“You look great,” Sally said through blackened-out teeth. I could barely hold my laughter inside as the straitlaced receptionist offered me a tray of pumpkin cookies.
“I’ll grab one on the way out,” I said.
“Little Red,” I heard a man’s voice call.
I didn’t even respond to my new name until I heard it called again.
“Little Red, over here.”
An elderly man wearing werewolf fangs, a brown-tipped nose, and a fluffy brown wig was standing a few yards away in the lobby next to a grand piano. I almost didn’t recognize Mr. Worthington at first, but his brown cardigan sweater and khaki pants gave him away.
“Happy Halloween,” I said, handing him a button.
“It’s Halloween?” he asked. “No one told me.”
I laughed at the elderly werewolf. I really adored Mr. Worthington. His youthful spirit was like a chandelier illuminating a darkened room.
“Let me help you,” I said, pinning the button on his sweater. “I’m not sure I should be seen with a wolf, much less a werewolf. The residents will think we planned this.”
“Let them think what they want,” he said. “I’ve never seen a prettier girl in red.”
I blushed to match the color of my hoodie.
“Well, I’ve never seen such a kind-looking werewolf,” I commented back.
“So you’ve seen one?” he asked seriously.
“The closest thing I’ve seen to a werewolf was when my sister, Juliette, tried to perm her own hair.”
Nurse Bridget, the head nurse on the first floor, walked by. Overhearing the final part of our conversation, she stepped over.
“Charlie, are you going on about werewolves again?” she asked, putting her arm around him. “You don’t want to frighten Celeste away. She’s our only steady volunteer.”
“I haven’t said a word. No one wants to listen to an old man, anyway.”
“That’s okay,” I assured Nurse Bridget. “I promise I won’t be too frightened.”
“Every Halloween,” she said, “Charlie tells us about the Legend’s Run werewolf. Someone says they saw something furry in the woods years ago and people can’t stop talking about it. It’s like the Loch Ness Monster. A big hoax.”
“My boyfriend was just telling my friends and me about that recently.”
“So you already know?” Mr. Worthington asked.
“I guess as much as anyone else knows. But I’d love to hear about it from you.”
Mr. Worthington brightened, knowing he finally had a captive audience.
“Celeste,” Nurse Bridget said in an apologetic tone, “I’d love it if you could visit with some of the other residents. I’m sure they would be delighted. Mr. Worthington, can you tell her the story later?”
“Of course,” Mr. Worthington said. “It’s one thing I never forget. Now, where I left my glasses—that I can’t remember.”