She paused at the memorial board to look at the faces of the recently deceased. The pictures on the board almost always featured the individual in the prime of his or her life. The men were often dressed in dashing military uniforms or well-tailored business suits and ties. The women were invariably garbed in the style of another era. Some were in wedding gowns, their eyes radiant with the anticipation of a blissful future.
Charlotte was pretty sure that none of them had expected to end up at the Rainy Creek Gardens Retirement Village. But the truth was that those on the memorial board had survived whatever life had thrown at them-tragedy, trauma, disappointment and heartbreak-and lived to tell their tales at Rainy Creek.
In the grand scheme of things, Charlotte thought, getting left at the altar was nothing more than a dramatic story that, with luck, she would be telling her friends and neighbors and, perhaps, her own grandchildren decades from now.
She went into her office, made a few notes about the next memoir writing session and then went over her schedule.
Sarah Jameson appeared in the doorway. She was in her late fifties, a trim, attractive woman who favored skirted business suits and black pumps. She lounged in the doorway, arms folded, and smiled.
"I hear there was a bit of a dustup in the Write Your Life group today," she said. "Something about Ethel Deeping wanting to end the chapter on her marriage by saying that she killed her husband decades ago."
"Word travels fast," Charlotte said.
"Blame happy hour."
"There appears to be some confusion in the class about the fine line between writing memoirs and writing fiction," Charlotte said. "Ethel says her husband was a successful, well-respected man who gave back to the community, but I think she carries some residual anger toward him. He died when their kids were young and Ethel was left to raise them on her own. I think she's using a fictional ending as a way of taking revenge. Also, she says it's more dramatic."
Sarah chuckled. "Well, she's got a point. Who are we to stop her from writing whatever she wants to write? Besides, you did say that memoirs are a kind of therapy."
"True." Charlotte glanced out the window. It was still raining. She retrieved her boots from under her desk and slipped off her heels. "The problem is that the rest of the class is upset with Ethel's decision to embellish her life story."
"I doubt if Ethel is the only one who is guilty of that."
"Well, a pattern is emerging." Charlotte tugged on the boots. "Most of the class prefers to write about the good stuff that happened to them and ignore the bad."
"Where's the harm in that?"
"I agree." Charlotte got to her feet and took her anorak down off the coatrack. "There is definitely something to be said for denial. I've learned that much from working here at the village. Some of the happiest residents are those who seem to have done an excellent job of rewriting their own pasts."
She took her handbag out of the bottom drawer of her desk and slung the strap over one shoulder.
"Any word from Jocelyn?" Sarah asked.
"No. Incredibly enough, I think she must be enjoying herself at that convent retreat. I never thought she'd make it through the first week, to be honest. Jocelyn is practically hardwired into the Internet. I bet her ten bucks she wouldn't be able to go a full month without checking her e-mail."
"Well, she's only been gone for a week. You might win that bet yet. Got plans for this evening?"
"Not really. I'm going to stop by Jocelyn's condo to water her plants and collect her snail mail on my way home today. That's probably going to be the highlight of my night. You?"
"No, but I'm looking forward to the weekend. My husband and I are going to drive over to the coast. There's another storm due in. I love the beach during storm season."
"Sounds great," Charlotte said. "See you tomorrow."
She made her way through the lobby, said her good-byes to the front desk staff and went out into the rain-drenched gloom of the fall afternoon. She paused in the wide, gracious entranceway and reran the conversation with Sarah in her head. She did not care for the ending.
I'm a single woman of a certain age and I've got zero plans for tonight and none for the weekend, she thought. That was ridiculous. No doubt about it, she had spent more than enough time brooding about the Brian Conroy disaster. She needed to get a life.
She pulled up the hood of her jacket-only tourists carried umbrellas in Seattle-and got ready to step out into the steady drizzle.
One of the many advantages of her job at Rainy Creek Gardens was that it was just a twenty-minute walk from her apartment. Actually, when she thought about it, everything she needed was within a twenty-minute walk of the apartment. Seattle had big-city lights, good shopping and all the other amenities of urban life, but it was still, in many ways, a small town. Brian Conroy and the rain aside, she was glad she had heeded Jocelyn's advice and made the move from Oregon.
An expensive-looking luxury car pulled into the small parking lot in front of the entrance. The driver's-side door opened and a man climbed out from behind the wheel. He jogged toward the shelter of the covered entranceway. When he saw Charlotte, he smiled with just a polite hint of masculine appreciation.
"Really coming down," he observed. "But at least it's not too cold."
"True," she said.
"You look a little young to be a resident," he said. "Visiting a relative?"
"I work here."
"Yeah?" He glanced thoughtfully at the lobby entrance. "I was hoping maybe you had a family member here."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to ask your opinion of the place. The family has appointed me to shop around for a retirement community for my grandmother. Since you work here, though, I guess your opinion would not exactly be unbiased, huh?"
"I work here because I like this community a lot," she said. "There's someone inside who can answer all your questions, but you really ought to bring your grandmother here to take a look for herself. Moving into a retirement community is a major lifestyle change. She needs to be involved in the decision."
Damn. She sounded way too earnest, even to her own ears. She could hear Jocelyn's voice in her head.
That's right, Charlotte, a good-looking man flashes you a sexy smile and asks a simple question and you go straight into lecture mode. You've got to lighten up, woman.
The stranger's smile dimmed a couple of degrees.
"Right," he said. "The thing is, I'm just trying to get a feel for the options that are out there. Grandma has lived in the same house for fifty years. She's nervous about moving into a community full of strangers."
Charlotte felt herself on solid ground now. Forget trying to flirt with him, she thought. Just stick to business.
"Does your grandmother play bridge, by any chance?" she asked.
He seemed surprised by the question, but he recovered quickly.
"Are you kidding?" he said. "She plays killer bridge."
"Then she's golden," Charlotte said. "Trust me, as soon as the word gets out in the community that she plays, she'll have no problem making friends."
"Thanks, I'll let her know." He paused, as if trying to decide whether to engage in further conversation with her. "What do you think the in crowd will be playing when you and I are ready for a retirement community?"
"Video games, probably."
He chuckled and some of the warmth returned to his smile.
"You're right," he said. "Well, thanks for the info."
He went through the glass doors and disappeared into the lobby.
She went out into the rain and walked briskly along the sidewalk. She had managed to amuse him for a moment. That was the good news, she thought. The bad news was that she had not been trying to be funny. She had blurted out "video games" in answer to his question because it was the first thing that had popped into her head.
She hadn't exactly flirted with a stranger, but there had been a little whisper of the female-male vibe in the exchange and that realization boosted her spirits. Maybe whatever it was inside of her that had been crushed by the Brian Conroy fiasco wasn't dead after all. Maybe it had just been hibernating.
A little flicker of awareness prompted her to glance back over her shoulder. She didn't expect to see the man again. By now he would be at the front desk in the lobby asking for more information and perhaps a tour of the village.
She was surprised when she caught a glimpse of him on the other side of the glass doors. She could have sworn he was watching her.
The knowledge that he had apparently found her interesting enough to warrant a lingering glance should have given her another pleasant little rush of feminine satisfaction. But for some inexplicable reason, it didn't. Instead it sent a shiver of unease across the back of her neck.
Great. Now I'm getting paranoid.
Maybe the experience with Brian had affected her nerves, as well as her confidence in her own judgment.
That was not a cheerful thought.
She walked a little more quickly, very aware of the damp chill of the fading day. She suddenly wished she had been able to accompany Jocelyn to the secluded island convent. There was a certain appeal to the idea of going off the grid for a few weeks. But she had been on the job at Rainy Creek for only a year. There was no way she could have taken a whole month off.