Bitter Sweet Read Online Free Page A

van’s air conditioning down to a reasonable level now that
she didn’t have to preserve a fragile cargo. As she maneuvered out of the lane
where she’d made the delivery she realized that she was probably close to the
neighborhood where Sadie Gray now lived. The old man next door, Milton
Fasbinder, had said the nursing home was near the hospital. Maybe she could
find out something about the couple’s situation.
    The promised ninety degree day
had indeed materialized, with a cloudless, piercing sky that bounced white-hot
light wherever she looked. A haze hung over the far hills, smoke from a forest
fire a hundred miles south. With no rain in the forecast until next month, the
fire situation was getting scary. It hadn’t been that many years since hundreds
of acres had burned in the mountains right outside town.
    The nursing home, Casa Serenita,
sat buttoned up tight with closed blinds and no one outdoors in the fenced
yard. She parked in their nearly empty lot and walked up a sidewalk bordered
with chamisa and purple sage, plants that could survive the high-desert summers
with little water.
    Inside the double doors, a small
vestibule faced a reception desk. The tan theme included brown carpeting, cream
upholstered chairs, and vanilla air freshener. A tired silk plant anchored one
corner and one lonely magazine brightened the laminate coffee table. Sam’s gaze
skimmed all this and landed on the desk, manned by a business-suited female
whose name badge identified her as Martha Preston. She sent Sam a quick smile
and confirmed that Sadie Gray was, indeed, a resident. Sam gave a very
condensed version of the reason for her visit.
    “Mrs. Gray’s dementia is fairly
pronounced,” Preston said. “She might be able to tell you things that happened
a year ago, but anything within the past few weeks will be completely gone.
She’s been here four months and still has a hard time locating her bedroom.
Physically, she’s not in bad shape for a woman of eighty-seven. If not for the
mental decline, she could quite easily fit into our assisted living program.”
    “Would it be all right if I asked
her some questions?”
    “You can try.” Martha Preston led
Sam through a paneled door to a communal room furnished with two flowered blue
sofas and a number of high-backed chairs. A television with the volume turned loud
captivated the attention of about a dozen elderly people with the latest gossip
from some talk show. The air was warm, and yet nearly every one of the
residents wore a sweater or light jacket. Preston paused a moment and looked
around.
    “I don’t see Sadie. She’s
probably in her room.” She started down a wide hallway. Sam ignored the living
room’s scent of despair and hurried to catch up.
    Doors stood open on both sides of
the hall, bedrooms furnished with single hospital style beds. Many had personal
touches like family photos on a dresser, a chair that was obviously an old
favorite, hand crocheted afghans in colors that were popular in previous
decades. Martha stopped before a closed door and tapped twice before opening
it.
    “Sadie? You have a visitor.” She
stepped into the room and ushered Sam forward.
    The room was furnished more
simply than some of those others—a yellow spread on the bed, a dresser and
nightstand that could have been hotel furniture, generic floral prints on the
walls. Sadie Gray sat at the dresser, writing on a sheet of paper. A small
stack of envelopes stood nearby. Her white hair was neatly styled and she wore
pink knit slacks and a flowered blouse in a similar style to the outfits Sam
had seen in her closet. Her eyes must have once been vivid blue but they seemed
dim now behind the thick lenses of her glasses.
    Sadie gave her a puzzled look.
“Carrie? I haven’t seen you in ages, dear.”
    Martha Preston murmured to Sam,
“She tends to think everyone is Carrie. Apparently that’s her neighbor’s
daughter whom she used to babysit, maybe fifty years ago.”
    “Hi, Mrs.