The Good Life Read Online Free

that could be drawn closed in the evenings. Dede jotted down notes as they walked back into the living room, where she asked Ann about a budget. “Don’t worry about that,” said Ann. “I don’t want you to go overboard, of course. Keep in mind these are farm people. Spend more time and energy on the larger bedroom, where my parents will stay, than the other one. And make sure the fabrics you select are washable. God only knows what kind of spills and accidents will happen back here.”
    “Would you like to look at some fabrics?” asked Dede, her green eyes wide and attentive.
    “I’m going to leave that to you,” Ann said. “Give me three choices for everything and we’re in business.”
    “Great,” said Dede, smiling at Ann through pink frosted lips as she mentally calculated her profit on the job. “When do you want to get started?”
    “The sooner the better,” said Ann, leading Dede back out the door. “They will be here in as soon as two weeks. Is that enough time?”
    With an unlimited budget, Dede knew she could find painters to work that very night. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll get things rolling as soon as I get back to my office.”
     
    Yellow legal pad in hand, Eileen stood in their bedroom closet, looking at Sam’s sparse half: three button-down flannel shirts, four white button-down broadcloth shirts, two pairs of stained khakis and one reasonably clean pair, two pairs of navy blue sweatpants, a flannel bathrobe, a dark gray business suit, and a rack of outdated neckties. Everything hung on wood hangers spaced inches apart along a six-foot chrome bar, like clothing in an expensive women’s boutique. The painted pine shelves at the end of the bar housed Sam’s favorite navy blue, V-neck sweater that had worn through Eileen’s darning job at the elbows, a light gray cardigan sweater, two faded sweatshirts, a pair of Cloud 9 walking shoes Sam used to wear when Eileen took him to the mall for some exercise, and his favorite brown wing tips. However, his feet had become so swollen from medication and disuse that he spent most of his time in a pair of ancient sheepskin slippers that Ann had sent from L.L.Bean the Christmas after she married Mike. When he went to the Lutheran day care, Eileen shoehorned his red, scaly feet into a pair of soled moccasins she had picked up at the mall several months ago. They were undignified, as Sam had called them when he insisted on wearing the wing tips that first day, but they were comfortable and would keep Sam’s feet dry on the way from the car to the church parish hall. Eileen decided she would pack the flannel shirts, two of the white shirts, the sweatpants, and the blue sweater. She would also take the moccasins and slippers, as well as socks, boxer shorts, and pajamas from his dresser—and his gray fleece bathrobe hanging on the hook in their bathroom. He would need some new items though, which she jotted down on the pad: two pairs of khaki pants, a gray sweatshirt, and one pair of comfortable shoes—size eleven, not ten! When Eileen turned, realizing she ought to check the condition of his boxers, she just about ran into Sam, who had silently traversed their bedroom carpeting and was standing less than a foot behind her. “Oh!” she said, putting her free hand to her chest. “You scared me.”
    Sam frowned, his full head of white hair looking like it had lost the war. “Why in the world would you say a thing like that? I have every right to be here.”
    “Of course you do, dear. I guess I was just lost in thought,” said Eileen, combing his hair with her fingers. She would have better luck after his shower.
    “Not a bad place to get lost,” he said, turning away from his wife. He moved slowly back into the bedroom. When he reached their double bed, he sat down. “What’s on the docket for today?”
    “Errands.”
    “I hate errands.”
    “That’s why you’re going to the center,” said Eileen. “They need you today.”
    “They sure