The Good Life Read Online Free Page A

do,” said Sam, pushing himself up off the bed. “Frankly, I don’t know how they run that outfit when I’m not there.”
    “Let’s get you in the shower,” said Eileen, looking at Sam’s damp pajama pants. “And then we can get dressed and be on our way.”
     
    Eileen walked Sam into the day-care center and left him with Janice, an always optimistic fifty-five-year-old nurse and Eileen’s favorite volunteer. Eileen watched them walk to the armchairs, where Janice helped Sam sit before getting him a donated copy of yesterday’s New York Times . As usual, Sam turned immediately to the business news. Eileen watched a moment longer, then walked back down the hallway to the director’s office and knocked on the door. Penelope Jennings looked up from her computer screen, her black round glasses resting on her pink round cheeks. She smiled genuinely, and waved Eileen in. “How’s our Sam today?” she asked, standing. “Can I get you some coffee?”
    “No thanks,” said Eileen. “And Sam’s okay. He seemed happy to come today.”
    “That’s good. That’s what we like to hear,” said Penelope. “I’m sorry about all the trouble last week.”
    “Don’t be,” said Eileen, holding up her hand. “You offer a wonderful service here for clients who match your criteria. Sam is moving into another category.”
    “Do you have plans?”
    “Yes,” said Eileen. “We are leaving in a week or so to live with our daughter in Michigan.”
    “No kidding,” said Penelope, folding her arms across her chest. “I’d forgotten about your daughter.”
    “She’s far away,” said Eileen.
    “Yes,” said Penelope.
    “So, I’m here to thank you, for everything you’ve done for Sam. Next Tuesday will be his last day.”
    Penelope walked out from behind her desk and hugged Eileen. “We will miss him,” she said into the space behind Eileen’s left shoulder. “Underneath his disease, he is a good man with a good heart.” Eileen’s eyes began to tear up. She looked at the muted industrial-quality drapes covering half the window behind Penelope’s desk. “And you are a good caregiver,” said Penelope, releasing Eileen and moving two steps back. “One of the best I’ve seen. You’d be surprised at the number of people who drop their husbands, wives, grandmothers, and grandfathers at the door without a word. They don’t have to say anything; the burden and resentment are written all over their faces. They’ve forgotten the good days.”
    “I understand that,” said Eileen. “Sometimes they’re easy to forget.”
    “Hold on to them,” said Penelope, putting her hand on Eileen’s shoulder.
    “We try,” said Eileen, struggling to sound cheerful. She then shook the director’s hand.
    “If your plans change and you stay in town, call me. I’ll help you find the right place for him.”
    A sad smile on her face, Eileen thanked the director again, and then walked out the door, closing it quietly behind her.

    The guesthouse redecorating was finished eight days after Ann first spoke with Dede, and cost Mike Barons $20,000. During that week, Ann had been successful in hiring a caregiver, a retired nurse who lived up north but had a sister in town who had responded to Ann’s ad in the local newspaper. Only two things remained on Ann’s list: renting her parents’ house and physically getting them from Pennsylvania to Michigan. Charlene Dennis, the real estate agent in Clearwater, was optimistic about renting the house. Not only was the college close by, but so was a large agricultural processing plant in need of experienced shift supervisors. Between the two, an outsider would surely get hired and need to relocate. And, Charlene said, offering a furnished home was a bonus. A single man or family pressed for time could sign the contract in the morning and move in that afternoon. Ann grabbed a hot pink sticky note from the kitchen counter and stuck it to her list. On it, she wrote: Call Charlene! Her