Heartsong (Logan 2)

After he shut off the engine, Raymond stepped out and came around to open my door. I got out slowly.

"The front entrance is right there," he said nodding. "I'll wait in the car."

"The whole time?"

"I don't mind," he said and returned to his seat, pulled his cap down over his eyes, and settled in for a nap. I walked over the flagstone walkway and started up the stairs. One of the elderly men smiled at me; the other continued to look in the direction from which we had come, as if he expected to see more cars. The man who smiled, nodded.

"Hello," I said.

"You bring the paper?" he asked.

"Pardon?"

"Today's paper. You bring the paper?"

"No. I'm sorry. I'm here visiting Belinda Gordon."

"Where's the paper?" the other elderly man asked him, holding his hand behind his right ear.

"She ain't got it," he said.

"What?"

"She ain't got it," he shouted.

"What's today, a holiday?" the second man asked. I smiled at them nervously and entered the home.

The lobby was bright and homey with light blue curtains and a blond oak floor. The walls had large paintings depicting rustic country scenes and ocean scenes in rainbow colors, some with fishermen, some simply with sailboats painted against the twilight sky. The cushioned chairs and settees were all done in a light blue floral pattern. There were small wooden tables, book and magazine racks, with rocking chairs in front of the large, brick fireplace. Light, classical music was being piped in through two small wallmounted speakers.

A little more than a dozen residents were seated in the lobby, a few reading magazines, some talking, two playing checkers, and some just sitting and staring at nothing. Two women in nurses' uniforms circulated around the lobby, seeing to the needs of the residents. Everyone was well dressed and appeared well looked after. Those who seemed aware of what was happening around them gazed up at me with anticipation as I entered. Almost all looked as if they hoped I was there to visit them. I could practically feel the loneliness.

A tall, thin woman with dark hair and a narrow face that held her dark eyes close to each other came strutting out of the corridor to the right. She wore a dark gray cotton suit that looked tailored to her lean figure. Her high heels clicked sharply on the wooden floor. It reminded me of the tap, tap, tap of a woodpecker. She wore her chestnut brown hair cut short, barely below her ears, where she wore tiny opal earrings. Her nose was long and a bit pointed and her mouth turned down at the corners. She didn't smile when she approached.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"I'm Melody Logan, here to see Belinda Gordon."

"Oh yes. Mrs. Logan called to say you would be coming. I'm Mrs. Greene. Miss Gordon is in recreation. You haven't brought her any candy, have you? We try to limit the sugar intake. Many of our residents are diabetic, but they don't watch themselves and they offer each other candy."

"No ma'am," I said. "I've brought nothing but myself."

"Fine," she said nodding. "Right this way, please." I looked back at the people lounging in the lobby.

Everyone looked frozen. One of the men playing checkers was holding his hand in midair, a checker piece between his fingers, and one thin lady in a rocker had stopped it in its forward motion and sat with her mouth wide open, leaning and staring at me. She looked as if she might break into tears any moment.

"This way," Mrs. Greene said, pausing in the doorway to the corridor. I hurried to catch up. "How is Miss Gordon?" I asked.

"Actually, she's doing very well. Being on a healthy diet with proper exercise has given her a new lease on life and has added years. She happens to be one of the residents of whom I am very proud. Are you a friend of the family?" she inquired as we turned down another corridor toward a double door.

"I happen to be her granddaughter," I said as matter-of-factly as I could. She stopped walking.

"Granddaughter?" Her smile was like a stretching of her thin lips to the point where they looked like rubber bands about to snap. "But my understanding is Belinda Gordon had no children.'

I shrugged. "That's who I am," I said. She squeezed her eyebrows toward each other and then shook her head, clicking her tongue as she continued toward the double doors.

"I would have thought Mrs. Logan would have mentioned that," she muttered.

"She must have just forgotten," I said. She looked at me sideways as she opened the double doors to a room filled with game tables, a television set, and imitation leather settees and easy chairs. There were at least another dozen residents here. They looked younger, more alert and healthier than the elderly people in the lobby.