Playing with Fire

Heartland Gardens Nursing Home was situated right outside of Austin. I actually found its brochure in one of the thick stacks West had left on my desk. It was full of glossy pictures of botanical gardens, open spaces, and fun activities, and offered dancing classes and bingo nights. It even had a small church. It was rated one of the best places in the state for people who were suffering from health issues, dementia, and other cognitive disorders.

In fact, the place specialized in taking care of people with Alzheimer’s. And the real kicker was I never really bothered looking at the stack, but West had not only found me potential nursing homes, he’d also called each of them and gave them a rundown of the situation. There’d been a note attached to the brochure.

T,

I did some digging. Called the place, took your insurance card out of Mrs. S’s purse, and ran a check. Your insurance covers most of the cost for this one. If Mrs. S goes through her tests and the results determine she needs assisted living, you’re gold.

—W.

Sadly, I knew that the tests would turn back positive. So I gave Heartland Gardens a call. The director answered and we did a virtual tour, after which I drove up to see the place for myself. Grams had been mostly out of it that week, but in the hours she was lucid, she’d asked about West.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her she was never going to see him again.

“So. Whaddaya think?” I tried to make myself sound playful, happy, now that Grams and I were in front of her new home. I still couldn’t believe my luck in securing an immediate spot.

Grams slid out of the passenger seat as I grabbed her suitcases and bags from the bed of the truck, examining the regal, alabaster exterior of the place.

It looked like a small mansion. Manicured, lush front lawns, a tennis court, a pool, and impeccably tended flowers.

There were individual, luxurious cabins speckled around the main building, but since Grams required assisted living, she was going to reside in the main property, in a room that looked very much like a five-star hotel apartment.

“I think …” She looked around us, her mouth falling open. Lord, I prayed she was coherent enough to understand what was going on, and that she didn’t despise me for making the executive decision. “I think we absolutely cannot afford this, Gracie-Mae.”

I whipped my head toward her.

Gracie-Mae?

Miraculously, I found my voice.

“We can. All we need is to run some tests. And if it turns out that you—” I stopped, taking a deep breath—“that you qualify, which both the director of this place and I think you will, you’ll be given a special grant from this foundation. I’ve already talked to them. Don’t you worry about the details, Grams.”

It would probably cost me half of what I’d been paying to Marla, who constantly worked overtime, and anyway, that was exactly why we had money put aside.

Grams glared at the place with childish awe, her wrinkly hand pressed over her heart. I wished she would say something, anything, to give me the faintest idea of what was going through her head. I knew I could no longer look after her at home. Not just for me. For her, too.

She needed to be cared for professionally.

And she needed company.

She needed to interact with people her age and to move far away from the town of Sheridan—a town haunted by memories that broke her heart and soul.

My mother.

My dead grandfather.

The fire.

And perhaps even me.

“Oh, Gracie-Mae …” She clutched the top of her dress, bowing her head down. To my surprise, tears formed on the edges of her eyes, threatening to spill over. “This is beautiful. I don’t know if I deserve all this. This is too fancy. They’ll probably think I’m a hick.”

“Grams!” I chided, feeling like we were the old us, and for the first time, realizing that we weren’t—never would be—and that it was okay, too.

“What?

“They’ll be lucky to have you.”

“Not sure they’ll survive your grandmomma, sugar, but that ain’t my problem.”

A pretty, middle-aged nurse in a baby blue uniform rushed toward us from the automatic doors, picking up our suitcases.

“Hello! Mrs. Shaw?” She smiled at Grams brightly, her chestnut ponytail swinging in perfect harmony with her sunshine approach. “My name is Nurse Aimee, and I’m here to help you settle in. We are so excited to finally meet you. Your roommate, Ethel, is waiting for you. She is quite the firecracker, but your granddaughter is telling me so are you. I’ve a feeling you’re going to get along just fine.”

Something moved over Grams’ face.

A mixture of excitement and shyness I hadn’t seen before.

I ushered her in, holding her hand. She looked around timidly, like she was unwelcome. I realized, in our town, she wasn’t. That’s what she’d come to expect from people. The condemnation of being the mother of Courtney Shaw and the grandmother of the freak who’d set her own house on fire.