Darcy posed a lot of questions and made me think deeply about a lot of things. We had mutually decided to quit smoking, which was no easy task. It helped that we never seemed to crave a cigarette at the same time, so we kept each other in line. When I suggested he come to AA with me, he stood his ground, reminding me he wasn’t an alcoholic, but when I attended a meeting Thursday night, he tagged along.
He listened.
After, he spoke about his parents and how maybe addiction ran in the family, and he should try to stop before it became a problem.
I didn’t think there would ever come a day when I would be someone’s role model, but when Tallus pointed out that that was what I’d become to Darcy, it gave me an added drive to want to succeed. Not because I thought I should be better for him or Tallus, but because I wanted to be an example worth following. I wanted to be a man worth modeling.
It was Saturday, Nana’s ninety-third birthday, and Tallus had arrived at Evergreen an hour ago to set up for the party. Since I’d let him run with the planning, I had no real idea what to expect or who he’d invited.
The gathering was taking place in a common room where events were often held. We signed in at the front desk—I introduced Darcy as my nephew—and headed where we were told.
Aaron no longer worked at Evergreen, but no one had explained why. His arrest had been hushed. What transpired at the police station that day and what charges he faced remained a mystery.
Lukyan Andrich had been charged with over three hundred counts of fraud, totaling in the tens of millions of dollars. He wouldn’t see the light of day again once convicted, and since he’d proven to be a flight risk, he was being held without bail until his trial.
We arrived at the party room. Foil balloons decorated the door, woven among a garland of fake flowers. Beyond, multiple tables had been set with platters of treats and finger foods—soft and easily chewable to accommodate the seniors.
At ninety-three, Nana didn’t have a whole lot of living friends apart from the other residents at Evergreen, so the guest list consisted of a lot of elderly people I didn’t know. Everyone wore ridiculous party hats.
Bobbing white and gray heads filled the room. A few used walkers, others moved about in wheelchairs, while some waddle-shuffled with canes. Among them, I saw Birdie, Nana’s old home care nurse, Kitty, Tallus’s coworker and Nana’s old knitting companion, and… my mother?
I froze in the doorway, scanning for any sign that my father was present. Tallus promised he wouldn’t invite them. He swore the nurses understood that they weren’t to speak about the party in their presence.
But at our chance run-in with my dad the other day, it had come up.
Had he come? Why was my mother here?
I didn’t see Leroy anywhere, but Marlow Krause’s presence stiffened my limbs.
“What’s wrong?” Darcy asked.
“Nothing.” I shoved the discomfort aside and entered.
The room had been decorated to the nines for a party. Streamers dipped in low arches from the walls, converging in the center of the ceiling. More balloons, party favors, and fake flowers. A painted sign announced Happy 93rdBirthday, Hazel. I recognized Tallus’s artistry.
In the middle of the chaos, snug in a wheelchair, with a crochet blanket over her lap, was Nana, and she couldn’t have looked more charmed if she tried. Her cheeks held color, and her perpetually hazyeyes shone with delight. Her smile was enough to melt the ball of ice in my stomach.
She clapped to the music and bobbed her head as an elderly resident shuffled to the beat, dancing with her. At times, he held out his hand, and she took it.
Darcy beelined for the snacks, while I approached Nana. I waited until the song ended before squatting beside her chair and kissing her cheek. “Hey, Nana. Happy birthday.”
“Oh, Boone! You came. I was dancing with the boys. You aren’t jealous, are you?”
“Not at all. So long as you’re having fun.”
“Will you dance with me?”
I would never deny her, even if I had to act the role of her long-dead husband. Even if I had to shuffle my awkward feet in something that resembled coordinated movement. Whatever made her happy. I wasn’t a dancer, but I spun her wheelchair and rocked her around the room as another song played. She squealed and clapped and waved to everyone we passed.
When the song ended, I brought her to the table with the birthday cake. “Kitty made your favorite.”
“Carrot cake?”
“Yep.”
“Oh. How lovely.”
“Do you remember Kitty?”
