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To her great chagrin, she discovers that Poppy is right—sheispleasantly surprised. The lobby is bright and beautifully appointed, the art both colorful and tasteful, the well-stuffed sofas and chairs sleek yet comfortable-looking. The air-conditioning is set at just the right temperature, a rarity in South Florida, where indoor thermometers often register only a few degrees above freezing. It even smells good—fresh but not cloying.
“No ‘old people’ smell,” Poppy leans over to whisper, as if reading Julia’s mind.
Indeed, from what Julia can see, there are no old people at all. No elderly men shuffling down the corridors in worn-out slippers, no ancient crones milling about aimlessly, no poor souls lining the halls in wheelchairs, staring forlornly toward the front door, vacant eyes praying for visitors.
Or death.
Instead, what she sees is a group of well-dressed seniors, many clearly years younger than she is, talking animatedly by the side of a coffee machine, while others peruse magazines and newspapers in front of a large picture window overlooking acres of well-maintained greenery.
“What do you think?” Norman asks.
“It’s a lobby,” Julia says, refusing to be charmed so easily. “Are we done? Can we leave now?”
“Not quite yet. I’ve arranged with Mrs. Reid to give us a tour. That’s her now,” he says, extending his hand toward the casually dressed middle-aged woman fast approaching.
“Hello, Mr. Fisher,” the woman says, green eyes sparkling beneath a fringe of wavy brown hair. “Lovely to see you again. And Mrs. Fisher. How beautiful you are.” She directs her attention to Julia. “And so nice to meet you,” she says as Norman introduces them, “although you don’t look very happy to be here.” She smiles. The smile is warm and genuine. “Believe me, I understand. A lot of our residents feel that way the first time they visit.”
“Mrs. Reid…” Julia says.
“Please, call me Carole.”
“Carole, I’m sorry to be wasting your time—”
“Oh, but you aren’t! I adore this part of my job. Meeting new people, showing off our beautiful establishment. I feel so honored to work here, to be part of such a vibrant community. Come, let me show you around.” She doesn’t wait for an answer.
Julia sighs, falling into step with Carole Reid as the woman ushers the small group down the wide hallway to her left. “This is not a nursing home,” she stresses along the way. “Nor are you a guest inourfacility. On the contrary,weare guests inyourhome. While we have doctors and nurses on call, and a staff that includes social workers, personal care workers, cooks, housekeepers, and orderlies, residents must be able to take care of themselves. If the time comes that a resident is no longer able to function independently, we have our sister facility just a few miles away to which he or she can be transferred. And while we have excellent dining facilities, no one is forced to take part. You can choose to have all or none of your meals in the dining room. Rates, of course, vary accordingly.”
She opens the door to the large dining room. Julia does a quick count of twenty round tables, each surrounded by eight chairs, the tables covered in white linen tablecloths and already set for dinner. “We have two sittings for each meal, so even if all our residents choose to eat with us, we’re able to accommodate them,” Carole Reid continues, leading them out of the room and around the corner.
She shows them the well-equipped gym, the indoor and outdoor swimming pools, and the multiple card rooms, all of which are busy, as well as a small theater where movies are shown once a week, and the drama club mounts its yearly productions. “There’s also a bridge club, a mahjong club, a book club, and a choir,” the woman says proudly. “And we have regular guest speakers and offer frequent and numerous outings. Of course, suggestions of places to go and things to see are always welcome. As well, we offer classes in everything from current affairs to knitting.”
Julia can’t help being impressed and has to fight to keep her face as impassive as possible.
“I’d like to reiterate that you lose none of your independence when you move to Manor Born. If anything, yougain:new friends, a sense of purpose, a real community. Would you like to see our model suite?”
“Lead the way,” Norman says before Julia can respond.
They take the elevator to the fourth floor.
Carole Reid opens the door to a spacious one-bedroom apartment as tastefully furnished as the lobby.
“It’s beautiful,” Norman says. “Lots of space. Plenty of light.”
“And no stairs,” Poppy adds.
“Very nice,” Julia says.
“That’s it?” Norman says. “Very nice?”
Julia steps back into the hall, walks briskly toward the elevators.
“It’s all right,” she hears Mrs. Reid say to her son. “This isn’t for everyone.”
They ride the elevator to the main floor in silence.
“I thank you very much for coming,” the woman concludes, as they walk toward the front door. “It was a real pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Fisher. If you have any questions—”
“You’ve been very thorough,” Julia says. “Thank you.”
“Thankyou. I hope to see you again.”
“We’ll be in touch,” Norman says. “Could you have been any ruder?” he asks his mother as they step outside.
“Oh, I think so. Yes, quite definitely,” Julia says. “Will there be any more surprises?”
“No, Mother,” Norman tells her, his voice resonating defeat. “No more surprises.”
