“That’s true! He could remember you even if you don’t remember him!” said Nadine in a romantic fog.
Several staff members walked by without paying attention to the group at the table. Essie waved the card around, attempting to make sure that the two staffers saw the valentine.
“Maybe he’ll get in touch with you!” Nadine suggested. “I mean, maybe sending you this valentine is just the beginning. He might want to rekindle a romance from long ago.”
“I can’t think of anyone I had any romances with long ago,” said Essie, genuinely contemplating her past loves, and then suddenly remembering that the secret admirer did not actually know her, but was just using her mailbox as a drop off for his illegal drugs. How easy it is to get wrapped up in these stories, she thought.
“I don’t know why you’d want some unknown guy in Boston,” said Dave, jumping into the conversation, “when you have two perfectly fine men here at Happy Haven.” He looked over at Hubert, with a sort of apologetic smile.
“Yeah,” agreed Hubert, protruding his lower lip and nodding in agreement. “Two perfectly fine men right here.” This last sentence was obviously much too aggressive for him and his face turned a beet red and he hid it in his shirt collar.
“You’re right,” said Essie to the men at the table. “If this secret admirer really cared for me, he wouldn’t remain hidden. He’d sign his card like a gentleman. Like the two of you did!” She nodded sharply to drive home her point. The men seemed satisfied. “Even so,” she added, “I can’t help but be curious. I mean, you all would be curious if you got a card like this from someone who signed it ‘secret admirer’ wouldn’t you?”
“I know I would!” cried Nadine.
“I’d probably forget all about it,” said Betsy with another veiled warning.
“Who’d send me a card like that?” asked Hubert. The poor man sounded so pitiful, Essie couldn’t help but feel her heart break for him.
“I guess I’d be just like you, Essie,” said Dave finally. “That’s how we’re alike. We’re both spitfires and we don’t just let things alone. When we see a way to fix things or change something, we do it!”
Boy oh joy! Essie thought. She hoped that she wasn’t just like Dave Esperti. True, he was headstrong and outspoken, somewhat like her. But that was where the similarities ended, she hoped.
“I guess I’d better get going,” said Essie, satisfied that she had displayed the secret admirer valentine sufficiently for numerous passersby to see it. She slipped it back in her basket and headed over to the elevator.
“Hey, Essie!” Dave called after her. “Why don’t you bring your secret admirer valentine to that Dr. Love this afternoon? I bet he’d be able to tell you who sent it to you!”
Essie ignored Dave’s suggestion and waved at the group as the elevator door closed.
Chapter Twenty Four
“Never pretend to a love which you do not actually feel, for love is not ours to command.”
—Alan Watts
On the second floor, Essie headed back to the rec room where the arts and crafts class was spending their last session making valentines. Sue Barber was again in the center of the tables describing final special touches that residents could add to their cards. Essie glanced over to the table where she had sat the previous day and noted that Donna, Velma, and their quiet friend were again hard at work on card construction. Apparently, Donna had finished her previous valentine, sent it to her deceased husband, and was now hard at work on a new work of art. Essie rolled over and slid comfortably into the empty seat.
“Essie!” said Velma from across the table. “Welcome back! Did your new great grandson like his valentine?”
“What?” said Essie, befuddled.
“The card you made yesterday,” replied Velma, “for your new little great grandson. Remember?”
“Oh, yes!” said Essie, suddenly recalling her small fib. Now why had she made up such a ridiculous lie? She was trying to keep from hurting Donna’s feelings by not mentioning her own husband, and here she just succeeded in creating a story that she’d now have to maintain for no reason.
“Oh, fine,” she lied. “I’m going to work on another one now.”
“For your great grandson?” asked Donna.
“Maybe,” said Essie, vaguely. “What about you? Did you finish the card you were making yesterday? This one looks different.”
“No,” replied Donna, “it’s the same one. I’ve just changed some things on it.”
Some things, thought Essie. The whole thing was more like it. Oh, well, to each her own. And it doesn’t matter anyway if she’s just going to give it to someone who’s no longer here.
Sue Barber was rambling on about it being Valentine’s Day so it was their last chance to finish up the cards they were working on. Tomorrow, she said, they would be starting a new project. She demonstrated a way to trim card edges with gold filigree.
“I want some of that,” said Velma when she saw the shiny thread sparkling from Sue’s hands. “It would look really nice on my card. Don’t you think, Essie?”
“Very nice,” agreed Essie. She pushed around some paper in the center of the table as she pretended to show some interest in making another card.
“What about that card from your secret admirer?” asked Velma. “Did you ever find out who sent it?”
“No,” replied Essie. Now, we’re getting somewhere, she thought. And here’s a good test. The women at this table all actually saw the original card the other day. I wonder if they’ll recognize that I’ve substituted a fake card or will they fall for my ploy? She reached over to her walker basket and brought out the cream-colored envelope that contained the fake card. She held it to her chest in pretend adoration.
“It must really make you curious,” said Donna. “Not knowing who this man is who sent you this beautiful card.”
“It does,” said Essie, providing her table companions with a deep, romantic sigh. “Here he is longing for me but not having the courage to reveal himself. I may never find out who he is.”
“That’s horrible to think,” said Donna, “but still very romantic. You and he are like unrequited lovers!” She clasped her arms to her chest and sighed deeply too. The other two women smiled and appeared to repeat the same heartfelt sigh.
“I guess we are,” agreed Essie, taking the envelope and peeking inside at the card. She pulled it slightly out of the envelope as she stared longingly at the front. She was careful not to let the little fake heart she had created move past the edge of the envelope flap. She wanted to make certain that the women still believed that she possessed the card without actually allowing them to get a close view of it.
Sue Barber was now moving around the room as she had done the other day, commenting on each resident’s homemade cards.
“Oh, my, Donna!” she declared as she reached Essie’s table. “You’ve totally redone your card!” Redone! thought Essie. Sue Barber was obviously more observant than she was. To her eye, Donna’s card looked totally different too.
“Essie,” said Sue, “I see you’re still pondering your secret admirer card.”
“Yes, Miss Barber,” replied Essie. “I thought about all the things you told me yesterday. You really got me thinking about this card. I still don’t know who sent it, but I intend to find out. I do!”
“Good for you!” replied Sue, barely glancing at the fragment of card sticking out of the envelope. “Are you going to make another card? Maybe one you can send to that admirer when you discover his identity?” She smiled at Essie and Essie realized that the sub-text was that this was arts and crafts class and if Essie was going to be here she should actually be doing arts and crafts.
“Oh, yes, Miss Barber!” exclaimed Essie. “I’m just trying to figure out what colors to use!” She quickly grabbed a few sheets of craft paper and a pair of scissors and began snipping away.
“Wonderful!” said Sue. “I can’t wait to see what you create!” She moved on to the next
table and the women returned to their gluing and cutting.
Smooth, Essie thought. Apparently, Sue Barber believes my fake valentine is the original. She didn’t appear the least bit suspicious. Neither do any of the women at this table and they all saw the real card.
“My goodness, Essie,” whispered Velma, “you’re clutching that valentine like it’s your long lost child! No one’s going to take it from you.”
Essie jolted from her reverie. Velma’s words struck her because, indeed, she did expect someone to take it from her.
“Oh, you know!” said Essie, with a casual laugh, “it’s not every day that a girl gets a card from a secret admirer.” She gave the women a coy look.
“Yes,” agreed Donna, “it’s very nice.” With that, she returned to her cutting and pasting as did the others. All the excitement the women had shown the other day over her card appeared to have vanished.
“Weren’t those delicious pancakes this morning?” Velma asked the entire group. Everyone nodded their assent, including the silent lady to Essie’s left. “The strawberries were so sweet. And that pomegranate juice!”
“I love how the chef created such a nice theme for Valentine’s Day!” added Donna.
“I wonder what he’ll do for lunch and dinner,” said Velma. At that, the other ladies had an entirely new topic of interest. They all mused over possible menu items for Valentine’s Day for the next several minutes.
“Oh, are you all going to that special presentation by that Dr. Love?” asked Velma enthusiastically. “That sounds like a lot of fun. They have him billed as the ‘guru of love’! He is supposed to answer questions from the audience about love and romance!”
“I’m going to ask him about my husband,” said Donna.
“Donna,” said Velma, in what Essie considered an unnecessarily harsh voice, “your husband is dead.”
“I’m going to ask him about my husband,” Donna repeated as if she hadn’t even heard Velma’s comment.
“Essie,” declared Velma, turning to the newest member of the table, “you should ask the ‘guru of love’ about your secret admirer. I bet he can help you figure out who he is.”
“I doubt it,” replied Essie.
“You never know,” added Donna. Essie glanced at the silent woman to her left who nodded knowingly.
“Well, I’ll see,” she said.
“Do any of you know Grace Bloom?” asked Essie suddenly.
“She plays Quiz Bowl,” responded Velma. “A very nice lady. Her husband died too, Donna.” Velma glanced over at Donna. “However, she knows he’s gone.”
“I know Grace,” added Donna. “She’s in my knitting club. Although she hasn’t come lately.”
“I told you, Donna,” chided Velma, “her husband died recently. Maybe she’s having trouble adjusting—like you.”
“I’m not having any trouble adjusting,” said Donna calmly. “My husband isn’t dead.”
“Oh, why bother?” cried Velma, flinging her hands in the air.
“Grace’s husband lived here at Happy Haven with her?” asked Essie.
“I believe so,” replied Velma, with an annoyed glance towards Donna. “I believe they moved here when he retired. He was a vet.”
“In the military?” asked Essie.
“No,” said Velma, “an animal doctor. Grace was his nurse. They had a clinic in Reardon for many years.”
“That’s nice,” said Essie. “I had heard that she was ill.”
“Ill?” asked Velma. “I don’t think so. I saw her at dinner the other night. Although, now that you mention it, she hasn’t been at Quiz Bowl in quite some time. She used to be a regular.”
“You saw her eating at dinner?” asked Essie.
“I think so,” said Velma. “Donna, didn’t you see Grace Bloom at dinner the other night?”
“Yes,” said Donna. “She was there. I’m sure of it.” Essie wondered how sure Donna was of Grace Bloom’s attendance at dinner when she wasn’t sure of her own husband’s existence. Oh, well, Essie realized that sometimes elderly people had blind spots about certain issues and were still quite astute on everything else. Possibly Donna did understand everything except her husband’s death. Even so, she thought, Velma’s rather harsh behavior towards her friend’s problem seemed unnecessarily cruel.
As Essie looked around the table, it was clear that the other women had completed beautiful homemade valentines. Essie had completed nothing. She sat as she had day before, a glue bottle in her hand, squeezing white goop around the edges of a big red construction paper heart. She knew her art work was not well done, but then she also knew that the art work she had done last night that now resided inside the envelope in her walker basket was truly a work of art. It didn’t really matter how well this present project fared. She smiled sheepishly at the other women who all looked at her handiwork pitifully.
“Guess I’m just not much of an artist,” Essie said to the women.
“Don’t worry, Essie,” said Donna sweetly. “So you’re not an artist! You have other talents!”
“Yes,” agreed Velma. “Everyone at Happy Haven knows about your talents, Essie. You’re our resident detective.”
Essie smiled. Little did Velma know how true it was. For indeed, Essie was deep in the throes of ferreting out her secret admirer who was also the local drug dealer. She believed she had sufficiently flaunted her envelope around in the arts and crafts class. She was quite certain that the three women at this table and Sue Barber, who all had actually seen the card yesterday, had been fooled by her ruse. Now, whether or not they would convey that information to other people—other people who would hopefully include the suspect of interest—was uncertain. But she had taken the first step.
It was getting late, and Sue Barber was instructing the arts and crafts class to finish up their cards and put their supplies away. Essie assisted her tablemates in taking items back to cupboards on the side walls. Eventually, when the room was picked up, she bid farewell to her three new friends and headed out of the rec room. As she rolled down the second floor hallway towards the elevator she contemplated where she might go next to cautiously seed her story and show various Happy Haven residents and staff members peeks of the card itself. The elevator door opened and Essie entered.
Chapter Twenty Five
“Love is a canvas furnished by Nature and embroidered by imagination.”
—Voltaire
As she exited the elevator on the first floor, the family room was almost deserted. Probably most of the residents were in their rooms, getting ready for lunch. The lobby looked fairly empty too. Only Phyllis was visible, standing guard of the front desk as she usually did. Essie rolled casually over and began to peruse the array of sign-up sheets all lined up on the counter with their pencils attached with strings.
“Library field trip tomorrow, Essie!” Phyllis warbled, and pointed out a purple sheet that contained at least a dozen signatures.
“Oh, not this week, Phyllis,” replied Essie politely. “I’ve got enough reading material in my room.” This wasn’t actually true, but Essie hated field trips. She hated being more than a quick roll from the nearest bathroom and she wasn’t going to be forced to wear those disgusting adult diapers. She continued to look at the clipboards of sheets on the counter.
“You surely won’t miss Dr. Love this afternoon, will you?” the desk clerk asked Essie breathlessly. You’d think it was Clark Gable making an appearance today rather than some academic with a made-up nickname. She doubted that Dr. Love really knew anything about love—or at least any more about love than the average person.
“I don’t know,” she said sweetly. “I’ll have to see what’s on my schedule.”
“You could show the Doctor that valentine you got!” suggested Phyllis suddenly.
“Oh, I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing that,” replied Essie. “It’s rather personal and I really don’t want to tell everyone about it.” Ooops, she thought.
“Really?” asked Phy
llis skeptically. “I thought I saw you showing that card around all over the place.”
“Just to a few friends,” said Essie, cringing. “Phyllis, that does remind me, I wanted to ask you about the mail.”
“You mean more than you asked the other day?” asked the clerk, tipping her head incredulously.
“Yes, actually,” said Essie. “I’m just curious. You know, all this valentine talk has got me to thinking about the mail and how we get our mail. We do get mail every day and you are the person responsible for delivering it!” Essie felt she was buttering up Phyllis properly.
“It’s not always me,” noted Phyllis. “Sometimes one of the other staff members distributes it when I’m busy doing something else.”
“Oh?” asked Essie. “How often does that happen?”
“I don’t know,” replied Phyllis. “I don’t keep a record. Most of the staff are willing to jump in and help when one of us gets behind.” She smiled cordially at Essie as if to say that should answer your question.
“I’m just curious, Phyllis, about that little hallway behind the mailboxes,” said Essie. “I can see you moving around back there sometimes when you’re putting our mail in our boxes, and sometimes I even see other people back there. Is it some open area for the staff?”
“Actually,” replied Phyllis, “it’s a small hallway that runs around the back of the facility, from the back entrance to the kitchen. There are several entrance spots. We also use it for storage. You wouldn’t believe all the boxes that are back there!” She laughed and then realized that Essie was not as caught up in this behind the scene look at Happy Haven as she was.
“So all staff members have access to that hallway?” asked Essie.
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