Aging with Gracie (2 page)

But such were the choices of youth...and like it or not, a person always ended up reaping what was sown. If only she’d taken that internship with the university’s agriculture firm. Had she only known that the farming industry was the better of her choices, she would have jumped in with both feet.
If only
...

But when her father had said, “Grace, honey, you need to get your feet wet in the family business,” she had imagined something more along the lines of their Key West hotel...or the Woodhouse Spa and Health Club in Asheville. Entering a world of multivitamins and stool softeners in the pits of Appalachia had certainly not been on her agenda!

She took a deep breath and attached Mr. Knightley’s leash to his rhinestone-studded, black collar. He nudged her leg anxiously as if he, too, was unsure of their destination.

Grace barely noticed the line of doggie drool across the front of her skirt. To her mother’s dismay, she’d never been interested in fashion, and for Grace, the fact that the dog had basically sabotaged her mother’s attempt at a power suit was simply poetic justice. If only he’d stolen one of her new leather slingbacks for a chew toy, then she could have traded the entire look for jeans and a pair of Nikes. As it was, she would simply have to endure. She looked down at her shoes and cringed. Her toes were hurting so badly that the state of the rest of her outfit was inconsequential! The fashion-minded Evelyn Woodhouse had struck again, and Grace was paying the penalty.

Although the pain in her toes had surpassed unbearable, it was nothing compared to the misery she had endured while trying to meet the decrees of the image consultant her mother had hired a few weeks ago. She lifted her eyes to heaven at the memory. It had amazed Grace that the water-sipping, celery-snacking rail had not been able to understand that some people, Grace in particular, would never fit into a size two outfit! The woman had finally thrown her hands up and quit when Grace refused a series of chelation therapy treatments and a trip to a purifying sauna for wheatgrass enemas.

Grace grimaced at the image. For crying out loud! It had already taken her an entire month to grow her bangs out to the point that she could tuck her hair behind her ears. She couldn’t even imagine the shape her body would have been in had she followed the woman’s other advice.

Regardless of her present footwear, however painful it might be, the thought of getting her feet wet...in a nursing home, of all places...was more than a little intimidating.
Nauseating
was more the term she was looking for, and as her family could attest, one thing Emma Grace Woodhouse had never done well was
nausea
.

She glanced toward the scene before her and forced herself to keep her eyes open. She did a quick visual survey of the exterior of the building. Its appearance was appalling to say the least. Not only was the paint peeling, but the crepe myrtles lining the sidewalk were way past the pruning stage, and there wasn’t a rocking chair in sight.

Where are the rocking chairs?
Grace released a disgusted sigh.

It was a fact known by everyone in the universe…or at least the Deep South, that old people needed rocking chairs. They were a necessity, for crying out loud! What else was there to do on a nice autumn day but sit on the porch and chat about the “good old days”?

She let out an irate huff and checked her lipstick. Seeing everything in order, she climbed neatly out of her low-slung chariot and shouldered her new Cole Haan tote...another of her mother’s purchases.

“After all,” she had explained to Grace, “Every professional woman needs to project a certain look.”

Grace looked down at her outfit and laughed to herself. Her power suit was faring just about as she’d expected. The black wool was covered in dog hair and the seams of the updated, stylish ensemble were stretched to near-capacity. Grace wasn’t concerned, though. She had packed plenty of jeans and tee-shirts. From the look of things, they would be more appropriate for her work here, anyway.

Grace’s father had not exaggerated when he’d said things were in a mess at the retirement home. Something was definitely wrong, and Grace decided then and there that her personal agenda would have to take the back-burner. The place definitely needed a makeover, and she was just the person to do it!

She tightened her grip on Mr. Knightley’s leash and had barely conquered the first step of the long, low-country style front porch when she was pushed aside by the first in a long line of green-vested, pigtailed girls. There were at least twenty of them, identically outfitted except for the varied badges of service that their mothers had immaculately sewn in places of honor along the sashes crisscrossing their pre-pubescent chests.

Grace glanced their way and attempted to give the fearless juveniles her most annoyed look. As she opened her mouth to give them a piece of her mind, she remembered the business at hand. She was on a corporate mission, and she was bound and determined that a group of cookie-selling do-gooders would not ruin her first day at work.

“Please, ladies,” Grace pasted a sweet smile on her face. “Go on in. I hope you have a wonderful time today.”

The last girl in line, a chubby, pink-cheeked girl at least a head taller than the others, rolled her eyes at the comment and tossed her unruly mane of brown curls.

“Like that’s gonna’ happen,” she mumbled as she made her way through the doors, tugging on her badgeless banner in the process.

Grace couldn’t agree more, but before she could say so, the girl continued.

“This place would depress a Psychiatrist. I know so because my mom
is
one, and you don’t see her here,
do you
?” With the parting comment, she gave Grace a desperate look over her shoulder and followed the rest of the group through the foyer toward what Grace presumed was an activity room.

For a moment, Grace felt an odd kinship with the girl. She was so obviously out of place with the rest of the group that it was almost laughable. If her lamb-to-the-slaughter expression hadn’t given her away, the lack of neat blonde pigtails had certainly sealed the deal.

“I’m right there with you,” Grace said to herself, wishing all the while that she could escape the place and head back to the Dairy Freeze she had spotted on her way into town. A triple chocolate milkshake would have been the ideal cure for her job-induced melancholy.

She leashed Mr. Knightly to one of the columns and ordered him to stay put before heading into the building

“May I help you?” a voice asked just as Grace turned back toward the door to make the break for town.

Grace raised her eyes to find an uncanny likeness of the evil psychiatric nurse she’d once seen in an old movie standing before her. The woman was dressed in white from head to toe. Grace clasped her freshly manicured hands in front of her to quell an insane urge to flick the starched white cap off the woman’s head.

“Yes, you may,” Grace answered. She took a deep breath and tried to form the business smile the image consultant had shown her. “I’m Grace Woodhouse. I’m with The Woodhouse Corporation. I will be overseeing the renovations and other changes here at Mansfield Park.”

“Hmm. The boss’s daughter.” The woman eyed Grace’s attire and turned her lips down into a distasteful smirk. “We’ve been expecting someone to show up for the past week.”

“I had to take care of a few things before leaving Atlanta,” Grace told her.

“I’m sure you did.” She pulled out a tissue and sniffed loudly. “Well, now that you’re here, you might as well follow me. I’m Agatha North, the Nurse Manager. I’ll give you a quick tour while the boss finishes up his lunch.”

“Thank you, Ms. North,” Grace smiled.

The pale-faced, white-washed witch led her down a hallway littered with forgotten wheelchairs and an odd assortment of clothing and into a dining room where a group of elderly residents sat in uncomfortable silence at a multitude of tables positioned haphazardly around the room. A depressingly uncomfortable lump settled in Grace’s throat at the sight.

As she glanced around the room, she knew that she had to do something for these people. Her father might have planted her here to simply test her mettle, but Grace knew that there was an even greater purpose for her arrival…these folks actually needed her!

A harsh clapping noise interrupted her personal pep talk. The Florence Nightingale wannabe stomped toward the front of the room as she tried to gain the attention of the residents.

“As a part of earning their medical badges, the Willow Mountain Scouts will be assisting our staff with Influenza vaccinations. Appointments are on a walk-in basis and will begin in fifteen minutes in the recreation room. Everyone is expected to attend!” she announced.

The volume of her voice was only a few decibels lower than the screeching landing of a fighter jet, but Grace watched with fascination as the people sitting at the tables barely raised their heads in acknowledgment before delving back into whatever indelicacy the cook had prepared for lunch.

The woman marched toward Grace and snapped her folder closed. “Follow me, Miss Woodhouse. Since you will be working closely with the residents, you will be required to have the vaccination just like the other employees.”

“Vaccination?” Grace felt her knees turn to jelly. “Do you mean I have to get a shot?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.” Her thin, pinched lips slowly turned upward into something resembling a smirk.

“Uh, but what if I need to be exempt from having one?”

“You’re allergic to the vaccine?” Nurse North stopped mid-step and hit Grace with a piercing stare.

Grace had seen the look before…it was the evil eye. Most every schoolteacher, nurse or parent had perfected some version of it through years and years of practice; however, Grace knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Nurse North hadn’t needed such practice…she’d been born with the skill!

“I might be,” Grace hedged.

“What you might be is
full
of it.” Agatha North turned around and strutted briskly down the hall, her white orthopedic shoes squeaking noisily on the worn parquet tile floor.

Like a kindergartner headed for the time-out chair, Grace followed her tormentor with her lower lip as close to a pout as her corporate image would allow. It was only the Woodhouse pride that prevented her from giving the woman an actual tear, but it was a struggle. Grace did, however, give in to the urge to stomp her feet as she made her way toward her punishment.

When they arrived at the recreation room, there was already a line at the door. Nurse North left her at the back of the queue and headed in the opposite direction.

“I have to stand in line?” Grace asked. She was miffed at being left alone, and a bit of her bad attitude returned. “It’s not as if it’s the grand opening of a Buckhead restaurant. For crying out loud! It’s the unnecessary infliction of pain on innocent bystanders.”

“And what is your point?” Nurse North must have heard her complaint because she turned back and looked at Grace through her black-rimmed spectacles.

“It’s just that I’m...” Grace muttered, trying not to cringe.

“What?” the woman interrupted. “The boss’s daughter?”

“I just meant...”

“Do you think that being the boss’s daughter is going to get you anywhere around here?”

“Of course not, Nurse North.” Duly chastised, Grace barely kept from hanging her head in defeat as she answered the question.

“That’s what I thought,” the woman said with a satisfied smile. “Now wait right here. They should get to you in a little while.”

“Thank you for your help,” Grace managed to say with the barest hint of a smile. “I suppose I’ll look you up when I’m finished here.”

“See that you do,” the nurse grumbled and pushed past a group of old ladies whose tittering conversation seemed too carefree for Grace to believe they were actually headed to the needle-wielding sadists in the recreation room.

Resigned to wait in line, Grace eyed a pair of ancient men in front of her and realized with a sigh that there wasn’t a chance in the world that she would be offered ‘ups’. The more she thought about it, there was probably no such thing as ‘ups’ when those men were in school. Talk about ancient!

Thirty minutes later, Grace reached the Promised Land...Promised Land as in,
“I promise this is going to hurt.”

She made her way toward an empty chair just as a construction worker rolled down a sleeve over an impressive muscle and ambled toward the doorway. Grace wasn’t able to see the man’s face, but from the back, he was definitely headed toward the higher numbers on the one to ten scale of male perfection.

For a moment, she was stunned. Unfortunately, the man walking across the room had little to do with it. Grace cringed and willed away the tears forming in her eyes.

“Couldn’t you have given me a warning?” Grace glared at the woman as she pulled the needle from Grace’s arm and slapped an adhesive bandage over the gaping hole.

“Next!” Without a hint of apology, the nurse stripped off her gloves and gave her hands a quick squirt of hand sanitizer as she waited for Grace to climb out of the chair.

“What a wimp,” a freckled scout giggled as Grace passed the table where several girls were handing out orange juice and cookies.

With shaky legs, Grace turned on her three-inch heels to give her adolescent tormentor a piece of her mind. As she did, she felt an unmistakable slide of Italian leather on something she could only describe as
gross
.

She didn’t have time to consider what the offensive substance could have been, for in the span of two seconds flat, she found herself
heels-over-head
and painfully sprawled on the floor. Her left elbow ached, and her left leg was twisted into an unnatural angle.