On Second Thought(88)

Gram-Gram frowned. “The one who died? No, honey, I never met her. I don’t think I did, anyway. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I just wondered. Now, let’s check your dating profile.” I’d finally found SunsetYearsDating.com. I set my sandwich aside and pulled up the site. “Oh, look! You have five men interested, you hussy!”

“I do?” She clapped, delighted.

“Here’s StillGotIt25. I wonder if that’s his birth year.”

“Then he’s only in his nineties! Is he handsome?”

I clicked, then flinched. “Okay, it’s best not to go with a guy whose profile picture is of him in tighty-whities.”

“Not so fast,” she said, putting on one of her many pairs of glasses and peering at the screen. “Oh, dear, no. That’s some serious droopage. Looks like a turkey wattle in there. Next.” She picked up my sandwich and took a bite.

“Oh, Gram-Gram, that’s my sandwich. And you know what? I’m pretty hungry.” I’d also have to figure out how to get the ham out of there so she wouldn’t get food poisoning.

We clicked on the next picture. It showed a collage of pictures—an elderly man, nice-looking, smiling. Another of him holding a toddler. And the most recent one, lying in a hospital bed, eyes closed. Good God. His interests were listed as custard night. Yes. He looked like a soft diet kind of guy. I glanced at my gram.

“Is that Bill Parsons?” she said, blinking at the picture. “I think it is. He died a few weeks ago. Next.”

The next profile had no photos. It just said I’m looking for someone to take care of me. Must not be squeamish about bowel rinses. Also, my daughters do not approve of this, so you would have to leave or hide when they visit.

“Charming,” I murmured.

An announcement came over the intercom, which was in everyone’s apartment. “Good afternoon, residents! A reminder that our salsa dance class starts in ten minutes.”

“Shall we go to that, Gram-Gram?” I said. “A lot of times, meeting someone in person is best.”

“Only women go to salsa dancing.”

“Maybe you should become a lesbian, then. It would solve that pesky life expectancy problem.”

“Oh, you’re such a hoot!” She laughed. “Sure, let’s go. This is getting us nowhere.” She paused. “I’m just lonely, honey. Your grandfather’s been gone so long I can’t even remember what a hug from a man feels like, let alone sex. I hope you don’t mind helping me.”

I wrapped my arms around her little shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze. “I love helping you,” I said.

I’d never met my grandfather—well, Candy’s father—who died before I was born. Pictures always showed a smiling, bald man with Malcolm X–style glasses. I remember how jealous I used to feel, seeing the old home movies of him carrying Sean on his shoulders, holding Kate as an infant.

Dad had been raised in an orphanage, back in the days when they had orphanages here in the United States. My mother’s parents had never met me, according to Candy. They’d sent birthday cards until I was about ten. Otherwise, Gram-Gram was it.

At least she was fantastic. I waited while she doused herself with rose-scented perfume that made my sinuses itch, combed her hair, fussed with her earrings, put on a scarf, took it off and finally was ready to go. “Shall we bring Ollie?” I asked.

“Oh, yes! He’ll help me stand out in that crowd of shriveled hags. Men love dogs.”

“Good point. Come on, Ollie, let’s go.” I scooped up my dog, who was looking extra cute today, and kissed him on the head.

The Village of the Damned did a nice job of offering different things. Cooking classes, tai chi, dancing, crafts, holiday parties, outings... It was just that not many people seemed to want to do them. Or weren’t able to do them.

As Gram-Gram predicted, there were roughly thirty women in the gym and three men. Each man had at least four dance partners vying for his attention.

Wait. There were five men.

Jonathan Kent stood in the doorway, his hands on the back of his father’s wheelchair.

My face grew hot, same as the time I’d hidden in the boys locker room in eleventh grade to see Juan Cabrera without his shirt. Would Jonathan think I was stalking him? Was I stalking him? I’d been at that window a long time.

He looked over, saw me and gave a cool nod.

Right. Captain Flatline.

His father looked distressed, however, and I knew how to fix that. “Do you know that gentleman over there in the wheelchair?” I asked Gram-Gram. “Mr. Kent?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “He’s rather handsome. Is he senile?”

“I’m not a hundred percent sure. He’s my boss’s father.”

“Well, if he’s nice, who cares about a little senility? Let’s go say hello.” She marched over to them, using her sharp little elbows to negotiate the crowd. I followed, Ollie trying to lick everyone we passed.

“Hello, hello, hello, boys!” Gram-Gram said, neatly cutting off an incoming female, who glared at her.

“Hi,” I said to Jonathan. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Hello.” He looked tense. Normal, in other words.

“You remember my grandmother?”