Thank You for Listening(26)

“And how’s your other grandmother doing, with her daughter all over the world?”

“She . . . died, Blah.”

Blah’s face went slack. “Well! She should have said something!” Sewanee chuckled. What else could she do? “How’s your mom handling it?”

She didn’t know what to say. She just didn’t. She wasn’t going to retell the story. “She’s doing fine.”

There was a knock on the door and BlahBlah called out, in a bad Walter Matthau impression, “Ennnterrr!”

The door opened and Amanda poked her smiling head in. Sewanee had texted her at lunch, letting her know she was in the building. “You! Ever since you had me watch The Sunshine Boys! You get me every time. Am I crashing the party?”

Blah launched into the story about how Neil Simon once came on to her, which she did any time she quoted from The Sunshine Boys or Barefoot in the Park or The Odd Couple. She stood up. “Want a Mallomar?”

Amanda made a show of putting her hand over her stomach. “Ah, thanks, I just ate. May I steal your lovely granddaughter for a minute?”

Sewanee stood. “I actually have to get going anyway.”

“Are you recording something?” BlahBlah asked, eyes lighting up.

“I am! A mystery.” Sewanee waggled her eyebrows.

Blah looked disappointed. “You should record more love stories. We need more love in this world. Fewer criminals and evil and murder.”

Sewanee went to her grandmother and hugged her. “When you’re right, you’re right.” She pulled back and looked at her. “Friday happy hour?”

“It’s a date, Doll.”

Sewanee kissed her on the cheek and joined Amanda. Blah called after her, in a stage whisper, “Get a look at Mitzi on your way out! Talk about a murder!”

AMANDA TOURED HER through memory care and Sewanee had to admit she was impressed. It was nice. It was clean. It was quiet and comfortable and bright. But a ball of something unpleasant churned in her stomach the moment she’d crossed the threshold and she couldn’t tell if it was worry or sadness or even a premonition. Of having to see less and less of her grandmother, no matter how much more she visited.

Instead of going back to Amanda’s office, they walked outside in the garden, as if Amanda could tell Sewanee needed fresh air. “Well. What do you think?”

“It’s great,” Sewanee answered honestly. “Much better than I’d thought it would be.”

Amanda smiled. “I appreciate that. We’ve won many industry awards. I don’t know if you know this, but we were rated the number one assisted living facility in the city this year.”

“I didn’t know that! Barbara Chester can pick ’em.” They sat down on a bench. “Dad will be glad to hear that, too. I’ll be talking to him a little later. Is there anything else I should relay?”

“There will of course be a rather significant increase in the cost of care.” Sewanee nodded. “She’ll start out at Level 1, which is sixty-eight hundred per month.” She didn’t know for sure, but she thought that was about double what her grandmother was paying now. Amanda continued, “For each level of care added, it’s an additional thousand dollars.”

“So, what’s the worst-case scenario? When someone’s . . . here but not here?” Sewanee winced.

“The highest level of care is thirteen a month.”

Sewanee’s breath caught at that. “Wow. Okay. I mean, that’s fine. Blah deserves the best. She is the best.” Sewanee swallowed, surprised she had to hold tears back. “Sorry, it’s–”

“No, please. None of this is easy.” Amanda paused, giving Sewanee time to collect herself. “Last thing I’m obliged to say, and forgive me if I mentioned it when you all first toured the facility, but we don’t have a Medicaid contract. So, there’s no possibility of outside assistance.”

Sewanee shook her head. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem. What’s the time frame for moving her?”

“It depends on Blah.” Amanda pulled her reindeer sweater tighter around her and crossed her arms. “Had the incident on Friday not occurred, I’d have thought she’d be fine for a while longer. But in these situations, days can feel like months. It’s difficult to predict.” Amanda took a moment. “If it were me, I would want to put her on the waitlist, to get the ball rolling. But it’s obviously up to you. It will probably take a couple of months for a vacancy.”

At Sewanee’s silence, Amanda exhaled. “I know this is tough. I went through it with my mom.”

“I’m sorry.” Sewanee respected Amanda. She showed genuine concern and was caringly honest. She was a good woman doing her best in what Sewanee knew was a deeply flawed system. “I’ll talk to my dad, though I’m sure he’ll tell you to put her on the waitlist. Anything I can do in the meantime?”

Amanda smiled. “You keep reading those books. They get me through my commute. But I agree with BlahBlah. How ’bout a love story soon?”

SEWANEE SETTLED IN on her couch after a long afternoon of recording and a bowl of nourishing soup, and called her dad. She told him everything Amanda had told her, reporting in as he had requested, and then said, “So, all you have to do is make the call and she’ll put Blah on the waitlist.”