Dark Sexy Knight (A Modern Fairytale)(37)
He entered the gated community, as he had a hundred times before, driving past two ten-unit condo complexes on either side of the landscaped road, all freshly painted a subtle gray with bright white trim and fronted by manicured lawns. Next, on his left, was the swimming pool and community center, with a wide wraparound porch, decorated with hanging baskets of hot-pink geraniums, and across the road from that, on his right, was the Laundromat, café, and sundries store. Turning right, onto Wellness Way, he passed two more ten-unit condo complexes on either side of the road, circled a roundabout with a bubbling fountain, and turned right again, onto Bravery Boulevard.
Pulling up in front of complex F (Is For “Friendship”), he cut the engine and looked up at the tidy building that Melody, who’d been born with Down syndrome, had called home since six months before her mother passed away from cancer.
Bonnie’s Place was exactly the sort of safe, caring, modern community that Verity had sworn last night didn’t exist.
It was a gated village for developmentally disabled adults, housing eighty residents in eight condo complexes that were staffed by a twenty-four-hour CM, or coach and mentor. It was Melody’s p.m. CM, Dawn, who had called Colt to tell him about Melody’s seizure. It was also Dawn who’d alerted the on-call doctor and seen to her care when her legal guardian, Colt, was nowhere to be found.
He checked his watch. It was ten of seven, so he hustled over to the basement apartment that the CMs shared and rang the bell. After a moment, Francisco, the on-duty CM, answered, offering Colt a wide smile.
“Hey, man!” he said, reaching out his hand, which was covered with the same sort of tribal tattoos that Colt favored.
Colt shook it, nodding at his Hawaiian friend, who’d been a CM at Bonnie’s Place since Mel had arrived, shortly after her eighteenth birthday. “How’s she doing?”
“Just checked the monitor. She’s still asleep.”
“Dawn left at five?”
Francisco nodded. “Yeah.”
“I owe her flowers. And chocolates. And my firstborn.”
“Nah,” said Francisco as Colton followed him through the apartment to the stairs that led to level one and two of the condo building. “She knew you felt bad.”
There were a total of four regular CMs—Dawn, Francisco, Brooke, and Lamont—who staffed Mel’s unit, providing direction and assistance for all manner of day-to-day needs, including personal grooming, health and safety, communication and socialization, and home management skills, such as meal preparation and home maintenance. The CMs made sure that the residents were on time for the shuttle that took them to their jobs in the local community, and stayed in constant communication with both their employers and parents or guardians.
Although the residents of Bonnie’s Place lived in their own apartments, with their own bedroom, bathroom, living room, and kitchen, it also adopted a modified group home approach in that a CM was always available in the same building and regularly checked up on the residents. Aunt Jane had approved the installation of three video monitors in Melody’s apartment so that she could be monitored for seizures.
Independence with care. Living alone with a giant safety net.
Passing the door that led to the first floor, they climbed to the second landing and Francisco swiped his card over the reader that allowed them to enter the upstairs hallway. There were three apartments to the left and two to the right, with a common room in the middle of the hallway with a window-seat alcove, TV, game table, and reading area.
“You want me to go with you?” asked Francisco.
Colt shook his head. “No, thanks. I got it.”
Francisco slapped him on the back. “Stop beating yourself up. You’re allowed to have a life, you know.”
“I should have been here.”
“You will be. Next time.”
“Thanks, man.”
Francisco winked at him, then turned back around as Colt headed for the third door on the left, swiping his card over the reader beside the doorbell. The light on the keypad changed from red to green, and as quietly as he could, Colt eased into Mel’s apartment.
In the months before she died, Aunt Jane had decorated the apartment with loving care: a fluffy lavender rug covered the floor of the living area, which had a violet love seat and a purple-upholstered easy chair. A TV sat on a stand in the corner, and Mel’s unit had sliding doors that led to a small balcony, large enough for two chairs and a small table, where she liked to eat her breakfast. Crossing the living room, Colt pressed his ear to her bedroom door but heard nothing, so he backed away and headed for the kitchen, opening the fridge to take out four eggs, butter, and milk.
He pulled down a bowl and whisked the eggs with milk, then melted butter in a skillet before pouring the raw eggs into the hot pan. As it sizzled and spat, he checked the clock: 6:58. He poured two glasses of orange juice and took them out to the table on the balcony, then shoved two pieces of oat bread in the toaster. Just as they popped up, he heard her bedroom door open and her familiar voice say, “C-C-C-Colton?”
Melody didn’t speak like a typical adult. Her speech was low, stilted, and somewhat garbled to an untrained ear, but since she’d been all but a sister to him since he was a young, angry preteen, Colt didn’t really notice anymore.
“Got breakfast started, Mel,” he called from the kitchen. “Juice on the table. Eggs done. Buttering the toast. You hungry?”