“You brought me to a nursing home?”
“That’s a prettier way of saying it.”
She parked.
“Mom, don’t start.”
I looked at her.
“Don’t start what?”
“This.”
“You haven’t told me what this is.”
“Mom, don’t start.”
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She got out of the car.
That was when I became afraid.
Not because of the building.
It looked pleasant enough.
Flower beds. White rocking chairs. A fountain near the entrance.
That was when I became afraid.
I was afraid because Melissa already knew exactly where we were going.
And I didn’t.
***
Inside the lobby, a woman behind the desk greeted us by name.
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Then I saw my suitcase.
On top of it were two framed photographs from my bedroom.
Melissa already knew exactly where we were going.
One was Robert and me on our thirty-fifth anniversary.
The other was Larry at six, grinning through a gap where his front teeth should have been.
