Chapter 1
Meirna
“You’ve been flirting with Sharon again, haven’t you?”
Richard, an eighty-two-year-old Vietnam vet who can still charm the cotton panties off the senior women at this assisted living home, glances up from his bingo card with innocent hazel eyes. “I didn’t tell her to come over here and look at my numbers.”
“She didn’t need to,” I lightly accuse when B-23 is called out by, no other than Sharon herself. Richard conveniently stamps his bingo card. “She wrote your numbers down.”
He huffs and gives me an ineffective look of exasperation. “Now, Meirna…how do you think it’ll look if you’re sittin’ here accusin’ an old man of cheatin’?”
Oh, please.
I’m not the only person who has had their suspicions. And, I sure as hell know that Richard gets special treatment here at Silver Pines Senior Assisted Living. He has these employees eating out of the palm of his hand, and half the women here with heart shapes stuck into their eyeballs.
“Like you’re cheating,” I deadpan flatly, crossing my arms over my chest. I’m not going to rat him out; we both know that. Ieven have a soft spot for Richard, myself, because he’s sweet and kind, but he plays the game like one of the biggest players that’s ever played bingo. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Sharon calls out O-14, and what do you know, he stamps it. “Everyone can thank me for winning the prize because all it is is some stupidhat.”
“Is that why John is glaring at you from the other table?”
Richard steals a look over his shoulder, discovering said facial expression from John and tsks haughtily before returning his attention to his card. “John is just pissed off I stole the last piece of carrot cake last night.”
“So let him have the hat.”
“Noooo,” Richard exhorts with a cluck of his tongue. “He doesn’t deserve it. He called me a selfish bastard. I ain’t givin’ him nothin’.”
John isn’t far off the mark. Richardisthe drama most of the time, and he likes it. Stirring the pot and causing a bit of chaos gets this senior facility some spice and something to talk about.
If it weren’t for Richard, this place would be boring as hell.
Not to get myself wrapped up in the bingo theatrics of senior citizens, I remain quiet as Sharon sweetly calls out N-3. Richard and I both stamp our cards, and he chuckles knowingly.
He’s still going to win.
And I’m still going to come here every Thursday to sit with him and play.
Silver Pines Senior Assisted Living is one of my passion projects. I run a non-profit for the facility so that the residents here can have the best of everything. My grandfather lived here for several years before passing away, and I’ve made friends with all his friends.
It wasn’t the best place at first. Papa came here without any inclination that he was, so it was a surprise when he gave the news. I hated the place from day one. It smelled like body odor and cleaning products, the walls were yellow when they were supposedto be white. The staff was lazy and unqualified. It was my family’s and my worst nightmare.
So, to make it better, I started running a non-profit for better care services. That quickly turned into building a few others for other local senior facilities because I have a soft spot and a ton of love for generations before me. They’re full of stories and solid advice, of old recipes and more dilemmas than a telenovela. I get more gossip here than I do working at the public relations job.
Reaching for my lemonade, Richard’s hand quickly shoots out, “Don’tdrink that. Margaret made it.”
Enough said.
That means zero sugar and way too much lemon.
I slowly pull my hand back. “I’d almost forgive you for cheating, and we weren’t getting all the suspicious looks we’ve been receiving over here.”
Richard waves a dismissive hand in the air. “They’ll be over it by dinner.”
“It’sChristmastime. Shouldn’t you be more kind and giving?”
He gives me a blank look. “Shouldn’t you be plannin’ a wedding, Missy? You’re overthinking again.”
I immediately don’t appreciate the change of subject and callout, even though he’s not totally off base.
