I hesitate to tell her the reason I can’t call my grandmother. “Maggie and I don’t talk.”
“How’s that?”
“Not on the telephone and rarely in person. Remember, I said she’s not as lively as Honoree. She has a nurse who takes care of her. A nurse who was kind enough to let me into the house so I could help pack up her things, and I’m the only family member who keeps in touch with her.”
Lula nods. “So you lied about her giving you permission to come here and talk to Miss Honoree?”
Damn. She had nailed me. “I exaggerated. She probably wouldn’t have minded if I’d asked, but she can’t answer the Baton Rouge question, even if I had cleared things with her first.”
I wave my hand dramatically. “Maybe someone else knows what happened in Baton Rouge.”
Lula sighs. “She’s been in Chicago so long I thought she’d been here all her life. I think everyone did.”
I tear the wrapper off the Reese’s. “Not staff, then, how about her visitors? One of them may have some information about Baton Rouge.”
“In the three years I’ve worked here, Miss Honoree has had only one visitor. That was more than a year ago.”
“Who was it? Do you have a name?”
“I wasn’t here that day. I remember because it was the talk of the floor for a week. He was African American, middle-aged.” She grinned. “They said he was memorable. Tall and handsome.” She bit her lower lip. “If someone visited her before I started here—we should check the records, which aren’t that good and would only go back a few years—I could ask my aunt Deidre.”
“Why your aunt?”
“She’s a registered nurse, among her other degrees, and worked here for several years before me. And before her, my mother, brother, and grandmother worked here, but she worked with Miss Honoree.”
Lula is staring at my Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. “You want one?” I ask.
“Sure.”
I give her a cup and feel a connection over our shared passion for chocolate and peanut butter. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s the deal with you and your family working here?”
She takes a bite and holds up a finger. I nod with an understanding smile and wait for her to swallow.
“Members of my family have worked here for decades, since Miss Honoree arrived in 1985.” Lula smiles. “I like to think of the Kents as Honoree’s adopted family.”
“Pretty remarkable your family’s dedication to senior care.” I put another dollar in the machine. “Maybe I can interview some of them for my thesis.”
“I’m not sure Honoree would like any of us telling you what we may or may not know about her. I think you’ve noticed she prefers to strike deals first and talk later.”
“Honoree’s story may be hers to tell,” I begin, “but I don’t think she would mind if you and your family helped her tell it—do you?”
She sighs heavily. “Honestly, I think she would.”
* * *
“Now, tell me who died.”
It’s later the same afternoon and only three minutes into my conversation with Honoree, and I’m ready to walk. Christ. Who died? She wants me to recount the deaths in my family. Why? For entertainment? I respect that she’s elderly. I do, but damn. She’s not crazy. She’s not senile. Her question is morbid and cruel, and again, I want to ask,Why?
“Did you hear me?”
I scrub my hands over my face. I need a damn shave, and I also think she’s still pissed about the Baton Rouge thingy.
“Sawyer? You heard me. Who died?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Relentless is her middle name. I exhale my free will into thin air and decide just to answer the damn question. “My mother passed when I was twelve.”
Closing her eyes, Honoree presses lips together as a trace of sadness etches through her features.
