Chapter One
SAMANTHA
“Nobody toldme Twister was a bad idea,” Samantha “Sam” Johnson mumbled under her breath as her right hand went to green, left foot to blue, and her ass in the air. She balanced precariously, so she didn’t tip over into Great Aunt Etta Jane, the reason she’d come to work at Purple Peony Assisted Living.
Thanks to her great aunt, Sam’s reputation as the premier activities director for the over-eighty crowd continued the upward trajectory she’d begun at The Plains in Newark and continued at Hillsong in Birmingham.
Of course, that was all after the whole Sami Jo fiasco that had landed her with—
“Tits up, sweet cheeks,” Betty announced in Sam’s general direction.
Crud, what had she missed during her little near-tumble down memory lane?
“Right foot yellow, Sammy Lamb-y,” Mertle mumbled out of the edge of her lips.
Sam stilled at the quirky nickname, her blood draining unreasonably from her cheeks. Dammit, she was over this. Why did it still bug her?Sami Jo…
“Sam,” she corrected quickly, with all the cheer she could muster while in an awkwardly fragile downward-facing dog pose. “Just Sam.” Always, just “Sam.” She shivered.
Yeah.
“Sam the ma’am, bam, bam,” Mertle sang, as she handled the pose beautifully. Like a swan playing Twister without a care in the world. What would that be like?
And where the heck had a woman of her… uh… age learned to be so limber? Seriously, the woman’s ligaments must’ve been made of rubber.
Sam’s were not. She’d sort of hoped when the women in her care had requestedthe twister, they’d meant the movie with Helen Hunt and Bill Paxton from 1996. Or perhaps a dance party featuring Chubby Checker.
Luck was not hers, since they’d meant theactivityshe’d accidentally created based on the classic children’s game.
“Left foot, red!” Nadzieja hollered from her perch on the edge of a chair. She came to the United States from Russia ages ago, and her accent remained true to her heritage. Also, Nadzieja's stash of vodka that Sam had negotiated to a more reasonable level.
Everyone moved their left foot to red.
Of course, Sam didn’t have the elderly women in her Tuesday group class all on one large plastic Twister board—that would be dangerous. No, she set them up on multiple carefully crafted, non-slip felt alternatives. She’d used special Velcro strips to adhere the dots to the plum-colored carpet.
All the latest literature suggested that the elderly in these communities benefited from daily activity. Things like yoga and outside walks when the weather allowed.
The assisted living crew scoffed at her idea for all of that, but Sam was not one to give up. So she’d tricked them into doing some yoga via Twister. The walks? She made a scavenger hunt around the neighborhood that ended at the cookie shop. They loved her ideas so much that they insisted not only on playing Twister 2.0 but also her participation. This required her to hand over calling duties to Nadzieja.
Nadzieja, who was a master manipulator and the Monarch of the Purple Peony. That’s what Sam had called her in her head, anyway.
“Left hand yellow,” Nadzieja announced, cackling a little since that was going to really shake things up. There was not a way for Sam to move her arm in that direction without toppling over.
Instead of moving her palm, Sam spared her dignity and stood. She clapped her hands three times in quick succession. She always did this to give notice to the residents that she was ending the activity and they were moving onto the next. “Nice work, all. Let’s call it a day?”
Dammit. The moment those words slipped from her lips, she knew she shouldn’t have phrased them in question form. These women found loopholes in everything and had no issue climbing right on through those holes to get what they wanted.
As could be expected, the participants all fussed an array of “no!” and “we’ve barely started.”
She sighed, internally. But it was nearly time for the backgammon tournament to start in the other rec room. It couldn’t start without her there to set it up and then harass the seniors to play. What could she say? Her job wasn’t exactly easy now, was it?
Nadzieja stood from her walker with the arrow still in her hand. And the look in her eyes—that flash of mischief and confidence?
Oh, no, no, no.Sam didn’t like it.
She wasn’t wet behind the ears here. Working the retirement home circuit for years had taught her a few things. So she’d had her eye on Nadzieja from the first time the woman “slipped” on a puddle in the dining hall the night they served kale chips with turkey burgers, and Nadzieja demanded a hot dog with crunchy sweet potato tots instead. Nadzieja loved her tots.
Unfortunately for her, Chef Mike had held his ground.
