I nodded. “She’s a really good friend of Sunny’s here.”
“It’s true,” chirped Sunny. “I once gave her my toothbrush after she puked all over a bar bathroom. I let her keep it and everything.”
The receptionist looked like she was trying very hard not to ask ten trillion questions about Winnie Baker right then and there. But she did say, in a confessional voice, “I’ve seen everymovie she’s ever been in. Even”—a lower voice now—“the dirty one about Santa Claus.”
Sunny tapped the side of her nose to indicate that she’d take the secret to her grave.
The receptionist’s expression suddenly changed back to the bright look of earlier. She picked up the phone and pressed a button, and when the person on the other end picked up, she asked, “Do you know where Doris is this afternoon?”
Whatever the answer was seemed to please her. She thanked the person, hung up, and then stood with a smile.
“I have the next best thing to Bernice herself,” she said, walking around the desk and leading us to a glassed-in walkway. Flurries were starting to dance against the glass, small and fickle. “I hope you don’t mind the smell of chlorine.”
Chapter Nineteen
Sunny
Doris was living the dream. As we walked past the cafeteria, we saw carving stations, a man making fresh-to-order onion rings, a juice bar, and a sexual wellness desk with bowls full of condoms, lube, and info on a biweekly STI clinic.
“Do you think the residents here are just total horndogs?” I whispered to Isaac.
The receptionist, who we’d since learned was named Teresa-Kate, answered me from over her shoulder. “Our residents are... active in many regards.”
My brows bounced up and down like a perv’s, and Isaac rolled his eyes with a smirk.
Teresa-Kate led us through double glass doors and the floors turned to tile withcaution: wetsigns scattered down the hall. “You’re here just in time for the end of water aerobics,” she explained. “Doris is one of our water bugs. Her hair turned green last year from too much time in the pool.”
The pool was zero entry with handlebars lining the entrance and designated sections for water walking, laps, and aerobic classes.
I couldn’t be sure which of the swim-cap-wearing women Doris was, but one woman in particular, wearing a green cap with white flowers and a matching one piece swimsuit, seemed to be holding court with a circle of other seniors. Behind her, the poolside instructor gathered the water weights and foam noodles into a cabinet.
“Doris,” Teresa-Kate sang. “You’ve got visitors.”
“It better not be those godforsaken grandchildren of mine,” she said with a chuckle as she turned to us.
“No grandchildren,” I said. “But we may perhaps be godforsaken.”
“For certain,” Isaac confirmed.
Doris gave us both a quizzical look.
“We were hoping to talk to you about Bernice,” I told her.
Her expression softened and the women around her began to scatter. “Just give me a moment to dry off, dears.”
As Doris exited the pool, Teresa-Kate said a brief goodbye and promised she’d be on the lookout for my Hope Channel movie before scurrying back to the reception desk.
Isaac and I sat on the bench next to the locker room as the pool continued to empty save for one extremely devoted man methodically swimming up and down the farthest lane.
When Doris came out, she was wearing a white terry cloth tracksuit and thick Skechers flip-flops.
“Come, come,” she said. “This requires a hot beverage.”
Doris led us to the little coffee bar just outside of the aquatics center. Isaac took a black coffee while Doris and I each opted for the Christmas cookie latte.
Isaac went for his wallet, and Doris swatted at his hand. “I’ve got a punch card to fill, young man.”
After our drinks were ready, the three of us finally sat down at a little circular table and Doris said, “So how did you know my Bernice?”
