Free Draw the Dark by Ilsa J. Bick Page A

thumb over her shoulder. “Down the hall’s the public dining room, living room, and common kitchen for those seniors who can still microwave popcorn and bake cookies without setting fire to the place.”
    “Wow.”
    “Yeah. That’s happened once or twice. Off the living room are some of our activity rooms where we do things like art, yoga, dance, games, or watch movies. Sundays, one of the pastors from town rotates through, and a priest does Catholic Mass. Anyway . . .” She squared her shoulders like we were heading off to battle or something. “Right now, we go make sure everyone gets to the dining room, either on their own or we get them there. There are other caregivers who man the dining room so we can go next door to the skilled nursing unit and help out with meals.”
    “You mean, like feed people?”
    “Mmm-hmm.” Peggy eyed me. “You got a problem with that?”
    “No. It’s just . . . I’ve never done anything like that.”
    “First time for everything. You’re going to do a lot of things here you’ve never done before. Get used to it.”
    By now, a few people were making their way to the dining rooms. They were the oldest people I’d ever seen, and the way they filed out of their rooms sort of freaked me out. It was like vampires coming out of their coffins at night. Or maybe zombies. It was really kind of scary. A lot of them thunked along with walkers or canes. Others shuffled or minced carefully, watching their feet. No one talked much because they were too busy concentrating on where they were going. I noticed a couple ladies in flowery dresses and old guys in trousers and sports coats, like going to eat dinner was the nearest thing they had to going out on the town. That made me feel . . . well, sad.
    After Peggy gave me a crash course on wheelchairs, how to put on the brakes and flip down the footrests, we rapped on doors, poked our heads into rooms, and otherwise herded people into this big common dining room. The tables were for two and four. Everyone went through a buffet line where these people in hairnets doled out spoonfuls of mashed potatoes and slabs of meat loaf from warming trays, just like at school. Other workers brought plates of food to those residents who couldn’t stand in line.
    As I settled one old woman named Lucy at a table for four, she said, “Oh dear, I’m afraid I’ve left my purse in my room.” Her face was wrinkled as a raisin, and she had vague, watery blue eyes. “Is it all right if I tip you tomorrow, young man?”
    “Uh,” I said.
    To her right, another old lady with orange hair said, “Don’t listen to her. She says that to anyone new. Give her a couple of days and she’ll stop. But don’t tell Peggy, all right? They’ll move Lucy to skilled nursing, and she’ll just wither and die there. Besides, as long as she can keep track of the tricks, we need her for bridge.” To Lucy: “I’ve taken care of him, dear.”
    “A nice tip?” Lucy quavered. “A dollar?”
    “Yes, dear.” The lady with the orange hair patted her hand as a worker plunked down a plate before Lucy. “It’s mashed potatoes, green beans, and meat loaf today.”
    “Oh, my favorite.” Lucy gave me a sweet smile. “The secret to the tomato sauce is sugar and a pinch of saffron. Cuts the acid.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” I said.
    “Do you like meat loaf, young man?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Would you like to join us?”
    “He can’t, dear.” The lady with the orange hair took a dinner roll from a basket in the center of the table, thought about it, took another, and said, “He has to help the other guests.”
    “Oh, what a shame,” said Lucy.
    “Christian.” Peggy was in the doorway, motioning me over.
    I said at Lucy, “I’m sorry, ma’am, I’ve got to go. Some other time?”
    As I hurried away, I heard Lucy say, “Such a nice young man. Next time, Regina, give him two dollars.”

    After the relative hubbub of Lakeview—and you really could see the lake,