Evil At Shore Haven. Alice Zogg
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or else most people ate their mid-day meal elsewhere. Whatever the reason, she sat alone at her table. Spending the afternoon in the lounge might have better results, she decided. After all, Mr. Beaulieu had indicated that the lounge was where all the action took place. This was where Andi’s idea came into play.
She first went to her room and started her knitting project by casting about 35 stitches onto one of the knitting needles and then created a few rows, to make certain she had not forgotten how. The last time she had knitted was at least 30 years ago when making Peter a sweater. Apparently, the activity was like riding a bike: One never forgot.
In the lounge, she settled into a couch in a strategic position, so that she could watch people coming and going, then knitted away. Amused at Andi’s advice to “live the role,” she thought, old ladies have come a long way since doing needlework, crocheting, and knitting. By mid-afternoon, the lounge was filling up with folks eager to use the computers, play games, or socialize. A caregiver guided two assisted-living residents - - a man leaning heavily on a walker and a fragile woman on shaky legs - -into the large room, then helped them to chairs at a game table, where she got them started on a game of Dominos.
A woman with short, salt-and-pepper hair and a general air of frailty, walked in, glanced around, and then seated herself on the sofa next to Huber, smiling at her.
“I’m R. A. I moved in yesterday.”
The woman smiled again and kept silent, then took a notepad and pen out of her jacket pocket, scribbled on it, and handed it to Huber. It read: “I’m deaf, but can read lips. My name is Rose. Sorry, I could not make out yours.”
Huber wrote down, “It’s really not a name, just the initials R. A.” Then she made sure to face the other and said slowly, “Nice to meet you, Rose,” pronouncing every word carefully.
Rose nodded and smiled again, then responded with sign language, which Huber assumed meant “likewise” or something to that effect.
“You’ll have to teach me sign language one day when there are less people around.”
Rose seemed overjoyed with that prospect and nodded several times. The conversation had run its course and Huber continued knitting, well aware that the other was watching every newcomer to the lounge with interest and appeared to know exactly what went on around her.
Several minutes later, Rose nudged Huber and then showed her the notebook with a new question, “Where are you from?”
“Merida. Located in the San Fernando Valley.”
Rose shook her head and wrote, “I mean, originally?”
Huber was flabbergasted! Without hearing, Rose was obviously unable to pick up an accent. She also had no idea about a first or last name. And Huber had been in the US for many decades and had become a citizen ages ago; therefore, she looked and acted like any given American woman.
She turned to Rose and slowly said, “I was born and raised in Switzerland. How on earth did you suspect that I was not a native of our country?”
“It’s the way you knit,” she wrote, “it gives away your European origin.”
Huber laughed out loud.
There are two styles of knitting - - American versus Continental - - but most people paid no close attention when seeing a person knit. Americans used an arched movement with the hand and fingers, winding the yarn around the needle for each stitch. The Continental, more efficient way to knit was to only use the fingers, keeping both hands straight and winding the yarn around the left index finger in order to get a steady supply of yarn.
The door suddenly flew open and Hailey Sparks made an entrance as if she were on stage. The enthusiastic young woman, clad in a short skirt and knee-high boots, stepped to the center of the room, gazed at the people assembled with fawn eyes, and raised both arms.
“Listen up, everyone! There is still room for tomorrow’s excursion to Santa Barbara. So sign up if you haven’t already. And tonight is Bingo night, which will be so much fun!”
A couple of people went over to the sign-up roster, but most ignored the cheerful Ms. Sparks, not looking up from whatever they were doing.
She spotted Huber on the couch and made a beeline for her, announcing, “I’m Hailey Sparks, the activity coordinator. You’re new, right? What’s your name?”
“I go by R. A.”
“Just R. A.? Interesting. Well, welcome to Shore Haven, R. A. We provide so many fun activities, you’re going to love it here.” She gave Huber a sparkling smile, exposing a row of bleached teeth, and added, “If there is anything I can do to make your stay even more enjoyable, be sure to let me know.”
With an encompassing wave to everyone in the lounge, the chipper activity coordinator made her exit, saying, “See you all tonight.”
R. A. had opted to do straight knitting without any complicated patterns, which enabled her to mostly knit “blind,” allowing for observation of her surroundings. Tom entered the lounge, and she was amused to notice that most of the ladies in the room seemed to become alert to the fact. They straightened up, unconsciously arranged a stray strand of hair, tucked at their garments, or freshened up their lipstick.
Tom worked the room and then strutted over to the couch where Rose and R. A. sat. He first leaned over to give Rose a pat on the shoulder and conversed a bit in sign language, then flopped down next to R. A., so that she was seated between them.
He said, “Where is your knockout redhead companion?”
“Andi helped me move yesterday and is long back to her own life.”
“Of course. What was I thinking? And you, are you settling in nicely?”
“Just about. There is so much to do here, I won’t get bored.”
“Judging by the way you’ve kept your figure, I’d say you’d be interested in the physical activities offered. If you need a guide, I’ll show you around,” and he winked at her.
Huber didn’t care for the man’s crude compliment, nor his arrogance, but lived the role and kept the conversation going. She learned that he was a retired architect, had lost his latest wife in a speedboat accident, and joined the retirement community two years ago. He had two sons living out of state, and a daughter who came to visit on rare occasions, without his teenage grandson, who had lost interest in him by about sixth grade. He also shared that he no longer drove but used the Dial-a-Ride service Shore Haven provided to get around.
The man certainly liked to talk and had no problem revealing his life to a stranger. In contrast, R. A. disclosed little of herself. When he asked a direct question about her status, she could not avoid telling him that she was recently widowed. At some point, Rose left them, exchanging some sign language with Tom and ignoring Huber.
CHAPTER 7
Dinner on that Wednesday consisted of vegetable soup, chicken parmesan, green beans, garlic bread, and a choice of cookies, pastry, or fruit from the dessert cart. To R. A.’s pleasant surprise, everything tasted delicious. Management had obviously not held back when hiring the chef. On the previous evening, she had shared a table with Elaine, who had not talked much, using caution by feeling the newcomer out. Elaine, one of the younger residents at 67, was petite, a bit on the chubby side, and in good health. The sole personal thing she had mentioned on Tuesday was that she could only afford the luxury of Shore Haven due to the generosity of her nephew. Now, R. A. found herself at dinner in the company of Elaine once more, and the two were joined by another woman named Cheryl. R. A. made a mental note that she must be the Cheryl the late Mrs. Ralph had befriended.
Cheryl, a onetime beauty with dark hair and hazel eyes, had not aged well. Her classic features had sharpened over the years, and the dark-dyed hair made her look harsh. She immediately took charge of the conversation. After introductions, she tried to pry as much personal information out of R. A. as possible. The latter gave little away and turned it around. So she learned that Cheryl called herself a “people person,”