“It didn’t work.”
Those three words confirmed what Katie MacCreary already knew: her life, as she knew it, was over.
The doctor leaned across his desk, his brow furrowed with practiced concern. “I’m sorry. We’ve tried everything we could.”
The calm Katie had thus far managed to maintain wavered. Like a foundation settling. Or a riverbank softening as the floodwaters rose.
“It’s time for your husband to agree to hospice care. We won’t force him to eat, or walk, or anything he doesn’t feel like doing. He’ll have unrestricted access to pain medication.”
Her lip trembled. Katie hadn’t broken down yet. But she could feel it coming.
“We’ll get you settled at the residential facility. They’re good people. I sent my own mother there.”
Katie felt her panic rising. The house. Her garden. Her job. What would become of them? Who would take over the community theater?
Most of all, who would take care of the stuff? Dear lord. The stuff. Jack had many fine qualities, and many maddening qualities. But one thing no one could possibly deny about him was that he loved to collect things.
Camping gear, still in its packaging. Gadgets. Socks. So many socks.
And weapons. The first thing he’d shown her sixty years ago, brimming with pride, had been his collection of blades and guns. Every bookshelf, closet, and cabinet in the house had some sort of dagger, sword, or pistol in it. She’d feigned interest way back then as a way to get closer to him. The minute she’d gotten pregnant, she’d made him sell off the guns. Most of them, anyway. He’d never quite forgiven her.
And that, in a nutshell, summarized their sixty years together. Outward politeness, a layer of genuine connection and respect, hiding a giant ball of friction.
She felt a warm hand enclose hers. “Don’t worry, mom,” her daughter told her. “We’ll take care of everything. You just focus on dad.”
Katie suppressed a flash of irritation. Oh, she knew what Dana meant. But Katie had spent the last sixty years focused on Jack. So long that she wasn’t sure how to focus on herself anymore.
The foundation cracked a little more. Another part of the riverbank eroded.
“Let’s go pack, Mom.”
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They met in the parking lot of the Cobble Stone Creek long-term care facility: Katie, Dana, and the hospice coordinator. The Appalachian mountains undulated along the horizon, merging with a cloudless blue sky. Neat shrubs and flowers gave the parking lot a bit of cheer, and a wide porch filled with rocking chairs and benches provided a welcoming front. Rustic, except for the line of wheelchairs and walkers.
Katie looked around as if in a dream she expected to wake from at any moment. The flowers seemed too bright. The porch too neat. It had none of the lived-in quality of her own porch. No wind chimes. No swings. None of the ridiculous gnomes Jack had collected over the years.
“Come on, Mom.”
Dana tapped the large metal switch on a post. The double doors swung into the foyer, which reminded Katie of a hotel lobby. Thick carpet gave the space a muffled quality. To the left, a line of office doors with brass plaques reading “private break room” and “director.” To the right, a hallway that led to a set of elevators. Straight ahead, a nurse’s station, where a woman in scrubs sat behind a desk, staring at a computer screen.
Katie stood awkwardly, looking from side to side, wondering where to go.
“Help you find someone?” the nurse asked.
“I’m Katie. MacCreary.”
The nurse noticed the hospice coordinator and nodded knowingly. “Of course. Welcome to Cobble Stone, Mrs. MacCreary. The director will be with you in just a moment.”
And just like that, after a brief talk and signing of papers, Katie became Cobble Stone Creek’s newest resident.
The hospice coordinator gave her a reassuring smile as they left the director’s office. “I’ll go see about having Jack transferred. Pam here will take care of you.”
A woman detached herself from the welcome desk. She wore brilliantly colored scrubs with a tropical flower print. Her bleached blonde hair had brown roots. She seemed kind.
“You need to keep this necklace on at all times,” Pam told her, handing over a white plastic lozenge on a nylon cord. “It will tell us where you are. Press the button and someone will find you right away. We have you in room 266. To the right, up the elevator, then straight ahead.”
Katie held onto Dana’s arm as they walked into the hallway. She looked around, nerves jangling, to get a feel for the place. A sign on a stand announced the cafeteria with white plastic letters:
BINGO NIGHT
TONIGHT'S DINNER:
SPAGHETTI & SALAD
DINNER AT 6
BINGO AT 7
Katie glanced through the archway into a huge room filled with tables that reminded her vaguely of elementary school. A sparse crowd of ladies with white hair sat among the tables, sipping orange juice from pebbled plastic cups. Scrambled eggs, oatmeal, and other soft foods, mostly untouched, cooled on divided melamine plates set into red trays.
Outside the cafeteria, a long line of benches hugged the wall of the hallway. More women, and a few men, sat, looking hopeful as she walked past. Katie nodded, and tried to ignore the crestfallen looks as the residents saw another stranger passing them by on the way to somewhere else.
“Good morning,” she said, to no one in particular.
When the elevator doors opened, a spry old man flanked by two women stepped out. He’d been tall once. His wrinkled skin glowed with vigor. He paused.
“Yep, it’s me,” he said to Dana, eyes twinkling. “My glory days are past, young lady, but it’s always nice to meet a fan.”
“Come on, gramps,” one of the women said, pulling him down the hall.
“I’ll give you an autograph later!” the man said as his granddaughter shuffled him down the hallway.
“Who was that?” Dana asked.
“No clue, honey.”
“That’s Cad Johnson,” Pam said with a laugh. “Once the finest quarterback in the SEC. Don‘t worry, he’ll tell you all about it.”
The slowest elevator on planet Earth eventually opened to the second floor. Katie followed Pam down the long hallway of white doors with brass numbers. Colorful wreaths and chalkboards announced the residents who occupied each room. Maddie Masterson. The Wilkersons. One simply had a plastic yellow rose taped to the middle of the door.
One of the doors had been propped open with a gray rubber wedge. Moans grew louder as she approached, and a string of cursing the likes of which she’d not heard since her theater days.
Katie moved quickly past, seeing an old woman in a hospital bed out of the corner of her eye. Two nurses in pastel scrubs hovered next to her, speaking in calming tones.
“You’re not listening to me,” the old woman said, voice cracking in exasperation. “I need to go! I need to feed them!”
“Everything has been taken care of,” one of the nurses told her.
“Don’t you coddle me, missy. The goblins need me! Don’t you understand? They don’t have anyone else!”
Katie turned to Pam, feeling a twisting anxiety in her gut. “Goblins?”
“She has dementia,” Pam said. “Every day we have to remind her where she is. She never takes it well. Most of the residents aren’t that way, Katie. You’ll see. I’ll introduce you to the others and you’ll find friends soon.”
Then, at the next-to-last door in the hallway, they stopped. 266. This is it, she thought.
Pam opened the door to a small apartment with a kitchenette, a couple of folding chairs, and two hospital beds. A wide window looked out onto the parking lot. Beyond that, hillsides of green grass and cows, framed by a horizon of rounded blue mountains.
“Look, mom,” Dana said in her best isn’t-this-lovely voice. “This room has rocking chairs and a table where you can do your crosswords. And we’ll bring your books.”
Books. That’s nice. A bandaid over a void that threatened to swallow her sanity.
⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅
Pam had been right about one thing: Katie found friends quickly. Almost immediately, in fact. As soon as Dana left, Katie heard a soft knock at the door.
“Come in,” Katie said.
A spry woman with dyed red hair, wearing a tasteful dress and a string of beads, walked in. Her eyes sparkled and her lips pursed with empathy.
“I’m Maddie Masterson. I live just down the hall. I wanted to talk with you before your husband arrives.”
Katie felt an instant connection with the woman. “Won’t you sit down?’
“Later perhaps. I came to tell you something: When it gets overwhelming, come find me. We’ve been there.”
“We?”
“Discussion Group. Every day at 2, in the sitting room by the elevator. It’s invite only, but Pam tells me you’re in. One of us.”
“One of who?”
“One of the ladies who still has it.”
“It?”
“You know. A spark. A brain. Someone who can hold a conversation about something other than joint pain and regret. You have a lot of living to do, Katie. It seems hopeless now. But you’ll see. We’ll help you through it.”
By the next day, Katie could hardly wait for 2 o’clock to arrive.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Right on cue, Pam knocked and poked her head in. “You joining us?”
Katie hopped up with more vigor than she’d had in weeks. “Please.”
Pam led her to a cozy corner with a round table, upholstered chairs, and a stainless steel tea cart with a hot water machine. Maddie smiled at her, and a couple of other ladies. They talked about birds for half an hour, then Pam stood up.
“Duty calls. See you tomorrow.”
“It’s your turn, Pam. What’s the topic?”
“Let’s talk about… favorite musicals.”
“Oh, I simply adore Chitty Chitty Bang Bang,” one of the ladies said.
“Save it for tomorrow,” Pam laughed.
Katie felt Maddie’s eyes on her as she sat, dreading the walk back to room 266.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
The others leaned in, patting her on the hand with reassurance. Katie tried to put her whirling thoughts into words.
“We’ve been together sixty years. I don’t know what life will be like. I can’t picture it.”
“The first few weeks are the worst,” Maddie said. “It helps to keep your hands busy. Do you know how to knit?”
Katie shook her head.
“Come on. I’d like you to meet someone.”
Maddie led her to the elevator, then to a room near the cafeteria. A handful of women looked up from their rocking chairs. One dabbed a paintbrush onto a sheet of watercolor paper. The rest had baskets of yarn at their feet.
“Ladies, this is Katie. She’d like to learn to knit.”
“You’re in the right place, dear,” said a woman with a gray bun and a magnificent knitted shawl. Katie looked at the intricate scarf the woman was knitting from soft green yarn.
“That’s lovely. Who is it for?”
“My nephew.”
Katie looked over at another woman, knitting a crude shawl. “And who is that for?”
A decrepit woman peered at her through thick glasses and muttered.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. Who?”
The woman paused her knitting. “It’s for the goblins.”
Maddie looked at Katie and pointed a finger at her own temple, whirling it around.
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Another hour. Another knock at the door. Not another casserole, she thought. Please god, not another casserole.
“Come in!” Katie called out. “Nikki!” she said, rising from her bed and walking to meet her son. A touch more gray than she remembered in his hair.
“Hello, Mom.” He teared up immediately. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here in time. I… I drove all night.”
Something in his voice troubled her. She knew her son. He seemed rattled. And not about his dad passing. Nikki did not scare easily. Whatever had him spooked must have been a hell of a thing.
“What is it, Nikki?”
His eyes widened with some hidden horror. His face blanched pale. “It… the drive here...” His voice trembled. But then he shook his head, and the breezy exterior closed down. That’s all she’d get from him on the subject. “It’s not important now. How are you doing, Mom?”
“Walk with me?” she asked.
Nic took her arm and led her into the hallway. They’d only taken a few steps when she started crying. He held her, murmuring encouraging words. At last she snuffled and started walking again.
“What can I do for you, Mom?”
“It’s okay. It’s over at last. I’m not sure what to do with myself. At least I have my girls. Tea at two. Today’s topic is: most annoying game show host.”
“Your girls?”
“We call it Discussion Club. And I’m learning to knit. Come on, I’ll show you.”
They emerged on the first floor and walked towards the cafeteria. She started to point out the craft room, but stopped as a pair of women walked towards them. By the way they moved, clearly upset. Fists clenched and faces flushed with anger.
“I’m not eating that!” Maddie yelled. Katie had never seen her angry like this.
The second lady made a gagging sound. “The food’s bad enough, but this is the last straw! I’m calling my daughter to get me out of here!”
“What’s wrong, Maddie?” Katie asked.
“Rats!”
“What do you mean?”
“Rats, Katie! They’re serving grilled rats tonight!”
The women turned the corner, complaining loudly as they passed out of earshot.
“What in the world was that about?” Nic asked.
“I’m not sure.”
She led Nikki further down the hall. The plastic sign outside the cafeteria read:
COBBLE GOBBLE
TONIGHT'S DINNER:
- GRILLED BRATS
DINNER AT 6
At the nurse’s station, Pam scribbled furiously on a stack of papers, whisking them to the side one by one. Katie walked over. “Why was Maddie so upset?”
“Oh Katie,” Pam said, with a tone somewhere between laughter and exasperation, “the printer is running out of toner.” She handed over one of the papers and rolled her eyes. The top had a letterhead:
Cobble Stone Creek
Long-term Residential Care Facility
Below that, smeared text ran diagonally across the page, with an empty streak in the middle:
GOB
L
IN
NIGHT
GRILLED
RATS
DINNER
AT
6
Katie gasped, then started laughing. “Grilled rats?”
“They’re all furious,” Pam said. “I’m fixing the menus as fast as I can write.”
A man in a dress shirt and tie hustled over, holding a toner cartridge. The director. “No need. Put this in and print some more.” He grabbed the stack of papers. “I’ll just throw these out.”
He opened a glass door at the end of the hallway and turned to the side, flinging the papers into a trash bin in the parking lot. A bunch of them caught the wind and blew away, scattering into the woods. The director watched them go, paused, and shook his head. He walked back inside and into his office, closing the door with more vigor than was strictly necessary.
Nic turned to his mother. “Soooo… you’re learning to knit?”
“It helps to pass the time.”
She led him to a crafting room. Several women in rocking chairs nodded as they entered.
“Ladies, this is my son, Nikki.”
“Nic,” he mumbled.
“What a sweet young man you are,” one of them said, studying him from behind thick bifocals.
“Nice to meet you, Mick,” another said. A beautiful knitted shawl covered her shoulders.
His mother took a seat and picked up a basket of yarn. She pulled out a pair of knitting needles and patted the rocking chair next to her. “Sit here and pay attention. First you cast on.” She fumbled with the yarn, wrapping it around her fingers until her hand looked like a spider web. “Then you slingshot—”
“—pull that loop back, dearie.”
“Oh, right.”
Nic watched for a few minutes, growing sleepier as he rocked. Before she knew it, he’d nodded off. It worried her. Something was really wrong with her son.
She let him sleep, knitting awkwardly as the afternoon became evening. At last she shook him awake.
“You hungry, Nikki? It’s time for the grilled rats.”
Nic stood and stretched. “How did the knitting go?”
“It’s fine, except when it’s not. I dropped some stitches here and there.”
He let her take his arm and they walked into the cafeteria. The buffet line had a stack of plates, a basket of buns, and a large stainless steel bin with steam rising from it.
As she expected from the ruckus earlier, the crowd seemed light. A few of the ladies, and Cad Johnson, who poked Nic as he passed.
“Come by for an autograph, have you?” he said with a wink.
Aside from that, the room was empty except for a trio of old men hunched over a table in the corner. They whispered furtively to one another. Long ears stuffed with wiry hairs, and yellow eyes bulging. Their sallow green skin knobby and wrinkled.
Katie looked again in surprise. They did not seem human.
Nic stiffened beside her and stiffed in surprise. “Da’hell?”
She rubbed her eyes, which were unwilling to process the sight. But she gave up the effort entirely when the sliding doors at the back of the cafeteria opened. The curtains parted to admit a group of short, wart-faced, yellow-eyed creatures that could only be described as goblins.
Katie had no other word for it. Their clothes were tattered rags. Their fingertips blunt and clawed. They waddled inside and sniffed the air nervously, revealing crooked fangs.
The room grew silent.
The goblins and grandmas stared at each other for a long minute as more of the creatures filed into the room. They parted to admit a white-haired goblin, more stooped than the others.
The facility director hurried over. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked, flustered.
“We’re here for the grilled rats?” the old goblin said.
“The—the what?”
“You should know,” the elder goblin said, handing him a crumpled sheet of office paper. “You sent us the invitation.”