Chapter One Aunt Dottie #2
A long circular driveway ran from the security checkpoint to an impressive building called Manor House.
The lobby resembled that of an upscale hotel, with a wood and slate front desk.
The video led her down a hallway to the left of the welcome counter to an exquisite restaurant with an adjacent patio.
The smooth disembodied voice listed some of the many activities they provided for their “guests.” The patio was lined with tall vegetation that obscured any view of the other buildings, and the tennis, pickleball, and shuffleboard courts.
There was even a putting green within the outdoor activity area.
Theresa leaned into the back of her chair and wondered: Did she have the right place?
She then clicked on an aerial view that exposed several other buildings separated by a long line of foliage and landscaping, and another wide drive.
There was a small clinic, rehab, and long-term care on the opposite side of the roadway.
They were distinctly separated from the senior living and assisted living quarters.
The camera drone took her above the duplexes that lined the roads, which were dotted with golf carts.
Theresa continued to read the multitude of positive reviews and the company’s mission statement: Life is a series of transitions.
We are here to guide you through them with ease.
Make the most of your journey with us. She smirked.
That surely didn’t say much, but she supposed a picture is worth ten thousand words.
She then speculated how Dottie could afford to live in a place like that.
What she did know was that she knew nothing about her aunt or her life. But that was about to change.
The following week, Theresa arrived in Phoenix, rented a car, and checked into her hotel located close to Sunnydale.
It was late in the afternoon, and Theresa was still on Eastern time and decided to shower, order room service, and call it a day.
Her plan was to get up early, get a few steps in, and then drive to Sunnydale. It was time to close the familial gap.
The next day she typed the address into the GPS and drove toward Sunnydale. The trip took a little longer than she expected. The place could almost be considered off the grid. That would explain why they had a mini-clinic on site.
When she approached the security gate, a guard asked if she had an appointment. She did not. He asked the purpose of her visit, and she told him she was checking on her Aunt Dottie. Dottie Carpenter. The man in the crisp white shirt and freshly pressed slacks tapped her name into his tablet.
“I will have to phone the main office.” He tucked his head into the small guard building. Theresa couldn’t quite hear what he was saying, but she could tell there was an issue by the expression on his face.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you are going to have to make an appointment.”
Theresa furrowed her brow. “With whom?”
“Janet Turner. She is the head nurse.”
“And how do I get in touch with Ms. Turner?” Theresa did not like the feeling she was getting. The young man seemed a bit nervous. He pulled out a small card and handed it to Theresa through the driver’s side window. “Visiting hours are from ten to twelve and then three to five.”
Theresa thanked him, turned her car around, and drove to the main highway. It was about a mile to the nearest gas station, where she pulled over and dialed the number on the card.
“This is Turner.” It was one of those voices that could have belonged to a man or a woman with laryngitis. A smoker? Theresa thought to herself. Or someone sang contralto in a choir? She resisted the temptation to laugh.
“Hello. My name is Theresa Gallagher. I am here to visit my Aunt Dottie. Dottie Carpenter.”
“Yes, so I heard.” Not only was her voice grating, but it was also terse. “You cannot simply show up without an appointment,” the woman barked at her. “And we have no record of any family members in her file.”
Theresa was about to give the woman the “long-lost aunt explanation,” but decided to push ahead with a visitation request. “She’s been away for a long time. Her neighbor got in touch. May I please see her this afternoon?”
There was a long pause, and then the raspy voice continued, “Your aunt is in very poor health.”
“Yes, I understand. All the more reason to see her.”
Another pause. “I must warn you, she is not in good health.”
Theresa refrained from saying, I heard you the first time. Instead she simply repeated, “I understand.” Plus, she has no clue that I even exist, Theresa thought. She was glad she brought the photo with her. It could serve as a good introduction.
After another long pause, Nurse Ratched barked into the phone again. “You will have to come back tomorrow.”
“But I am visiting from Virginia. I came out here specifically to see her.”
“Well, you should have phoned ahead. Be here at ten.” And that was the end of the call. Aunt Dottie would have to wait another day.
Theresa admitted to herself that she may have made a hasty decision to come here, but it felt right at the time.
It hadn’t occurred to her there would be restrictions or tough regulations just to visit a relative.
Accepting that there was little she could do to change the circumstances, she decided to take in some of the local scenery.
Sedona was a little over a two-hour drive, so that was out of the question.
Instead, she drove to the Desert Botanical Garden, home to over fifty thousand plants.
As she drove west, she marveled at the buttes and Usery Mountains that jutted above the Sonoran Desert in the distance.
She engaged her hands-free dialing and phoned her sister to let her know that her trip had been delayed by a nasty nurse, and she would have to stay at least another day.
Her next call was to Brian to let him know the same.
In the beginning he thought she was going on a wild-goose chase, but after Theresa showed him the photograph, he softened to the idea.
Not that he could or would stop her. Considering the current circumstances, she could very well be on a wild-goose chase.
It took about a half hour before she pulled into the parking lot of the gardens.
She blinked several times, then swore she saw steam coming up from the asphalt.
The announcer on the radio mentioned it was “a record-breaking heat,” which slapped her in the face when she opened the car door.
She remembered what one of her friends said: “But it’s a dry heat.
” Theresa chuckled to herself. Dry. Wet. It was awful. How did people live here?
Within the first fifteen minutes, Theresa realized she had picked a bad day for walking around outside, even with a hat. She felt dizzy and went into the gift shop to buy a bottle of water. The clerk looked at Theresa’s beet-red face. “Not from around here, are ya?”
“How can you tell?” Theresa practically ripped the cap off and took a long swig.
“Nobody from around here would venture out in this temperature.”
“Don’t you worry about people fainting?” She took another swig.
“We have a lot of people checking in throughout the day. But most visitors come either early morning or evening.”
“I should have called ahead.” Theresa realized her planning skills needed improvement.
The clerk handed Theresa a complimentary ticket. “Next time, come early.”
Theresa thanked the well-tanned woman and drained the bottle. It wasn’t even noon, and she had no idea what to do for the rest of the day. She turned to the woman and asked, “Can you recommend something that I can do that won’t bake or fry me?”
The woman chuckled. “Is there a pool at your hotel?”
Theresa grinned. “Yes, there is. And a spa! But I am going to call ahead! Thanks again.”
Theresa quickly moved across the parking lot and got into her steamy car.
How do people live here? she asked herself again.
She rolled down the windows, cranked up the air-conditioning, and booked a ninety-minute Himalayan salt stone massage and a deep moisturizing facial.
She wondered how much time the woman behind the counter had spent in the sun. You could make a belt out of her skin.
It took most of the entire drive back to the hotel before the interior of the car temperature was below eighty degrees.
Everything had a shimmer, as if she were looking at a mirage.
Theresa remembered her high school earth science teacher explaining that this optical phenomenon wasn’t the heat cooking the brain, but the bending and reflection of light that passes through layers of air with different temperatures.
She smirked. She actually remembered something from high school that she thought she had no use for.
At least she wasn’t losing her mind. Not yet.
When she pulled into the hotel driveway, a valet dashed toward her car. He was dressed in red shorts, a white shirt, and a visor with the hotel logo printed on it. “Terrible day for working outside,” she noted.
“It’s like this every day this time of year, ma’am.”
The young man had a point. It was the middle of August; it was hot everywhere. She scooted out of his way and briskly walked into the hotel lobby. It felt like a meat locker. It was wonderful. She went into the café and ordered a light salad and then headed to the spa. That, too, was wonderful.
When she entered, she was greeted by the soothing sounds of Native American flute music and the aromas of sage and lavender.
A waterfall gently glided down a red-rocked wall.
She could feel the tension slowly release.
A petite woman greeted her with a bow. No words were exchanged, but Theresa easily followed her cues.
She was led to a private changing room where a soft, plush robe and slippers awaited.
This is much more like it. A little pampering could go a long way, especially at that moment.
She hadn’t anticipated being stonewalled at Sunnydale, and her quick visit to the gardens did not prove enjoyable.
She undressed, donned the spa wardrobe, and retreated to a waiting area with another waterfall and padded teak chaise lounges.
Another client was supine with slices of cucumber covering her eyes.
Several minutes passed, and a massage therapist nodded in Theresa’s direction. She wondered if anyone spoke. When they entered the therapy room, the masseuse whispered something to her. Theresa had to bend her head in the woman’s direction to hear her clearly.
“You are getting a Himalayan salt massage, correct?”
“Yes,” Theresa whispered in return.
“Are there any areas of your body you would like me to concentrate on?” Again, her voice was at an almost inaudible level.
My hearing? She joked to herself. “Wherever you think I need it the most.” She climbed onto the table, got situated, and let the therapist do her thing.
Theresa let all the tension drain from her body as the woman gently released the knots in her neck.
She realized that one doesn’t know they need a massage until they are in the midst of one.
She thanked the heat for driving her indoors and drifted off to sleep.