2. Georgia
Chapter 2
Georgia
T he long-term care facility wasn't far from my apartment. I had made sure of that when the hospital staff had given me the pamphlet. My grandmother, Mary, had raised me for as long as I could remember, the only stable person in my life. I scowled at the shaking of the transmission as I pulled into the front parking lot, the building looming in front of me like the biggest regret in my life. I should have been better. I should have been able to take care of her at home instead of this place. Of course, this place is over budget and nicer than any place me or my grandmother had ever lived. The apartment I inherited from Grandma Mary was beautiful and in a historical building, but it also had lead paint around the window seals and was too cold in the winter. Deep down, I knew I was doing what was right, taking care of her the best way I knew how.
I took a deep breath before I opened the door. Greeted immediately by the hand sanitizer station, I signed in, waving at the front desk staff and pulling my tote bag closer to my body. My wallet precariously stabilized the chocolate shake that was inside the bag. The last time I had brought in fast food for Mary, one of the nurse aids reminded me that too much sugar wasn't good for her. Despite the fact that the milkshake was sugar-free and a child's size, I had felt officially scolded and decided that smuggling the outside treat was just better for everyone.
Mary had decorated her door with a small fall wreath, something she must have made at craft day, and I smiled despite myself.
My hand was barely on the doorknob when I heard a woman call out, "Come in, stop waiting at the door!" I rolled my eyes and walked inside; the smell of a cinnamon candle burning in the corner brought me back to my childhood. Mary always had the expensive candles stacked up in her closet. Sometimes cinnamon and pumpkin, apple…or just cinnamon for those holiday seasons. She always said cinnamon was for good luck, though sitting here in the long-term housing, I wasn't quite sure it had worked.
"Are you psychic?" I asked, pulling out the milkshake that had miraculously not spilled and handing it to the white-haired woman. My grandmother scoffed in amusement, shaking her head and pointing at her phone lying on the recliner armchair beside her.
"You share your location with me, Georgia," Mary reminded me, tapping her phone and taking a long sip of her shake. "So, how's my Hannah?"
"Good! She's decided I am worthy of her presence in bed at night. I wake up with hair in my mouth every morning, I swear."
That received a laugh from my grandmother who shook her head, "Maybe next time you smuggle her in your little bag for me."
I looked at the door as if someone was listening at its eaves before looking at my grandmother conspiratorially. "Don't tempt me, Grandma."
A smile pulled at Mary's face as she stirred her drink. "So how's life? It's been a whole seventy-two hours since you've been here. Anything could have happened!"
I finished milling around the small kitchen that was attached to the living room in my grandmother's suite. Sure, I had just checked the expiration dates on the groceries last week, but it calmed my nerves to know she was taken care of here.
"You know you love my visits," I sighed, plopping down on the overstuffed recliner that was adjacent to my grandmother's. "And I'm good, but I am more interested in what's going on with our documentaries."
Mary raised her eyebrows, her hands slightly trembling as she set down the small styrofoam cup. "There's a new one up about a serial killer in Pennsylvania." Her striking blue eyes peered down over her glasses, pointedly at her granddaughter.
I smiled, "I'll start the popcorn." It was easy, falling into a routine with my grandmother. She had only been here a few days when the doctors had warned me that dementia progression can vary from patient to patient so I needed to understand that each case was unique. I treasured every hour I was able to spend with her, watching old reruns of mystery shows and discovering new documentaries together.
Having her at Morning View Assisted Living was a privilege, I knew that. It was quiet and comfortable, the staff and nurses attentive and kind. I no longer had to worry about leaving her alone while I went to work or giving her the wrong medication. It gave me peace of mind, but also filled me with guilt—the guilt that comes from having to put a family member in this sort of place, no matter how beautiful the building or amenities.
“Popcorn done yet?” Mary called from the living room, the loud sound of our documentary blaring over the speakers. Shaking my head to quiet my thoughts, I poured the popcorn into two separate bowls and joined her in the living room.
Every day was a gift, an opportunity to give her good memories while she still clung to them. Deep down I knew these visits weren’t just for her, it was for me. Because I wasn’t ready to let go.
It was late when I got back home. The streetlights cast an eerie glow over the sidewalk up to the red brick building, and I pulled my jacket closer and scolded myself for not remembering a thicker jacket. Regardless, the whispering of wind and the crunch of leaves underfoot made me smile a bit. It was my favorite time of year despite the fact that I would be sleeping under at least three blankets for those impending chilly nights; even though it was still early fall, the cold wind coming off of the ocean a few miles away seemed to bring the winter chill early. Hannah's high-pitched meow had me leaning down and scratching the noisy cat's head as I fumbled for the light.
It was hair washing day, and though I was normally in bed by now, the morning shift at Hemingway's told me I would hate myself if I waited until morning. In the tiny bathroom that I had once taken baths in when I was little, the white penny tile had cracked and slightly stained over the years, but the clawfoot tub was still a bragging right. The shower sprang to life, jerking slightly as the water rushed through the old pipes. I was too tired to do much other than stand under the spray and run the soap through my tangled tresses, scrubbing at my scalp to relieve the pressure of the ponytail I had worn all day.
As I was busy smoothing the conditioner through my hair and going over the errands I needed to accomplish before the end of the day tomorrow, I barely noticed the water pressure becoming less of a spray and more of a drip. Until I opened my eyes to the pipe above me shuddering violently against the wall. My heart raced as I jumped out of the tub, narrowly avoiding slipping on the damp tile as I shrieked.
A thud on my front door echoed the beat of my heart, my fingers fumbling with the knobs to stop the pipe from bursting from out of the wall or cracking the antique tiles. The frantic pounding on the front door continued as conditioner streamed into my eyes. I ran, towel barely covering my wet, naked body, to throw it open.
"What?!" I exclaimed, only one eye opened as I rubbed desperately at the other. I straightened immediately, pulling my towel up higher as Sebastian Quinn stood in the hallway. His brows were furrowed in concern, his chest heaving as he looked at me in confusion and then over my shoulder into the apartment.
"Are you okay?" He asked, his deep voice a mix between anxiety and puzzlement. "I heard a crash and screaming."
"Yes, I'm okay!" I snapped, finally clearing the conditioner from my eye and blinking rapidly to regain focus. "My water just turned off, and the pipes were banging and?— "
"Did you pay the bill?" He asked, and I looked at him with undisguised astonishment.
"Quinn, I am twenty-six years old. Of course, I paid my water bill," I retorted, but silently, I was counting in my head if I actually had. No, I had. I was 89% sure. Paying my bills and my grandmother's did sometimes get mixed up.
"Okay, well, if you're okay…" Sebastian murmured, pushing off from the door frame and shaking his head slightly as he walked the few paces back to his unit.
As soon as I slammed the door, I grabbed my phone, hastily brought up the bill payment app, and breathed a sigh of relief. Of course I had paid the stupid bill. So, why was my water off?
Groaning in growing frustration, I turned on every single faucet to nothing besides shuddering drips. It became annoyingly clear that I had no water in my apartment. That was a real problem, especially with the fact that I was dripping puddles by my feet, and my hair was still slick with conditioner.
"Shit," I hissed, slapping the kitchen counter and startling the ragdoll cat from her napping spot on the table.I was already shivering, refusing to turn up the thermostat because I really didn't need a high gas bill that month.
I knew what I had to do, and I didn't like it—not one bit. But I have no relationship, not even a strained one, with my upstairs neighbors besides delivering a random package once in a while.
Tip-toeing around the puddles that followed me, I found myself back in the bathroom, throwing off the worn, once-white towel onto the floor and grabbing a faded beach towel from the closet. Was it in much better shape? Absolutely not. But was it longer than the knee-length one I had usually used? Yes, and at that moment, that was all that mattered.
Taking the time to rub the raccoon eyes my pooling mascara had created in the shower, I wrapped myself in the towel, deciding that tomorrow I would pick out a robe because God forbid this ever happen again. My skin itched where my body wash still clung to my skin as I walked across the apartment and picked at my thumbnail before closing between my unit and unit two.
The cold night air whispered between cracks of the old door frame, the tile chilling my bare feet.
"Why didn't I put on slippers?" I berated myself quietly. But I was already here, too late to turn back now. So I knocked. Quietly, timidly. Part of me hoped he just wouldn't hear, and I would just have to figure something else out.
With my heart thundering in my chest, I waited two beats before I went to turn around…when the door opened.
"Clark?"
I bit the inside of my lip so hard I might have tasted blood. But I had come this far. So I turned around.
"My water's off," I said simply, shivering in the cold of the hallway and clutching my towel to my chest. Quinn raised an eyebrow, looking me up and down. I rolled my eyes and all but whined, "Jesus, don't make me ask this."
Sebastian crossed his arms, sucking on his teeth as he leaned on the doorframe. The warm air from his apartment had goosebumps running up my arms. "Ask me what, Clark?"
I screwed my eyes shut and blurted out, "Can I use your shower?"
Silence.
Jesus, what was I thinking? Just as I was about to open my mouth to say that I was joking, or never mind (I wasn't quite sure which yet—maybe a nice blend of both?), Sebastian closed the door.
I stood there for a moment, dumbfounded. I hadn't been expecting that. So there I stood shivering in the mid-October night, barefoot on the tile floor outside my neighbor's door in a towel. I moved to bolt back to my apartment, already deciding to order a delivery of water bottles or maybe a gallon jug?—
I heard the sound of the Unit 2 door opening, its handle wiggling as it turned.
"You coming in or what, Clark?"