Chapter Ten
Kiyah
As I approached the luxury retirement home, I smoked a cigarette down to the filter to calm my nerves.
I hated coming here because I felt it was the last stop before the Big Goodnight.
Dad tried to convince Grandma to stay in their residence with hired nurses to help with her and Granddad’s activities of daily living, but she adamantly refused, stating she didn’t want to die in their home and leave behind painful memories for the next generation.
She also wanted to socialize with her friends and remain active.
Grandma put their estate in an irrevocable trust with Dad as the beneficiary and moved her and Granddad into the Bellagio of retirement homes, where she enjoyed cocktails by the pool and Bridge with her friends and where Granddad moseyed around in a state of constant befuddlement.
My phone vibrated with a message.
Grant: Mom saw your pussy pic. Good job.
I accidentally bit down on the filter in response to his message.
Me: What the hell do you mean?
Grant: You sent the pic, and Mom opened the message. She laid into me.
“Oh, my God. This can’t be happening.”
Thank God my face wasn’t in it!
Me: What did she say?
Grant: Honestly, you don’t want to know.
Me: That bad?
Grant: She said you must’ve come from a broken home, and I needed to cut ties with you. And you have a new nickname.
Me: What is it?
I was afraid to know because our mother could be pretty colorful with words, but I couldn’t help myself.
Grant: Clitasaurus Rex.
I giggled and disposed of my cigarette in a receptacle by the front entrance.
Me: That’s fucking hilarious. How does she come up with that shit?
Grant: There’s nothing funny about it. She nearly had a heart attack.
Me: Maybe next time she won’t snoop through your phone.
Grant: I think she learned her lesson. But to your earlier statement, yes, my cum looks good leaking out of you.
I smirked and entered the facility.
Me: Be a good boy, and you’ll get another round tonight after dinner.
Grant: I’m glad that you mentioned it. I’ll be late coming home.
Me: Why?
Grant: I’m in Houston meeting with the parents of a class-action lawsuit. Mom decided to accompany me. I shouldn’t be later than 9:00. Also, I’m taking the remainder of the week off.
My gasp was cut off by the receptionist.
“Ma’am, may I help you?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m here to visit Felicity and Marcus Baker.”
She raised a brow. “And what is your relation?”
She’s new. I’ll cut her some slack.
I smiled sweetly. “Granddaughter.”
She eyed me up and down. “Are you on the visitor’s list?”
“I am,” I confirmed, sliding her my identification.
“Please give me a moment to confirm.”
Me: You’re taking time off from work? The world must be coming to an end.
Grant: Don’t piss me off, Kiyah.
“Ma’am, can you please sign the visitor’s log?”
“Sure,” I replied, heart hanging heavy in my chest.
I signed my name and filled in the time, my relation, and who I intended to see before receiving my visitor’s sticker. I slapped it on my chest and entered the belly of the beast.
I took the familiar route to the memory care unit, turning right at the massive water fountain in the atrium, past a large sitting room where a few residents conversed or huddled in the corner with coffee from the cafe and a good book.
I nodded to some of the staff I was familiar with, stopped to chat with one of Grandma’s friends, Ms. Beverly, who said I looked so beautiful without all the metal in my face.
I smiled at her graciously and accepted a feeble hug before I was put on notice that she’d alert Grandma of my arrival.
I arrived at the memory care unit, pressed the security button that looked like a Ring doorbell, and waited patiently for an employee to buzz me in.
Some would be annoyed by the security measures, but I was grateful for them.
The night Granddad wandered out of the house and was lost for hours was a fucking nightmare.
Dad eventually found him a mile away from the country club—barefoot and in his pajamas—wheeling his golf clubs behind him at 4:00 in the morning.
If Granddad has to be locked up to ensure his safety, then so be it.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” the social worker behind the desk exclaimed as I entered.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Marley,” I replied with a sweet-as-pie smile.
“Uh-huh. You’re not fooling me, Kiyah Baker. I need you front and center for a pat down.”
I gasped and placed a hand on my chest. “What are you hinting at?”
“I’m hinting that you’ve brought contraband into this facility. The new receptionist at the front desk doesn’t know about you, but I do,” she said, rounding the desk. “You have anything on you that you’re not supposed to?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Are you lying?” the older Southern woman asked.
“Probably.”
Marley sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. “No cigarettes and no cigars. Do you hear me?”
“I understand. How has he been?”
She sighed. “He has his good and bad days—more bad than good.”
“What about today?”
“It’s a good day today. He’s out in the garden.”
“Good. I’m going to visit him before Grandma finds us and he starts pretending he doesn’t know who we are again to avoid her,” I said jokingly.
“Good idea. It’s good to see you, Kiyah. Don’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t be,” I replied with a wave of my hand.
I won’t be.
* * *
As soon as I passed through the veranda doors, I found Granddad under his favorite Live Oak tree in his usual spot.
He was hunched over his walker, balancing his forearms against the padded arms. He wore black joggers, a plain white shirt, and black house slippers.
I knew if he was lucid, he’d be pitching a fit.
He never left the house without looking his absolute best—a pressed suit, silk tie, Italian designer shoes, a flashy watch, and cufflinks with diamonds so clear and bright that you could see them from space.
He instilled the importance of first impressions in us and said, “If you look like a bum, they’ll treat you like a bum. ”
Here goes nothing.
“Hey, Granddad.” He peered up and narrowed his bleary green eyes at me. “It’s me, Kiyah.”
“Am I supposed to know you?” he asked with a little edge in his tone. I sighed.
He’s going to make me do it.
“I can’t believe you’re making me do this, old man,” I chuckled, pulling the turkey call out of my wallet. I slipped it into my mouth and mimicked a gobble and soft purrs. His eyes brightened like the light switch had been flipped in a dark room.
“Turk,” he cooed, reaching for my hand with his gnarled, arthritic fingers.
I warmed from his touch and sat beside him.
I earned the nickname Turk because I was the best turkey hunter of all his grandchildren.
Hunting was our thing—so much so that there was a photo of him and me on the wall near his gun case from when we went on a moose-hunting expedition in Alaska for my 13th birthday.
“Hey, Granddad. How’s it been?”
“Where are we?”
“You live here.”
“No, I don’t,” he argued.
“Yes, you do. You and Grandma have been living here for two years. I brought you something,” I said, lifting my baseball cap off my head and slipping out Granddad’s treat.
“What’s that you got there?”
“Brownies that’ll help with the arthritis pain.”
I tore the cling wrap off and broke him off a piece. He ate it without prompting and hummed appreciatively.
“You and that knucklehead grandson of mine finally tied the knot, eh?”
My eyes bulged, and my mouth gaped. “Wh-what are you talking about, Granddad?” He nodded at my hand, and I cursed when I realized I was still wearing my wedding band.
“You don’t have to snatch it off now for my sake.
I warned Jon about you two, but he said he had it under control.
” He snorted. “I’ve seen five-alarm fires under better control. ”
And like a dam had broken, I spent the next five minutes trying to fit in the complexities and the ins and outs of my marriage to Grant while feeding him the rest of the pot brownie.
“Damn,” he chuckled.
“That bad, huh?”
“Your father is not going to take this well.”
Yeah, no shit.
“Do you make each other happy?” he asked inquisitively with a raised bushy brow. My shoulders sagged.
“We did… we did.”
“I’m sorry, Turk,” he whispered, patting my hand apologetically. “It’ll all work out in the end if it’s meant to be.”
“Maybe. Guess what?”
“What?” he asked slowly, the weed taking effect.
“Daisy and Nori are getting married this weekend.”
“That’s preposterous.”
“I agree.”
“Who is paying for this unholy matrimony?”
“Dad.”
“A fool, I tell ya. He’s wasting good money. Those two little she-devils will be divorced in three months.”
“I don’t think so, Granddad. They’ve been together going on ten or eleven years.”
“That doesn’t mean shit. Tell Daisy not to sign a prenup. She can mix a little of that new money with the old money.” We laughed, he elbowed me good-naturedly, and then we were back to square one. “Who are you?”
“A visitor,” I answered, not wanting to go through the whole rigmarole again.
“Go visit another bench. Get outta here.”
I should’ve hugged him and told him I loved him when I had the chance.
“Take care, Mr. Baker.”
He grunted and went back to staring into space. I left him and passed the care worker, who was too busy trying to corral an on-the-move resident who was becoming aggressive and combative to pay attention to my visit with Granddad.
“Have a good one, Kiyah. I hope to see you soon,” Ms. Marley said as I approached the exit.
“I’ll be back soon.”
“I won’t hold my breath,” the woman grumbled. “By the way, Ms. Felicity paged. She’s waiting for your arrival in the ladies’ lounge. Please don’t keep her waiting, or she’ll have my phone ringing off the hook.”
“I’m headed straight there—no stops,” I confirmed.
* * *