said. “Bugs’ll be ten times worse.”
“Why don’t you go down to the gym and grab a shower.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, am I offending you?”
“Only if you still smell like that when I take you to lunch.”
“Ooh, lunch,” she crooned. “My other favourite L-word.”
“Well, a fast lunch, anyway, and then a drive.”
“Where to?”
“Deepest darkest Scarborough.”
“What’s there?”
“A place called Meadowvale.”
“Sounds cool and shady.”
“How shady is the question,” I said.
CHAPTER 14
S o who are we?” Jenn asked.
“Allan and Linda Gold. Good friends of my parents. My brother’s godparents, actually.”
We were stuck on Kingston Road in the eastern beaches, as a kid with a scruffy blond chin beard tried to back a beer truck into the narrow alley beside a pub.
“Okay, Al,” Jenn said. “Whose parent are we committing?”
“It’s not a mental institution,” I said. “We’re
placing
my mother there.”
“And where do we Golds hail from?”
“Same as in real life. I’m from Toronto, you’re from Feedbag, Ontario.”
“That’s Fordham, city boy. Will they want to know what we do?”
“They’ll want to know we have money.”
“And do we?”
“A family fortune.”
“I like it,” Jenn said. “How much?”
“As long as we’re fantasizing, let’s go big. Five hundred thousand, left to us by dear old dad when he passed.” As opposed to the zip, zilch and bupkes my dad had left us.
“How long have we been married?”
I looked at Jenn in her yellow floral-print sundress that showed her tanned arms and legs to enormous advantage.
“Three years,” I suggested. “Three rapturous sex-crazed years.”
“In your dreams.”
Indeed.
“So what are we looking for?”
I filled her in on what I had learned so far. “Let’s see if they pressure us to accept Bader as Mom’s doctor. And where they keep their records.”
Ten minutes later, we parked in front of a ranch-style building of fieldstone and stucco with large windows and well-kept grounds. There was neither a meadow nor a vale in sight, but as nursing homes went, it was less bleak than I had imagined. It could have been a golf course clubhouse.
“Linda, darling?”
“Yes, Al?”
“Just to avoid any slips, let’s not use names in there.”
“Terms of endearment only?”
“Yup. Call me honey, sweetheart, dear. God of Thunder.”
“Dickhead okay?”
“Regrettably, I’ve been called that more than God of Thunder in my time.”
We crossed the parking lot toward the main entrance where a man who had just exited was lighting a cigarette. This guy was short but solidly built, with a round face a grandmother would want to pinch. His cigarette had the distinctive smell of American tobacco.
Jenn said, “Oh, dickhead dear?”
“Yes, honeypants?”
“The door?”
I held it open for her and we walked into the lobby. It was airy and inviting, with a terrazzo floor and fieldstone walls andlight pouring in through floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides. A fountain burbled water into a small pool on the left side; on the right was a security desk where a burly man in a navy blazer watched a bank of monitors showing closed-circuit feeds. His name tag identified him as John. I signed us in as Mr. & Mrs. Allan Gold. The cameras, from what I could see, covered all entrances to the building, as well as a number of corridors and common areas.
When we asked John about a tour of the facility, he pointed at a slim, handsome woman of fifty or so across the lobby. She wore a cream silk jacket and skirt, and her blonde hair was pulled back into a chignon. “Ms. Stockwell is the administrator here. She’ll just be a moment.”
Alice Stockwell was engaged in a serious conversation with an earnest young man in a gorgeously tailored lightweight grey suit. I wondered if he was here to place a parent, or already had one in residence. Either way, he seemed displeased, lecturing Stockwell urgently through tight
“Why don’t you go down to the gym and grab a shower.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, am I offending you?”
“Only if you still smell like that when I take you to lunch.”
“Ooh, lunch,” she crooned. “My other favourite L-word.”
“Well, a fast lunch, anyway, and then a drive.”
“Where to?”
“Deepest darkest Scarborough.”
“What’s there?”
“A place called Meadowvale.”
“Sounds cool and shady.”
“How shady is the question,” I said.
CHAPTER 14
S o who are we?” Jenn asked.
“Allan and Linda Gold. Good friends of my parents. My brother’s godparents, actually.”
We were stuck on Kingston Road in the eastern beaches, as a kid with a scruffy blond chin beard tried to back a beer truck into the narrow alley beside a pub.
“Okay, Al,” Jenn said. “Whose parent are we committing?”
“It’s not a mental institution,” I said. “We’re
placing
my mother there.”
“And where do we Golds hail from?”
“Same as in real life. I’m from Toronto, you’re from Feedbag, Ontario.”
“That’s Fordham, city boy. Will they want to know what we do?”
“They’ll want to know we have money.”
“And do we?”
“A family fortune.”
“I like it,” Jenn said. “How much?”
“As long as we’re fantasizing, let’s go big. Five hundred thousand, left to us by dear old dad when he passed.” As opposed to the zip, zilch and bupkes my dad had left us.
“How long have we been married?”
I looked at Jenn in her yellow floral-print sundress that showed her tanned arms and legs to enormous advantage.
“Three years,” I suggested. “Three rapturous sex-crazed years.”
“In your dreams.”
Indeed.
“So what are we looking for?”
I filled her in on what I had learned so far. “Let’s see if they pressure us to accept Bader as Mom’s doctor. And where they keep their records.”
Ten minutes later, we parked in front of a ranch-style building of fieldstone and stucco with large windows and well-kept grounds. There was neither a meadow nor a vale in sight, but as nursing homes went, it was less bleak than I had imagined. It could have been a golf course clubhouse.
“Linda, darling?”
“Yes, Al?”
“Just to avoid any slips, let’s not use names in there.”
“Terms of endearment only?”
“Yup. Call me honey, sweetheart, dear. God of Thunder.”
“Dickhead okay?”
“Regrettably, I’ve been called that more than God of Thunder in my time.”
We crossed the parking lot toward the main entrance where a man who had just exited was lighting a cigarette. This guy was short but solidly built, with a round face a grandmother would want to pinch. His cigarette had the distinctive smell of American tobacco.
Jenn said, “Oh, dickhead dear?”
“Yes, honeypants?”
“The door?”
I held it open for her and we walked into the lobby. It was airy and inviting, with a terrazzo floor and fieldstone walls andlight pouring in through floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides. A fountain burbled water into a small pool on the left side; on the right was a security desk where a burly man in a navy blazer watched a bank of monitors showing closed-circuit feeds. His name tag identified him as John. I signed us in as Mr. & Mrs. Allan Gold. The cameras, from what I could see, covered all entrances to the building, as well as a number of corridors and common areas.
When we asked John about a tour of the facility, he pointed at a slim, handsome woman of fifty or so across the lobby. She wore a cream silk jacket and skirt, and her blonde hair was pulled back into a chignon. “Ms. Stockwell is the administrator here. She’ll just be a moment.”
Alice Stockwell was engaged in a serious conversation with an earnest young man in a gorgeously tailored lightweight grey suit. I wondered if he was here to place a parent, or already had one in residence. Either way, he seemed displeased, lecturing Stockwell urgently through tight
Similar Books
