Tomorrow's Vengeance by Marcia Talley Page B

‘It’s especially true for the older residents who have outlived most of their family. One of our volunteers brings in her children and the residents treat them like their own grandchildren. It’s really heartwarming.’
    â€˜How many volunteers are there?’
    â€˜It varies but right now, counting you, there’s eight.’ She folded her napkin and laid it on the tablecloth. ‘There’s another volunteer over there, in fact, having lunch with her husband, the guy we’ve just been speaking about.’
    I swiveled in my seat. The dining room was full so I wasn’t sure to whom she was referring. In addition to several faces I recognized from the sing-alongs in the lounge, I noticed Safa Abaza sitting with Masud at a table for two in an isolated corner of the dining room. A shopping bag from Nordstrom rested on the floor next to her chair and she was showing him a necklace she’d evidently purchased. His face remained blank, bored. He concentrated on his plate, where he seemed to be dissecting a lamb kabob. As I watched, he dragged a cube of lamb through a pile of rice, not seeming to notice either his wife or the necklace with which she seemed so pleased.
    â€˜You mean the Abazas.’
    â€˜Correct. Safa has been volunteering in the memory unit for several months. She’s a quiet, gentle soul and the residents love her.’
    â€˜Confession,’ I said. ‘I’ve met Safa, too, while I was waiting for you the other day. Since you were so late …’ I gave her a wink, ‘… we had time for a good chat. Interesting woman.’
    Her mouth full of fruit salad, Naddie simply nodded.
    Before coming to lunch, Masud had changed into a clean shirt. Safa wore an ankle-length, long-sleeved shapeless black garment, possibly because she’d been out in public, shopping at the mall. A brilliant saffron-colored silk scarf covered her head and neck. ‘It’s August, for heaven’s sake. It must get hot under all those layers,’ I mused. ‘She must feel like ripping them off and jumping into the swimming pool.’
    â€˜From time to time, she does. You should see her burkini,’ Naddie said.
    â€˜You’re kidding me. A burkini?’
    â€˜It looks like a full-body wetsuit with a colorful hood to pull over your head. Safa’s a modest but thoroughly modern Muslim woman.’
    I considered going up to their table and introducing myself to Masud – he’d seen me at least two times, after all, but we’d never been formally introduced. He probably thought I was a member of the staff. Masud looked like such a sourpuss, however, that I decided to put that on the back burner. Besides, I might unwittingly be breaching protocol.
    I decided I’d let Safa make the first move in that direction. I’d probably see her again soon enough anyway – if not around Calvert Colony proper, our paths might cross eventually in the memory unit.
    It ended up being much sooner than I expected.

NINE
    â€˜Regardless of a nursing home resident’s age or mental capacity, they need touch and affection. Residents of all U.S. facilities have a right to romance – as long as it’s consensual. “We try to keep residents as independent as possible,” said Suzanne Garside, executive director of Emeritus at Federal Way. Residents find love and get remarried at the assisted living facility. Caregivers have also walked in on couples by accident, but unless safety is compromised, they let the fireworks continue.’
    FederalWayMirror.com, July 3, 2012.
    A s was quickly becoming our habit, Naddie and I lingered over our coffee for so long that the wait staff had begun to loom like vultures, preparing to pounce on our dishes the instant we finished with them. ‘Guess it’s time to go,’ I said, laying my napkin down and rising from my chair.
    Naddie grinned at the bus boy. ‘We can take a hint,