Chapter One
Diane
Diane Martin strode down the hallway of the Rosewood Senior
Living Apartments, smiling and waving to the many residents she passed. The
hallway walls were painted a soothing light gray with dark gray wainscoting on
the bottom half. Lovely watercolor paintings depicting lake, river, and
woodland scenes decorated the walls, and each door displayed a cheerful flower
or autumn leaf wreath. But the calming interior did nothing to soothe Diane’s
frayed nerves. It was Friday afternoon, and she’d just come from the high
school where she taught history and social studies. She was tired, but she
still had to take her mother shopping and out to dinner as she did every
Friday. It wasn’t that she minded helping her mother; it was the fact that her
mother could be difficult at times and Diane could never gauge when her
mother’s mood might change. Diane was eager for the day to end.
Walking up to room 212, Diane steeled herself before knocking twice, then slowly opening the door. “Mom? It’s me,” she called.
“Come in. Come in,” an impatient voice called from inside
the bedroom. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”
Diane stepped inside the space and quietly closed the door.
Her mother, Joan Hartman, had a two-bedroom apartment with a small kitchen and
a good-sized living and dining room combination. She’d moved into the senior
apartment building a year ago after she’d fallen and broken her hip. Once it
had healed, the seventy-year-old had finally decided she could no longer live
alone in her house and had moved in here. It wasn’t exactly a care
facility—many of the residents still drove and cooked their own meals. But Joan
did have the choice of eating all her meals in the dining room, and there were
security devices in each apartment so residents could call for help if needed.
“You’ll never believe what Lucy Sutton did at lunch today,”
Joan said, coming out of her bedroom. She was dressed in a pair of slacks, a
light sweater, and flats. Her gray hair was cut short and styled nicely. “She
choked on a cut-up grape.”
Diane’s brows rose. “Is she okay?”
“She’ll live,” Joan said offhandedly. “But it was quite the spectacle
when Arnold jumped up and tried to do the Heimlich maneuver on her. He grabbed
her around the waist and squeezed, and they both almost fell over backward.”
Joan laughed. “If the lunch attendant hadn’t intervened, they’d both be in the
hospital.”
“Mom. That’s not funny,” Diane said, pushing her
shoulder-length blond hair behind one ear. “They could have been seriously
hurt.”
Joan swatted her hand through the air. “They’re fine. It was
funny, watching them. We’re all old. It’s nice to have some excitement once in
a while.”
Diane shook her head at her mother. Joan wasn’t very tall,
and she was petite in size, but she could be a tough one when he wanted to be.
She’d always been a tough cookie.
The phone on the end table started ringing and Diane headed
over to answer it.
“Leave it alone,” her mother ordered. “Let’s go. I have a
lot of shopping to do.”
Diane stopped, startled by her mother’s brusque tone. Diane
was fifty-one years old and three inches taller than Joan, but her mother still
insisted on talking to her as if she were a child.
The phone stopped ringing, so Diane ignored it. “You should
bring a light jacket,” she told her mother. “The fall weather is nice right now,
but once the sun goes down, it’ll be chilly.”
Joan nodded and walked slowly toward the closet by the door
to get her jacket. She moved slower now since her hip had been replaced. She
had other health issues as well, with arthritic knees and hands, and her
eyesight wasn’t the best, even when wearing her glasses. Moving into the senior
apartments had been a relief for Diane. Living in a place where Joan could get
help if needed meant Diane didn’t have to worry about her mother falling and
needing assistance. Winters could be harsh in their town of Minnetonka, MN,
with the threat of snow and ice causing a bad fall. Having her mother live in
Rosewood took a lot of stress off Diane.
The phone began ringing again. Diane watched as Joan turned
and glared at it but didn’t move to answer it.
“This is silly,” Diane said, annoyed, heading for the phone.
“I’ll just answer it.”
“Don’t!” her mother yelled.
Diane ignored her and picked up the handset. “Hello?”
“Hello? Mrs. Hartman?” a male voice asked, sounding rushed.
“I’m from the Sun-Times. I wanted to ask you a couple of questions.”
Diane frowned and looked at her mother. Joan was waving her
hands through the air and saying, “Hang up!”
“I’m sorry,” Diane said into the receiver. “What do you
want?”
“I’d like to ask you a question. How do you feel about your
mother being let out of jail today after sixty-five years?”
Diane’s mouth dropped open. She looked again at Joan, whose
shoulders had sagged in defeat. Hanging up the phone, Diane approached her mother.
“My grandmother is alive?”
Joan nodded. “Yes."
The phone began ringing again as Diane’s whole life felt
like it was spinning out of control.
