many hours I spent with the attorneys creating the contracts. I know you didn’t forget because they billed you. And Alzheimer’s isn’t contagious. Not even with as many years as you’ve been here.”
Walter folded his arms over his chest, rocked back on his saddle shoes with his mouth compressed into a tight line. He’d promised Gran to look after the place until his dying breath, and he meant to do exactly that. Did all this stubborn resistance stem from worry that the new owners might force him to retire because of his age?
Jay hadn’t considered that before. “The very last thing I want is for the residents to sacrifice standard of care or my employees their jobs.”
“Former employees.”
“Not yet they’re not. And not until I’m sure everything is moving in the right direction.” The twenty-first century, to be exact. “I’ll never expand The Arbors as a private company the way Northstar can with Fortune 500 financial backing. They’re top-notch in senior care. The absolute best in the nation. We need to stay on the cutting edge with research so we can continue to provide the care Gran wanted.”
“You’re on the cutting edge. Your grandmother single-handedly got the Alzheimer’s Association to fund the research at University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. She’d have talked them into conducting it right here in Charlotte if UNC had been outfitted to handle the clinical trials.”
“Seven years ago.” Before everything had changed. Before his mom had wound up a resident in the facility she’d once help run. Before Gran had died. Before his dad had died. Before Mom had died. Before everything had become Jay’s responsibility.
“Don’t see why you can’t do the same, Jay.”
Jay was not going to defend himself, not standing in the hallway whispering. Walter was dead wrong on this, whether or not he admitted it. Gran had had Granddad to help, and income from the farm to foot the bills while she devoted herself to her Alzheimer’s crusade. She’d had Mom to help before she’d had to care for Mom, and Dad to help after Mom couldn’t. After Dad had died, Gran had Jay.
Jay didn’t have anyone. Well, there was Drew, of course. Major Drew Canady, Jay’s older brother who’d been smart enough to run off and join the Marines. He’d seen the handwriting on the wall and had made sure he wouldn’t be around to get stuck running the family business.
Now Drew had a life when Jay couldn’t even remember the last time he’d done anything but spend every waking moment dealing with the never-ending demands of this place. Dementia care frightened off most women fast, and he didn’t have time for his friends anymore.
So when in hell was Jay supposed to make time to lobby the state legislature or Alzheimer’s Association or pharmaceutical corporations or private medical research facilities and run The Arbors with its endless assessments, intakes, evaluations and treatment plans?
There were two hundred and fifty employees. There were one hundred and twenty residents, and most came with families who needed to be reassured, educated, informed and answered to about quality of care. There were volunteers and private companions and churches and all the outside resources that ministered to the residents to provide quality of life.
And quality of death. How many nights had Jay hoofed it here in the dark to meet funeral directors and deal with grieving families after a resident died?
Walter knew better than anyone what running this place entailed, and he’d heard all these arguments before. He might not want to retire until he was wheeled out of his office on a gurney, but he wouldn’t live forever.
Neither would Jay, and he had no intention of spending the rest of his life without actually living. And life wouldn’t start until he left The Arbors.
* * *
SUSANNA SMILED AT THE young woman behind the reception desk, who didn’t appear much older than Brooke.
“Good morning,” the girl said, the lilt to her voice all Southern charm and novelty to a born-and-bred Yankee.
“Good morning.” Susanna handed a business card to the young woman whose engraved badge identified her as Amber.
Susanna had already reviewed personnel files, so this young woman must be...
Amber Snelling, first-shift receptionist.
Currently working on her BSc in Operations Management.
Daughter of the Activity Director.
Amber glanced at the business card, eyes widening. “Ms. Adams!” She was on her feet instantly, extending a hand. “Welcome to The Arbors. We knew you were coming in today, but Mr. C. didn’t tell us when.”
Mr. C. would be Jay Canady, administrator and owner. The man hadn’t told his staff when she would arrive, which meant he couldn’t be too worried about them being on their best behavior. That said something about Mr. C.’s confidence in his employees.
“I came from Raleigh and wasn’t exactly sure how long the drive would take.”
“Raleigh. Wow.” Amber said. “I hope Mr. C. brought you through Asheboro so you didn’t deal with the traffic on 85.”
Mr. C. hadn’t brought her through Asheboro because Susanna had let her GPS lead the way. “I’m happy to report the traffic wasn’t bad at all.”
Of course, traffic was relative, and Susanna only had New York to compare.
“What time did you leave?” Amber asked.
“Around five.”
She glanced at her computer display. “Hmm. Not too bad. Mr. C. told everyone you’re from New York—as if I couldn’t tell from your accent. Have you been to Charlotte before?”
Susanna shook her head.
“Well, make sure you ask about shortcuts while you’re learning your way around. Of course, if you’re anything like Mr. C., you probably won’t get off the property all that much. But be aware that some shortcuts are better than others. Someone around here is bound to know which is which.”
“Thanks, Amber. I’ll remember that.”
Amber glanced in the direction of the administrative offices then surprised Susanna by continuing the conversation. “When you do manage to get out of here, visit Concord Mills. It’s a huge shopping mall by the Charlotte Speedway, so when you go make sure you plan to spend the whole day.”
“Then I’ll have to bring my daughter when she comes to visit. Shopping is one of her favorite things to do.” When Mom was swiping the plastic, anyway.
“Your daughter doesn’t live with you?”
“Only in between semesters. She’s in her third year at William and Mary.”
“I’m in my third year, too. At UNC. But I’m probably older than your daughter. I work here full-time, so I never take more than three classes. My degree is taking forever.”
Susanna wasn’t sure how to reply and went the philosophical route. “I’m sure when all is said and done you’ll look back and think school took exactly as long as it should have.”
