Felix led me to the entrance off the parking lot. Whoever had designed this place had basically put a false front on it, because the real entrance opening to the lobby and receptionist was here, and not up front.
Even inside it didn't look at all like a medical facility. The lobby was plush, with big, soft leather sofas and chairs, beautiful standing lamps and table lamps. There were flowers in vases everywhere and, spread evenly over the panel walls, large oil paintings of scenery, ocean views and lakes. The floor was an immaculate-looking black marble, so shiny it worked like a mirror reflecting all that was on it. Soft classical music was being piped in through invisible speakers.
A tall man in a dark blue suit, with curly light brown hair, and carrying what looked like a briefcase spoke quietly with a nurse in front of a counter that looked more like the kind seen in hotel lobbies. I saw another two women behind them working on files and papers, one at a computer. As we continued to cross the lobby toward them, the nurse and the man she was speaking to turned our way.
"Can I help You?" she asked Felix.
"Yes. I've brought Jordan March to see her grandmother."
"Oh," she said and smiled at me. "I'm Mrs. Sanders," she said. "Chief administrator and head nurse." She smiled at me. "I know your grandmother is waiting anxiously to see you. She asked after you four times already this morning."
No one keeps my grandmother waiting I thought. I remembered my mother once saying how she pitied a dentist who ran late and kept her in the lobby for nearly forty minutes. "He'll be wishing he were haying his teeth cleaned instead of cleaning hers," she told me.
"Right this way." Mrs. Sanders said. "I'll have that report for you in the morning, Dr. Stevens," she told the man with whom she had been speaking. Doctors didn't look like doctors here either. I thought. He didn't wear a doctor's coat or carry anything that doctors carried. He looked more like a lawyer or a banker.
"Fine. I'll call first. Marion," he told her.
"This way. Jordan," Mrs. Sanders said, nodding at a door. I trailed just a little behind her.
"I'll be waiting here for you, Jordan," Felix said, moving toward one of the sofas and lifting a magazine off the side table.
I continued to follow Mrs. Sanders through the doorway and down a long, wide corridor.
"Your grandmother has made very good progress." She stopped and turned to me. "You know how we know?"
I shook my head.
"She doesn't stop complaining,'" she said and laughed,
That'swhat Daddy told me about Ian in his new place, I thought.
We walked on, then stopped at a doorway. She glanced at me, then knocked and opened the door. There was a small entryway with a closet on the right and a bathroom on the left. Instead of a rug or tile, the floor was a rich-looking dark wood. There was a kingsize bed with a large headboard. The bed had matching end tables and lamps. The large television set was mounted on the wall across from the bed. and I saw there was a stereo unit of some sort beneath it. The wall to my left had shelves of books, interrupted by vases that looked like they contained fresh flowers,
This room is almost as big as Grandmother Emma's room back at the Mansion, I thought. Directly ahead of us, there was a sliding glass door opening to a tiled patio with a table and chairs, potted plants and a view of one of the bigger ponds.
Grandmother Emma was sitting outside, wearing a fur-collared ruby robe. Her hair was spun and tied with a light green ribbon, and she looked a lot better than she had when I had seen her in the hospital.
"Your granddaughter has finally arrived. Mrs. March," Mrs. Sanders said.
Grandmother Emma didn't respond. She nodded at the chair across from her, which was her way of telling me to get to it and sit.
"Is there anything you want or need? Should I bring the young lady something to drink?"
"No," Grandmother Emma said with perfect clarity and sharpness.
Mrs. Sanders smiled at me.
"Enjoy your visit, dear." she said and walked out.
I took the chair and sat back with my hands fol
ded in my lap.
When Grandmother Emma spoke, her lips seemed to writhe because some of the muscles in her face weren't working well. Her tongue looked swollen, which I imagined made it difficult for her to speak. The words streamed together, parts of one tacking onto another before it had been pronounced. but I could understand.
"I know about Frances," she muttered. "That woman," she added. and I wasn't sure if she was complaining about Great-aunt Frances or Mrs, DeMarco.
For a long moment we just stared at each other. What was I supposed to tell her? Was she waiting for the story? Was she unsure about what I knew and didn't know?