Not Perfect(5)

“I’m here to care for Nora Barton,” she said when the man smiled at her. She was ready with a million excuses—Her usual nurse is out sick today. I’m from a different agency. Her son hired me—but she didn’t need any of them.

“You know where she is?” he asked.

Tabitha knew it was listed in the file, so she opened it and looked, not sure if that made her look more official or less, and even more unsure why she cared so much.

“Yes, I see here she’s on the second floor, apartment 206.”

“Elevator’s over there,” he said, pointing. “As far as I know, her door is always open.”

Huh. That didn’t seem safe, but maybe necessary?

“Thanks.”

She took the elevator to the second floor and walked out directly toward Nora’s apartment. It was right across from the elevator. Now that she was here she wanted to leave. This was crazy. This Nora was not her mother. She was not her responsibility. She was a stranger who would probably die soon anyway. She turned around and hit the “down” button for the elevator. But then she had an idea. Nora probably had dish soap. If she was sitting on the floor thinking she was a teenager having a picnic, it might not be that hard to take. No, she told herself. That was the lowest Tabitha had sunk yet. And even if she wrote it on her list to repay one day, Nora might not live long enough to be repaid.

When she turned back and put her hand on the doorknob, she told herself she was curious and wanted to see if there was anything she could do for Nora since she was here anyway, which was all true. The dish soap need was true, too, but she would get it some other way. She knocked lightly before turning the knob.

“Hello?” she called. She opened the door slowly, expecting to find some awful scene, but she was hit with the sweet smell of something baking. “Hello?” she called again.

“In here, dear,” a voice called.

“Nora?”

“In here, dear,” the voice said again.

Tabitha closed the door behind her, wondering if maybe someone else had gotten here to help since she’d left the Home Comforts office. She followed the smell and came upon a bright kitchen, more from the lights inside than the sun outside, and a woman standing at the stove holding a small muffin pan with six muffins.

“Would you like a cranberry muffin, dear?” the woman asked, not seeming to be at all surprised by the stranger who had just arrived at her apartment.

“Nora?” Tabitha asked slowly.

“You found me!” the woman said. Tabitha couldn’t believe Nora was fully dressed, hair in place, baking—not sitting on the floor thinking it was sixty years ago.

“I’m Tabitha,” she said. “The agency . . .”

“Yes, yes I know,” she said. “They called to say someone new was coming today. What took you so long?”

Tabitha expected someone to come out from behind a door or sweep in from another room and tell her it was all a big joke, some reality-based television show about people who were looking for jobs and how far they were willing to go. Or maybe it was an attempt to catch people at their most desperate. Tabitha would be a good candidate for either of those setups.

“Come in, come in,” Nora said, leading her into a big living room. A large table close to the window was beautifully set for two with china, a teapot, and a light-blue tablecloth. Nora seemed quite sturdy on her feet, and Tabitha continued to wonder what the heck was going on. But the muffins smelled so good, and she hadn’t had anything yet besides the coffee. So she followed Nora to the table and dutifully sat down. She looked around the room and wondered where Nora sat when she thought there was a picnic going on. The room was tidy and clean. There didn’t seem to be a single thing out of place. There were no pill bottles or pillows or even a rumpled throw blanket for that matter.

Nora handed Tabitha a muffin, which she ate in four bites. Then she handed her another one, pouring tea while Tabitha gobbled that one up, too.

“Aren’t you going to have one?” Tabitha asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Oh no, I made these for you,” she said. “Plus I have a bit of a headache.”

Oh, okay, a headache. At least one thing went along with what Tabitha read in Nora’s file.

“Can I get you anything?” Tabitha asked. “Maybe some Advil?”

“Yes dear, that would be lovely,” Nora said, leaning back and closing her eyes. “On the kitchen counter please. Then we can play a game!” She opened her eyes and smiled.

Tabitha found the Advil just where Nora said it would be. She reached for a glass on an open shelf and saw the oven was still on. She turned it off. At least she was helping in some way. She poured out two Advil into her palm, wondering if she should slip two into her own pocket. That way she would have enough Advil to get through six headaches. But she didn’t. Instead, she placed the bottle back on the counter, filled the glass with water from the tap, and went back to find Nora.

A Monopoly game was open and waiting for her. Nora did that quickly. Tabitha didn’t particularly like Monopoly, but Nora seemed sweet. She could play for a few minutes. As she got closer, she saw stacks of money that didn’t look like the usual Monopoly money—it looked much more real. Did Nora replace the fake money with more realistic fake money? But as she got even closer, it looked very real, so real that Tabitha thought it might be actual money: stacks and stacks of real money next to the Monopoly board. Then she saw five-hundred-dollar bills. Do they even exist? she wondered.