Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [7]
“Yes . . . and no.”
I waited while she gathered her thoughts.
“Every resident is allotted two hours a month of personal time and two hours a month of activity time. If you want additional time with the friends, you pay extra. But collectively, when the new owners hired all new staff and started remodeling, they upped the rent, tacking on an ‘activities and recreational improvement’ fee.”
“Jesus. Is that even legal?”
Reva harrumphed and tapped her foot. Sponge Bob’s head bobbled. “Yes. Fair warning rate increase is perfectly legal. But when I looked up the statutes online, the language seemed vague when it comes to specifics governing assisted living facilities. The rules are much more rigid with traditional nursing homes.”
No surprise Reva had researched the matter. Librarians lived for that stuff. “How much was the increase?”
“A hundred bucks straight across the board.”
My stomach dropped. That’d be a huge financial hardship for residents on fixed incomes. It’d also be a huge chunk of cash for the organization. “No one questioned it?”
“A few did.”
“What happened?”
21
“They got rid of them.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not.” Reva counted off the infractions on her gnarled fingers. “Louise Ellis broke her hip and was transferred to acute care before she was shipped out. The staff counselor diagnosed Dan Reese as violent after he blew up about the increase so he had to move back in with his daughter. Jim Rea suffered a stroke and he’s up at the VA.”
Sounded like normal ailments for the elderly. Where was the conspiracy?
“Two others in wing C also left right away. The new residents don’t question paying the extra hundred bucks. But you want know the worst thing?”
Not a rhetorical question so I couldn’t shout no. Especially after I saw tears welling in Reva’s buggy eyes.
“I feel sorry for the people who don’t have a little financial cushion. I’m not talking about these folks giving up luxuries; I’m talking about them giving up necessities. They’re either eating Meals On Wheels or not eating at all.” She raised her moist eyes to mine.
“Before you ask, no, they can’t just up and move. Like me, most people in here don’t have immediate family, so they’re stuck.”
The soda machine made a loud thump.
“Do these friends you’ve bought visit you on a daily basis?”
“Biweekly. We’re assigned two friends and they 22
rotate. Of course, you have to take the good with the bad. Half the time I get Dottie, a cheerful do-gooder who treats me like an imbecile. Luella is better, but she should be since she’s head of the program.”
Casually I asked, “She is?”
“Yeah.” The frown lines on Reva’s face increased.
“I thought it was strange at first, too. In my experience those administrative types don’t get their hands dirty, yet Luella is here every day.”
“I take it Luella is your favorite?”
“Mine. Not everyone else’s.”
My first thought was because she was Indian. Sad, but true. “Why is she your favorite?”
“She goes above and beyond.”
“Meaning?”
“Oh, if she sees something in a magazine that might interest me, she’ll bring it along. If I ask and give her cash, she’ll pick me up a bottle of Jack Daniels without giving me a lecture on how dangerous drinking is at my age.”
“You don’t hop on the senior bus and go to the grocery store and all the other places?”
“No. I don’t like being stuck in this wheelchair, but it does give me an excuse not to have to do those things. Doesn’t get me out of the activities most times.”
“What kind of activities?”
“Lectures about estate and funeral planning, wills, all that old folks’ crap. Demonstrations on cooking for one. Those aren’t bad. It’s the craft ones I hate, 23
making us decorate picture frames with beads and seashells like a bunch of kindergartners. Bah.”
“Forced crafts? No wonder you sneak around. I would, too.”
“Not a crafty person?”
I smiled coyly. “Not in the literal sense.”
“Well, there’s plenty of other crafty stuff going on around here to keep me occupied, not in the literal sense either.”
“Prairie Gardens