Page 83 of Chasing Creed

“I’ve got nothing to say.”

“Okay.” Maggie knew it was a long shot. But she had convinced herself not to push. Although, she’d decided it would not be a wasted trip even if the woman wouldn’t talk to her.

Instead, of sitting down, she placed her messenger bag on the chair and pulled out the first three items she was determined to leave with the old woman. Pakula was constantly putting on reading glasses, and last night at the restaurant Maggie realized maybe they’d work for Eleanor.

She shopped before she left Omaha, deciding on three different strengths (moderate to strong). Most of the frames were generic and cheap plastic, but she chose classic shapes then picked out a bright pink, a blue and a multi-colored, hoping they would be easier to find if misplaced.

“I brought these for you,” Maggie told her. She held up all three pairs for the woman to see.

There was a glance. Then there was a double-take.

“Those aren’t my glasses.”

“No, but I’m hoping one of them might work for you to be able to read. I got different levels of magnification. Would you like to try them?”

Eleanor stared at the eyeglasses for so long, Maggie began to wonder if this was a bad idea. Maybe the dementia wouldn’t allow her to understand that glasses other than the ones she’d lost would work for her. And if none of them did help, would it simply be another disappointing reminder that her own glasses were still lost?

Finally, she looked at Maggie, the expression on her face almost in childlike wonder. She sat up. It wasn’t a struggle for her.

“May I try the pink ones?”

Maggie unwrapped the packaging, making sure she peeled away all the stickers. Then she cleaned the glass with the cloth that came in the package, and she handed the pair to Eleanor.

The woman turned them over in her hands, inspecting them before she finally slid them slowly onto her face. She looked at her hands then searched around herself for something to read.

“Oh, I picked up some books, too. I didn’t know what you like to read, so I bought a variety.” Maggie pulled out several paperbacks and a couple of magazines. She chose the larger paperback size, staying away from hardcovers in case they were too heavy to hold. She stacked them on the bedside next to Eleanor, and the old woman skidded over to make room while she watched in wonder.

She picked up one of the bestsellers and began flipping pages.

Stopped. Stared. Readjusted the book. Pulled it closer.

Then she went completely still and quiet.

“These other two pairs are different strengths,” Maggie offered. “If those don’t work.”

Finally, Eleanor looked up at Maggie, and for the first time, she smiled.

57

Florida Panhandle

It was still before noon, when Sara turned onto the long driveway. Her eyes scanned and searched the property. It was so much bigger than she expected, which could make everything so much harder than it should be.

Unlike Granny El’s, there were trees everywhere, clogging the view in every direction. It was impossible to see the horizon and sometimes even the sky, but that could be an advantage.

Finally, she came to a clearing and a large two-story house with columns and a wraparound porch. Gardens of flowers and manicured shrubs surrounded the house and the stone pathway. There was a wood fence behind the house, but trees prevented her from seeing how far it extended.

Her attention focused on the house first. There were too many windows. It would be impossible to see if anyone was watching. Her head swiveled when she noticed the other buildings. They weren’t barns or sheds or steel Quonsets. They weren’t like anything she’d seen on other farms or rural properties. These had glass and brick and wrought-iron fences and graveled driveways to each. Even the doublewide trailer had a brick patio. The place looked like a small village.

One of the larger buildings was obviously their dog kennel. She could see various sizes of dogs poking their noses through the fence trying to get a glimpse at her. Maybe they could smell Shadow.

Sara parked her truck less than thirty feet from the front door of the house. And then she waited.

Shadow popped her head up to look out the window. Anyone watching them would see a road-weary young woman and a dog. And an old truck with Wyoming license plates. She might look like someone in need of something. Directions. Information. Or maybe she’d look like someone in trouble. But she would not look like a threat.

She had pushed herself to get here early. Most people felt the strongest sense of security in the morning hours. Supposedly, there’d been studies showing people felt less anxiety about their personal safety during the daylight hours.

Anxiety was at its highest level at midnight.