Patricia Rockwell - Essie Cobb 03 - Valentined by Patricia Rockwell Page A

had
apparently tired of looking at the card, Essie took her valentine and returned
it to her basket.  Rising and heading down her hallway, she glanced at her
wristwatch .  Oh, my!  I spent over an hour sitting there chatting with those
four!   Surely that’s enough time for Santos to have left that room.  I
obviously missed him.
    As she rolled closer to her own doorway, she made a split
second decision and continued on down the hallway.  At the end of the corridor,
she rounded the corner to the left.  The corridor was empty.  Essie pushed her
walker slowly down the carpeted floor, counting and checking each doorway as
she went.  Her mind still contained a visual and mental picture of the doorway
into which Santos had gone.  It was the fifth one on the left , she said
to herself.  When she arrived at the doorway where she was certain that Santos
had delivered the tray earlier, she paused her walker and stood at the door so
she could read the name plate.
    Grace Bloom, she read to herself.  I know Grace. 
I could swear that she’s not ill.  She was at supper last night, I think. 
    Essie hesitated as she tried to decide whether or not to
knock.  If she knocked and Grace was home, what excuse would she give for
coming to visit?  She pondered all sorts of excuses but none came to mind.  She
knew who Grace was but the two women didn’t share in any activities at Happy
Haven so it wasn’t as if she could come calling on her about anything
specific.  Did they have anyone in common?  Anyone she could reference when she
spoke to the woman?  No , she thought.  I don’t know who she knows and
I can’t even remember how I know who she is.
    What the hedges! she said to herself finally.  Here
goes!
    She knocked firmly on the door.  There was a brief commotion
sound inside and suddenly the door opened a crack and Grace Bloom’s head peeked
out.
    “Yes?” she asked.
    “Grace Bloom?” asked Essie.
    “That’s me!” replied the woman, hanging on the door almost
defensively.
    “I…I…I’m Essie Cobb,” said Essie.  “I heard you were
ill.”
    “Ill?” cried Grace, laughing.  “Where did you get that
idea?”  The woman’s lively eyes sparkled behind her horn-rimmed glasses. 
    “I…I… believe I heard one of the kitchen workers mention
it,” lied Essie.
    “They must have been thinking of some other Grace,” said
Grace Bloom.  “Not me!”
    “So, you’re not sick?” asked Essie tentatively, stretching
her head around in an attempt to see beyond the door and into Grace Bloom’s
apartment.  It was impossible.  Grace had a tight grip on her door and was not
apparently going to open it for anyone.
    “No!” replied Grace.  She closed her mouth and stared at
Essie as if to say, so what?
    “Well,” said Essie suddenly.  “That’s wonderful!”  She
turned her walker abruptly and headed back down the hallway.
     
     
    Chapter Eleven
    “To fear love is to fear life, and
those who fear life are already three parts dead.”
    —Bertrand Russell
    That was a dead-end in more ways than one , thought
Essie as she rolled her walker into her apartment.  She couldn’t get the
picture of Grace Bloom out of her mind.  The woman had clutched her front door
as if it were a lifeboat.  Obviously she wasn’t sick, but what was going on? 
And why did Santos bring her a breakfast tray when Grace obviously wasn’t ill
or incapacitated.  Essie moved over to her rocker/recliner and slid down into
the cushion.  She stared ahead, through the blinds on her outside window that
fronted onto a small patio in the center of Happy Haven.  She could see a
squirrel zip up one of the snow-covered elm trees.  She pushed her chair back
and forth as if in rhythm with her fluctuating thoughts.
    Her eyes drifted to the top of her television set in the
corner by the window.  Essie didn’t keep many items on top of her TV because
she worried that they might get too hot and catch fire.  She did have a set