Cinnamon and Spice Conundrum (Cinnamon Rolls and Pumpkin Spice)

Chapter 20

Sadie

Jack’s and my concern over Georgeanne’s and Agnes’s whereabouts ratchets up as every hour passes. They usually can’t wait even thirty minutes after opening to inquire as to whether any of their pinecone creations have sold. Are they just avoiding the crowds?

At the end of Jack’s shift, we head over to the senior assisted living complex where the two friends live. They each have their own apartment, giving them their private space, but the facility also provides meals and activities if they want to join in.

“This place is nice,” Jack comments as he pulls into the parking lot. The red brick buildings have white shutters and neatly trimmed lawns. Flowerpots—this time of year containing yellow or orange mums—grace the front entrances. There are even a few rocking chairs scattered about on the porch.

“I agree. This is one reason we have such a thriving retirement community. After this place was built, retirees relocated here from all over the country,” I say.

Since I’ve visited both ladies before, I know which building they’re living in. After we enter Building B, the lady at the reception desk greets us warmly. “Welcome to Sunset Pines! How may I help you?”

“We’re here to see Agnes Merryweather or Georgeanne Waterstone,” I say.

“Oh my! Are you family?”

Jack and I trade worried looks. “No, we’re friends of theirs,” I say.

She looks us over from head to toe. “I usually reserve this kind of information for family, but I’ll make an exception this time. ”

I draw in a breath and hold it, waiting for what surely is some distressing news.

“Miss Agnes took a bad tumble, and she broke her hip. I believe Georgeanne is with her at Pine Cone General.”

My heart stutters at the thought of active and vibrant Agnes being in the hospital, but at least she’s alive. I was honestly worried about a worse outcome.

“Thank you,” Jack says, gently steering me back towards his car. After he pulls from the lot, he says, “Which way to the hospital?”

I provide directions, though worry and fear over Agnes’s condition keep me otherwise silent during the ride.

“She’ll be okay. Modern medicine has come a long way in repairing broken hips,” Jack says.

“Do you think we’ll be able to see her since we’re not family?” I voice my concerns aloud.

“Maybe, maybe not. But at the least we can get an update from Georgeanne,” Jack says in his unflappable, soothing way.

After entering the medical facility, a young woman wearing pink scrubs looks up from her perch behind the computer at the reception desk.

“We’re here to see Agnes Merryweather,” I say.

She squints at me, not in a friendly fashion. “You and the rest of the community,” she replies in a put-out tone. “Go take a seat in Waiting Area 2.”

She provides no directions, so Jack finds a map and we figure out where Waiting Area 2 is located. Down a long hallway and two turns later, we enter the large waiting room. Almost every seat is filled with seniors—a sea of gray hair, canes, and the occasional walker makes them easily identifiable.

Shouts of “Sadie and Jack!” greet us as we walk into the room.

“Here’s two open seats!” Phyllis Underwood yells, pointing to the chairs beside her .

Jack and I sit in the serviceable, albeit uncomfortable-looking, straight-backed chairs, then the interrogation begins.

“I heard you two are a couple,” Phyllis says.

“When are you going to propose, Jack?” a gray-haired lady sitting beside her asks.

“For an out-of-towner, you fit in well,” a man three chairs down adds, directing the comment at Jack.

“You make pretty good coffee, but it’s a little overpriced,” another man says. He must be related to Wilbur. My eyes scan the room looking for the curmudgeon, but he’s not present.

Trying to cut off the barrage of questions, I ask, “How’s Agnes?”

Of course, that leads to a comprehensive discussion of Agnes’s hip injury, different surgical repair options—ranging from inserting screws and a metal plate to the thighbone to partial hip replacement—and one man launches into a treatise about recovery and rehabilitation, droning on and on about the exercises he had to do when his hip was replaced. He even demonstrates a few from his sitting position.

“Stuart, you’re being a windbag,” a grumbly male voice says, causing every head to turn towards the new speaker. Wilbur’s standing in the doorway, leaning on his cane and sporting his usual scowl.

The group welcomes him excitedly and he takes a seat at the far side of the room, giving Jack and me a cursory nod.

“Sometimes Wilbur’s bluntness can be a blessing,” Jack whispers to me behind his hand.

“What? You didn’t want to see Stuart do a demonstration of the glute squeeze?” I say, trying to keep a straight face.

Jack gives me an eye roll and a smirk as I try not to laugh.

“Sadie Hawthorne?” a lady wearing magenta scrubs and holding an iPad hollers from the front of the room.

I raise my hand. “That’s me.”

She nods. “Miss Merryweather wants a word.” When I stand, the woman adds, “Your boyfriend can come too. ”

Blushing, but ignoring her boyfriend comment, I follow her out of the room, Jack hot on my heels.

“We expect a full update!” one of the grayheads shouts.

The nurse’s orthopedic shoes squeak on the linoleum floors as we trail after her. She motions for us to enter a room, then says, “You have ten minutes.”

Georgeanne pops up from the lone chair in the room positioned beside a pale-looking Agnes lying in the hospital bed.

“Thank you for coming!” she says, then turns to Agnes. “I’m going to get a cup of coffee.” Agnes nods and Georgeanne leaves.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, rushing to the bed and taking Agnes’s hand. “We were so worried about you.”

She grimaces. “It was a silly fall. And now I’ve got to spend weeks in rehab.”

Jack and I exchange glances. After Stuart’s lengthy discussion about hip rehabilitation, we know exactly what she’s talking about.

“You’ll be back on your feet in no time,” Jack says encouragingly.

“Well, I certainly won’t be able to emcee The Pinecone Toss this evening,” Agnes grumbles. “And I was so looking forward to crowning the Cone Crusaders! They’ve been practicing for months and look like this year’s favorites,” she adds in a conspiratorial voice. “I want you to fill in for me,” she says, squeezing my hand.

“Me?” I yelp, my nerves kicking in at the thought of facing the public.

“Yes, dear. You’re the perfect choice. Everyone likes you, and you have the sassy demeanor required for an emcee.”

Jack hitches a brow and gives me a thumbs up, his vote of confidence giving me courage.

Jack thinks I can do it!

Rising to the occasion, I say, “Agnes, I’d be honored to emcee the event. ”

“Excellent! Dilbert can let you in to the Mayor’s Office to pick up the trophy and gift certificate.” The body shop owner is the assistant mayor, but he’s a man of few words, so I know why Agnes doesn’t ask him to fill in for her at this illustrious event.

Oh! “You’ll also need to wear the pinecone crown and sash,” Agnes says. “Those are in my apartment. I’ll let the receptionist know you’re going to pick those up.”

Flipping through my memories of previous festivals, I try to remember whether Agnes wore this crown and sash she’s talking about. I’m going to feel like a beauty pageant nerd wearing those, but I guess it’s all in good fun and the spirit of the festival.

As we’re saying our goodbyes and wishing Agnes a speedy recovery, Georgeanne flies back into the room.

“Whew! I’m glad I caught you,” she says, breathing hard. “I ran back here to ask about progress on selling the pinecone crafts. Do you know how many have sold so far?”

Knowing that two of Georgeanne’s lovely pictures have sold but none of Agnes’s napkin holders have been purchased so far, I deftly avoid a specific answer. “There’s been a lot of interest, but I don’t have a sales tally with me.”

The two ladies’ sport disappointed frowns. “Can you bring the sales sheet with you when you visit tomorrow?” Georgeanne asks.

I nod weakly.

“Jack, can you please video the Pinecone Toss trophy ceremony? We can post it on my mayor YouTube channel,” Agnes requests.

Jack grins and nods amicably. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to miss capturing Sadie’s debut.”

As we depart, Jack waggles his eyebrows and whispers in my ear, “I can’t wait to see you in that crown and sash.”

I groan.