No chilly air brushed past me as Lonnie's ghost left the room when I opened the door. Nothing jumped out from under the bed to scare me. The hair didn't stand up on my arms, nor did any scary music play in my head. It looked exactly as I remembered from back when I was a little girl. Which was completely out of place. All the other rooms in the house were filled with junk, but this room was stark and plain with a nightstand on each side of a full-sized bed. No knickknacks anywhere. A calendar dated the year he had died back in the nineties was the only thing hanging on the walls. Plain white curtains framed the single window overlooking the front yard. A rocking chair with a worn red plaid pad in the seat stood nearby. Uncle Lonnie's polyester pants and jackets still hung in the closet along with cotton shirts, his wing-tipped shoes and bedroom slippers lined up neatly on the floor.

The room was spotless, not even one lonesome old dust bunny hiding under the bed. Why would Aunt Gert clean the room on a regular basis and then put a padlock on the outside? But just in case there was a ghost in there that only came out at a certain time, I snapped the padlock shut when I left. By the time I got back downstairs, the phone was ringing.

"What the devil are you doing?" Marty asked when I answered it.

"Taking a look at my inheritance," I answered.

"I don't mean that. Why were you in town looking worse than the garbage collector?"

"That is none of your business."

"Drew is going to kill you. I heard you went into the bank and made a big withdrawal from his accounts and then went to the other bank to deposit it. Is that true?" - - -- - -- - --- - - -- -

I stretched the phone cord, but it wouldn't reach to the kitchen, so I couldn't see if there was any rat poison under the sink. "Doesn't the town have anything else to talk about today? They could be discussing dear old Aunt Gert."

"It's your funeral they're going to be discussing when Drew comes home"

"I'm sure you and Betsy will console him after he kills me. Maybe you can make him some hot chicken salad like Lori Lou did."

Dead silence on the other end of the phone line.

"Are you still there, Marty?"

"What are you talking about?"

"He might not be too choosy, especially if the affair with Charity goes south. And it will. She'll get tired of him. Maybe you can make him some hot chicken salad, and he'll buy you a new car. I think you have to be about Crystal's age to get a Thunderbird, but then, I might be wrong"

Nothing felt better than listening to her gasp when I hung up the phone.

They've been talking about you," Momma whispered when I stopped at the nursing home on my way to Durant the next morning. I'd slept poorly. Different house. Different bed. I needed it to be a good day with Momma.

"Who has?" I asked.

"You know who. They said you moved into Gert's house. She's dead, you know. She won't be there to keep you company."

"I know, Momma. I went to her funeral yesterday, and she left me the house. I'm going to remodel it and live there." --- -- - - --- - - -- -- - -

We were sitting in the little garden behind the nursing home. A dove flew up, alit on the low branches of a tree, and cocked its gray head toward us. The thermometer on the side of the porch post that morning had read eighty-five degrees, and the weatherman had said it would be in the high nineties before the day was finished. A soft, warm breeze flowed through the garden, and Momma lifted her head to catch the sun's rays. She still had a lovely complexion, and the home's beautician kept her hair dyed the same shade of dark brown that she'd had when she was a young woman. Her eyes were the same shade as Crystal's, that lovely summer sky blue. She was a perfect size four before she married Daddy, and she'd maintained that size all her life.

When she brought her chin down, her eyes had gone blank. Past, present, and future would be mixed up together as if she'd tossed them into a blender and pushed the puree button. She whispered, "Gert should have known better than to marry that Lonnie. Forty is too old to be a bride, and him ten years younger. He wants her money, but she's a smart girl, that Gert is."

"Nice warm morning," Lessie said as she sat down in a chair next to Momma. Her back was as straight as it had been when she was fifteen, and her hair boasted very little gray.

Momma smiled at Lessie. "It is, isn't it? Did you know that Gert died and left Trudy her house? Trudy was married at one time, but her husband died. She keeps a lock on his bedroom door. I never figured out why, but she does"

Lessie sat down beside Momma and winked at me. "Yes, I was sorry that Gert died. Marty also told us you've moved into her house."

"Marty was here?" I was amazed.

Lessie nodded. "Last night. Came to see about a job. This place needs an activities director. Someone to fix up a party once a month and to help us old codgers paint flowerpots. Your mother and I were sitting in the lounge watching a rerun of The Golden Girls. That one where Blanche's daddy dies and she gets crossways with her sister and won't go to the funeral. Marty stopped and visited for a minute on her way out. I think she was too late. They hired someone yesterday morning."

Lessie's mind was still good, but she had diabetes, congestive heart failure, arthritis, and a whole host of other physical problems. Momma's little body was in perfect shape, but Alzheimer's had robbed her of her mind.

"Blanche was sorry she didn't go to Big Daddy's funeral. I'm sorry I didn't go to Drew's funeral, but I never liked that man. I might have spit in his dead face," Momma said seriously.

"Momma, you always loved Drew," I reminded her.

"I'm a good pretender." She shot me a puzzled look. "Who are you? I'm waiting for Trudy. She'll be home from school for lunch soon. I'm making her grilled cheese sandwiches and real fried potatoes" She turned to Lessie. "Are you the new maid? If you are, then be sure and clean the toilet better than you did last week"

Lessie took her arm. "Yes, ma'am, I am the new maid. You come on with me, and we'll go look at that toilet right now." She whispered to me, "I'll get her back to her room. Tomorrow-might be a better day."

"I hope so," I said.

"Glad to hear you're going to live in Gert's house. There ain't no use in talkin' about the reason you made that decision. Just get on with your life. You're still young and pretty."

At ninety plus, Lessie would probably classify any almostforty-year-old woman as young and pretty, but I appreciated the compliment.

I hit a button that opened the back door into the activities and physical therapy room, and we all three filed into the nursing home. Lessie and Momma slowly made their way across the room and down the hall to the right. I went on through the visitors' lounge and punched in the code to open the front door, only to find that the code had been changed. A nurse's aide came along and poked in the right numbers to let me out.

While she pushed the buttons, I checked my reflection in the door glass. I hardly recognized the woman looking back at me. She wore Aunt Gert's jeans rolled up at the hems and a T-shirt with a sequined butterfly across the chest. A few sequins had long since flown away in the Oklahoma wind, but several hanging threads gave testimony to the fact that they'd once sparkled there. Her long brown hair was tied back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck with a red silk scarf, and her green eyes looked tired. I rather liked the new, strange woman in the glass, even with the tired eyes, but it wasn't any wonder that Momma hadn't recognized me.