The Fallen Angels Book Club by R. Franklin James Read Free Book Online

neck. She peered at me through a third bright red pair that sat up on her nose. Her son was an optometrist.
    I knew better than to question her orders. “There are a couple of cake donuts in there, too,” I told the slow-moving Tiny over my shoulder as I headed for the kitchen.
    â€œPut those aside for me.” Tiny wobbled behind me. “Lily’s in the library. I helped her get all her papers together.”
    We’d fallen into a routine. Tiny was the self-appointed director of operations. As long as I’d helped the seniors get their legal affairs in order, I could count the number of times I’d encountered the center’s paid director, Opal Murray, although she had given me a key. Nursing assistants always seemed to be elsewhere. The residents didn’t appear to mind. They took care of their own.
    I quickly laid out the baked goods on cafeteria trays and placed them in the dining area, trying to finish before the seniors got to the table. Over the months, I had suffered through endless comments about my weight—too fat or too thin, my poor skin, my bright eyes, my hair too long, my hair too short, my unmarried status and my preferences in men. One of the male residents slowly came through the door with his walker, followed by a few of his comrades. I rushed to finish putting out the napkins. The men were just a few feet away when I was finally able to escape down the hallway with a hearty wave.
    The center’s “library” was not a friendly place. It was a plain room with four six-foot-high, mismatched faux wood bookshelves. I brought the finished books from the Fallen Angels here. They fit right in with all the other well-worn discards. In one corner, two squeaky wooden chairs faced off on either side of a small battered desk. In the center of the room sat an oblong metal reading table and Lily Wilson.
    â€œGood morning, Lily.” I sat next to her. “How are you today?”
    â€œI began to wonder if you’d forgotten me. What’s wrong with your hair? You need to let it grow.” Arthritic fingers grasped the handle of a coffee mug. Her other hand gripped her wheelchair armrest. “Here are my papers. I need you to read this letter from Social Security and tell me what it means. Please speak clearly. Don’t mumble.”
    I was used to Lily’s less than warm greetings and marked it up to “no good deed goes unpunished.” I was the one who had asked the firm to adopt the senior center as our pro bono client.
    â€œNo problem. Remember, Avery Mitchell agreed to go over all your trust papers and real estate documents with you next Monday. I can be here with him, if you like.”
    â€œYou’re not listening. This letter is about my Social Security, not my will. Is that nice girl back from her vacation? She listened to me. She can come back with Mr. Mitchell.”
    Ignoring the slight, I pulled the letter out of the envelope. “Lily, remember Linda’s not on vacation. She left the firm for a new job. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”
    â€œOh, that’s right.” She patted her thin hair. “Well, at least you try. Those Social Security people are changing my benefits. I earned that money. I worked thirty years as a teacher. So you’re sure the nice girl isn’t coming back?”
    Inside the envelope was a piece of tablet paper folded in small squares. I spread it out and read it.
    â€œLily, this says Marla wants to see me, too.”
    â€œOh, yes, yes. I wrote it to remind me. You’re to see Marla in the kitchen. Or, was it the sunroom? Just help me first.”
    After about an hour of starts and stops, we finished. Wheeling her into the recreation room with the others, I placed her next to the windows.
    She grabbed my hand. “You know, I have a beautiful stained glass window in my dining room. My daughter was an artist and made it for me. The windows here are ugly.” She