The Lone Star Lonely Hearts Club Read Online Free PDF Page B

long.”
    Opened its doors? Full house? Waiting list?
    Did Annabelle operate an orphanage? A homeless shelter? Was she the new Mayflower Madam?
    Why hadn’t I heard a peep about this before?
    “What is it, exactly?”
    “Belle Meade’s a very lovely retirement community,” Mother said in a hushed voice and smoothed her skirt.
    Ah. I squinted. “An old folks’ home?”
    “My word, Andrea, get with the program. No one calls them that!” She sniffed, defensive, looking at me like she wanted to wash my mouth out with soap. “It’s for mature adults who don’t want the trouble of maintaining their own property, and it’s beautifully done. Annabelle modeled this one after the first Belle Meade, which she debuted in Austin a few years back. She told me she flew down Jimmy Miller from Chicago to do the interior design for both.” She sucked in her cheeks and added, “He did Oprah’s penthouse, you know, and her farm in Indiana.”
    Call me slow, but I was getting the picture.
    “So it’s not like the depressing place where we visited Meemaw?” I asked, conjuring up the medicinal smell, the fluorescent-lit hallways and frowning nursing staff, every one of whom I’d nicknamed Nurse Ratched. Though, admittedly, toward the end, Meemaw was rather wretched herself.
    “Oh, heavens, not even close.” Mother tugged at a gray-pearl earring. “Your Meemaw needed constant nursing supervision before she passed on, and that was eons ago, practically the dark ages. Belle Meade doesn’t have a skilled nursing unit. It’s for independent and assisted living only.”
    “So, if you get really sick, they ship you off to somewhere like Meemaw’s Hellhole of Jell-O?” Well, that’s what I’d used to call it.
    “Really, Andrea, you’re impossible.” Cissy stared down her nose at me. An astonishing feat, considering we were at eye-level. “Living at Belle Meade is rather like staying at the Four Seasons, with three squares a day and a doctor on-call.”
    Hush my mouth.
    That was lavish praise indeed, coming from Her Highness of Highland Park, Queen of Good Taste, and Staunch Defender of the Uppity.
    “Sounds nice,” I offered, sensing a trap being set, and I was the hapless mouse.
    “Well, you’ll see for yourself,” she drawled, toying with the rings on her fingers, paying particular attention to her wedding band. “Annabelle claims to have spared no expense, and I believe her, though they’re still working out some kinks. Dallasites are so particular, you know. We’re used to being spoiled.” She shrugged dismissively. “But the dining hall is scrumptious, and Annabelle hired away a chef from the Mansion so it’s as good as eating out anywhere in town.”
    Uh-huh, sure it was.
    I eyed her skeptically, and a crow cawed from a tree nearby, seeming to echo my cynicism. This Xanadu for the Medicare crowd sounded too good to be true, and Mother was talking like its marketing director.
    “There’s also a full-service spa that does divine seaweed wraps. And, of course, there’s a crack medical staff on the premises, and they have nearly as many yoga and Pilates classes as the Cooper Clinic.”
    “Sounds très posh,” I remarked, figuring it must’ve cost a bundle to build, and not a small price to live there. If such a place had existed when my Meemaw was still around, she would’ve signed up faster than you could say “Geritol.”
    “It’s very comfortable, indeed,” Mother concurred and smiled primly.
    Holy cow.
    A bell went off in my head.
    How come Cissy knew so much about this place? Was it just because Annabelle ran it, or because she’d been doing some research for herself?
    Was this something my mother had been considering? Selling her and Daddy’s house and moving into a luxury resort for the senior set? How else could she speak so fondly of the seaweed wraps and the dining room décor?
    Oh, fudge.
    My stomach pitched.
    I imagined the elegant 1920s stucco on Beverly where I’d grown up with a