The Reading Circle Read Online Free PDF Page B

many aged patients. There was a part of him that hoped he would never live long enough to have to be “committed” to a facility like that; but it was in sharp conflict with the other part that was convinced he was going to live forever and go down in The Guinness Book of World Records as a result.
    Enough of these idle musings. It was time to get this task over and done with. So he headed in with a snap to his step and was soon signing his name in the ledger that displayed Nora Duddney’s spidery signature several lines and hours above his. The officious receptionist, a frowning man with severely thinning dark hair whose gold nameplate on the counter identified him as Victor Prather, picked up the phone and notified the assisted living wing of the visitor waiting in the foyer.
    â€œShe’ll be right out to get you,” Victor told him after the brief conversation had ended.
    â€œNurse Trella Goodell, I assume.”
    For a few awkward seconds Victor looked put-upon, as if the woman’s identity should be kept secret, but he finally exhaled in what sounded remarkably like a tone of resignation. “Yes, she’s the main one on duty over there today.”
    At first Councilman Sparks wanted to lean over the faux marble counter and make a smart remark. “You like your job a lot, do you?” came to mind. But he thought better of it.
    After only a minute or so, Trella Goodell emerged from one of the corridors and shook the councilman’s hand warmly. Here was an older woman who exuded empathy while obviously not having missed many meals. The roundness of her fleshy face, combined with its prominent laugh lines, surely gave her patients an additional sense of comfort as she tended to their needs. As a result, “jolly old girl” were the words that had most often been used to describe her.
    â€œYou’ve come at a good time,” Trella continued, after they had exchanged the usual pleasantries. “He’s just up from another of his dozens of naps. Of course, he spends most of his time asleep, as you probably know.”
    â€œSo you’ve told me.”
    â€œLookie here, Mr. Duddney!” Trella announced quite loudly, as she ushered Councilman Sparks into the man’s cozy bedroom a few minutes and twists and turns of corridors later. There were lots of framed pictures tacked to the white walls for decoration, but this small assisted universe of his lacked much personality otherwise. “You have another visitor. Two in one day. First your daughter comes, and now Mr. Sparks is here to see you!”
    This pale, withered specimen whose visible flesh seemed to blend perfectly into the pale beige pajamas he was wearing appeared frozen in place, propped up against the pillows of his bed. There was an unexpected dignity to it, however, as if he were patiently posing for an artist doing his portrait. Momentarily, Layton Duddney barely moved his bald head, which still sprouted a handful of wispy white strands and peered at the couple standing in the door frame.
    â€œTime . . . t’eat . . . yet?” he managed, moving his mouth in what seemed to be slow motion.
    â€œYou just ate an hour ago,” Trella told him, her professional smile still in place. “I brought you your tray.”
    â€œDidda . . . eat it?”
    â€œYou ate your string beans,” she told him. “A bite of the chicken breast. It was grilled today.”
    He began to perk up, and there was a sudden flash of recognition in his eyes. “Dessert?”
    â€œYes, you had dessert. Rice pudding. You liked it. You always like it when we have rice pudding.”
    He began peering intently at Councilman Sparks, slowly looking him up and down. “Who’s he? . . . I don’t need changin’!”
    Trella’s tone became even more patronizing. “No, Mr. Duddney. This is not the orderly. This is Councilman Durden Sparks. From City Hall. From Cherico. From in