The resulting problem being that, while I’d instinctively trusted and admired Marlene, I liked and sympathized more with Deanna. I’d liked the awkward and reluctant way she’d comforted me. I liked her clumsy inability to hide the fact that she was wishing it didn’t have to be her — that someone else would take over. I liked that I could see her struggling. I couldn’t quite believe someone like Deanna was running a facility like Seaside and I was pretty sure I didn’t want my sister living there. But at the same time, my stronger inclination was the more irrational one — not to disappoint Deanna; not to let her down. So I was avoiding her calls too.

The other thing was, Seaside had an immediate opening; Gorsebrook didn’t — this was what Marlene had told me Monday. Seaside had an immediate opening because my mother had claimed it in advance. It belonged to us. It had Kelli’s name on it.

“But what we can do,” said Marlene — on the afternoon she had so kindly “moved a few things around” in order to be able to squeeze me in for a chat “about your wonderful sister!” — “is have Kelli come in a few afternoons a week to spend time with the staff and other residents. She’ll become used to the environment and by the time we have an opening, she’ll slot right in.”

I had been surprised a woman of Marlene’s cultivated warmth and tact would use a term like “slot right in” when it came to a potential resident — it made me think of papers being slid into a file and the file being tucked away inside a drawer — but I forgave her when she added that there would be no charge for Kelli’s trial afternoons.

“We just might ask you to contribute to supplies every so often,” added Marlene. “We do crafts, baking. That sort of thing. We also encourage relatives to volunteer, if you’d like to sit in on a few afternoons and help your sister acclimatize.”

I held up my hand in irritation, as if to say, god, shut up, as if Marlene had been haranguing me this whole time instead of potentially answering my prayers. Everything she was suggesting was ideal. Kelli loved to socialize. She loved having friends, a place to go, activities to look forward to. The idea of habituating Kelli to a facility before moving her there made so much sense I couldn’t quite believe my mother hadn’t come up with it herself. It was because, I figured, my mother had settled on Seaside long ago — maybe even before Gorsebrook, a much newer facility, had come into existence. Once my mother made a decision, it was inviolable. So I supposed she simply hadn’t considered any alternatives, and she certainly wouldn’t have considered consulting with me over them if she had. And I supposed, further, that Seaside had never offered her anything like this.

But then again, here was a thought. Here was a sudden thought I had, sitting across from Marlene’s comely, competent face. Consider my mother, who had never been willing to even entertain the idea of putting Kelli in a home while she was alive. Who stood up from the dinner table mid-dinner and walked away the first time I’d mustered the gall to utter such blasphemy. Who went into her room and slammed the door and stayed there for an hour saying her rosary extra-loud, with weird, angry emphasis on random words (Hail Mary! Full of grace! The Lord is with thee!). Point being, this very same woman had arranged for Kelli to be put into a home upon her, my mother’s, death. Summarily. Without so much as a how-do-you-do. Just — boom, Mother dies, Kelli goes to Seaside.