Jack stops when I speak.

“That’s okay,” he says. “We’re glad you’re here.”

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” I say. “Not for a long time.”

“You’ll sleep well here,” he says. “I think you’ll sleep very well. Everyone does. Shelley wants everything as comfortable as possible.”

His voice is thin, reedy, like his body.

“Those paintings that you were looking at. They aren’t finished,” I say.

We hear a burst of laughter coming from somewhere. It’s uproarious—a high-pitched shriek, followed by clapping and cheering.

“Sounds like the others are ready to meet you,” he says.

Jack helps me along, holding my arm, the way Shelley did. We’ve only just met, but I’m comfortable walking with him like this. I feel safe. Secure. I feel my head swiveling, turning back and forth, up and down, as I try to take it all in: the floor, walls, the ceiling, the windows, the furniture.

The interior of this house is deceptive. It doesn’t make sense. From the outside, it looked old, grand, palatial, intimidating. But now, inside, walking along the hall, it feels intimate, charming, cozy.

“Who is the tall woman?” I ask.

“Shelley?”

“Yes. Is she the landlord?”

When he smiles, I see that he is missing one tooth at the side near the back.

“She’s the manager. It’s an old family house, but she converted it into Six Cedars. It’s her life’s work. She’s really smart and passionate about elder care. She actually has a degree in some kind of organic chemistry or biology. She has a lot of theories about long-term care, about living the best life for as long as possible. We’re in good hands.”

We arrive at the entrance of a bright, spacious sitting room. When I see the chairs and other people, I freeze. I’ve never liked public speaking. I never liked introducing myself, talking about myself, explaining who I am to others.

“Come on,” he says. He leans closer and whispers. “They’re excited to meet you.”

Three people, all old, like me, sitting in a spaced semicircle around Shelley. There’s one empty chair waiting for me. Shelley waves me over.

“Penny, you’re just in time. Please come in, come in.”

I clutch Jack’s arm as he takes me to the circle. I’m glad he’s with me.

Only one of the other residents, a woman with a short bob haircut, the same style I used to have when I was in my early twenties, turns toward me. The others don’t move. I’m relieved. I don’t want attention or fuss. I hate the spotlight.

The short-haired woman brings one hand in the shape of an O up to her eye as if she’s looking through a telescope. She waves at me with the other.

Even though I’m worried about what’s next, what it will be like here, what will be expected of me, it is calming to see others who look like me, who are my age, my contemporaries.

Jack leads me over to the only free chair in the circle and eases me down.