I’d asked Rose to join us shopping, but she already had something, and said it was a surprise.
Inside Hilltop, the volunteers had outdone themselves with the decorations. Candy was in charge, telling everyone what went where. Letty wore a cone-shaped party hat and followed Candy around, making sure things were to her liking. A dance floor had been cleared in the common room in front of the piano and band equipment, and a long table lined an outer wall, where all the food was to go. Though most of the guests hadn’t arrived yet, a buzz of excitement filled the air.
Once through the doors, Grub disappeared down a hallway toward Blackjack’s room, yelling something about the final mission. Unfortunately, Blackjack wouldn’t be attending the party. His condition hadn’t improved, and his nurses had advised he stay in bed.
As Grub scampered away, Mom grumbled something about “expressing himself” and “special snowflake,” still heated about the grocery-store lady. I had to hand it to her though—she’d really outdone herself with the menu. She’d whipped up a variety of hors d’oeuvres and desserts, and even some options for those with more restricted diets.
As I wheeled the trays into the room, Rose popped out from around a corner, nearly making me spill the tower of brownies. She wore a red dress with black polka dots, which looked incredible on her. It’s funny how just a couple months ago I’d have stammered and stuttered, forcing myself to keep eye contact with her. But today, I drank her in and it felt right.
“You look amazing, Rose,” I said.
“Aw, thanks,” she said, doing a half spin and exposing a bit of thigh. “And look at you, stud muffin! You clean up nicely,” she said, followed by a throat purr.
“Yeah, I think I found a new look,” I said, brushing fake dust from my shoulders and pretending to slick my hair back.
“So, are you ready for our big musical debut?”
I wasn’t. We’d only rehearsed our duet once, so I’d written down the lyrics and chords on a piece of paper, which I’d stuffed in my back pocket.
“Absolutely,” I replied.
“You’ll do great,” she said, giving me a quick peck on the cheek.
And that’s all it took. It would be great.
By six fifteen, Hilltop Nursing Home had become a cacophony of conversation, laughter, and music. Letty’s guests piled in by the dozens, ranging in mobility from stroller to wheelchair. Having found the triple chocolate brownies, even Missy Stouffer seemed to enjoy herself, though she kept one eye out for misbehavior at all times.
After Letty opened her gifts, which included a life-sized cutout of Tom Jones, she and the Bettys stepped to the stage to perform “Stop! In the Name of Love” by Diana Ross and the Supremes, complete with choreography. Letty, in a gold lamé party pantsuit, was the belle of the ball, her hips swinging and bracelets jangling.
I sat with Dylan, Novie, and Axl, eating, talking, and watching. Dylan nervously scanned the crowd to keep an eye out for crazy cousin DeeDee, though she never did make an appearance. Dylan had been doing a lot better and seemed to be getting over his breakup with Anna. In fact, the number of times he’d checked his phone that morning at Goodwill made us wonder if there might be someone new.
We were all laughing and drilling him for information when Rose stepped up to the microphone. “Mr. Gunderson to the stage, please, Mr. Gunderson to the stage. If I could get everyone’s attention, we have a very special song for a very special lady: Letty Kowalczyk!”
Letty strutted to the dance floor with her hands in the air as the crowd cheered and applauded. Someone popped a party streamer at her, resulting in hair full of confetti. She didn’t seem to mind.
“Wish me luck,” I said to my friends.
“Good luck,” said Novie.
“Break a leg,” said Axl.
“You got this, man,” said Dylan. “Let the music play you, don’t worry about mistakes.”
“Thanks, guys,” I said.
I sat by Rose with my guitar and uncrumpled the paper with the lyrics and chords. Rose gave me a wink of encouragement, counted us in, and we began “The Way You Look Tonight” by Frank Sinatra. We shared singing duties, but Rose carried the song musically. Letty danced by herself at first, until one by one family members came out for a turn. Axl, Novie, and their mom, Crash, all had a spin with her, as did other relatives. George Larsen even stepped in for a couple steps before Lucille dragged him away by the arm. Letty looked to be having the time of her life, wiping an occasional tear from her eye.
And while the song was for Letty, Rose and I shared enough private glances to know that it was for us, too.
The party ended with Dylan, Axl, and Novie joining us onstage to perform our two songs, closing the night out with “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’.” The dance floor became a melting pot of wheelchairs, walkers, and youth, all intermixing and trading partners. Toward the end, a circle formed around Letty, where she executed the Robot, the Sprinkler, and a Michael Jackson kick-spin.
Upon the final cymbal crash, the crowd cheered and Letty took a bow.
Axl leaned over to me, offering a fist bump. “Great job, man!”
“For real. Solid playing,” said Novie.
“You, too!” I said.
“Seriously, guys, we sounded tight!” said Dylan. We high-fived and exchanged hugs, Rose included. We’d just completed our first gig, and it felt great.
Meanwhile, Letty had stepped onto the stage and grabbed a microphone. “Ladies and gentleman of Hilltop, friends old and new, and my wonderful family—thank you so much. You know how to throw a great fucking party!”
Missy Stouffer sprung to the stage and snatched the microphone from Letty’s hand. “Thank you for coming, everyone, visiting hours are now over. All residents please return to your rooms. Candy, volunteers, please attend to the mess. Thank you.”
Letty tapped Missy on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Ms. Stouffer, but my personal volunteer will be escorting me to my room.”
Missy made a face at me that may have been a smile. “Of course.” And then she marched off to her office.
Letty stuck out her elbow for me to grab.
I turned to Rose. “Be right back.”
Rose wagged a finger at us. “You two behave now.”
Letty winked. “No promises.”
I took Letty by the elbow and walked her to her room.
Once inside, she let out a long sigh and sat on the edge of her bed. She kicked off her shoes and rolled her feet around to stretch her ankles. “Pour me some water, kiddo.”
As I grabbed the water pitcher, I noticed a framed black-and-white photograph of a young man in military uniform on the nightstand.
“Is that your husband?” I asked.
“That’s my Dickey. Just before he got shipped off to France.”
He didn’t look much older than me.
“Did he . . . make it back?”