Poppy's Story (Good Intentions collection) by Kristina McMorris

Author:Kristina McMorris [McMorris, Kristina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Amazon Original Stories
Published: 2023-04-26T16:00:00+00:00

HUMBOLDT NURSING HOME

Her lungs tightened. This was the place.

When the landlady of Adeline’s last residence had provided the address, she’d given no insight into which ailments prompted the move. Left to Poppy’s imagination, the possibilities had contributed to keeping her away and were even more daunting now that she was here.

Muscling through her trepidation, she curved onto the long, grass-flanked driveway to reach a nondescript series of connected two-story buildings. A trio of parked cars lined the edge of the pavement’s circular end. She rolled up behind them and switched off the engine. The pair of fuzzy dice dangling from her rearview mirror continued to sway. Said to bring luck, they were a tradition passed down by wartime pilots. Today in particular, she hoped there was truth in the claim.

You can do this. You can do this.

About to exit, Poppy caught her reflection. From her perfectly applied peach lipstick to her updo adorned with a pillbox hat, she looked prim enough for afternoon tea with the queen. Suddenly frustrated by her own efforts, she was tempted to zoom straight home, but she couldn’t. She had to know. For a purpose beyond herself.

With her clutch purse held tight to her buttoned coat, she climbed out of the car and strode through the entry doors. The scent of disinfectant assaulted her nose. Squeaks echoed from the hallway on the right, from a wheelchair traversing linoleum. A nurse was pushing an older woman in a hospital gown with a blanket over her legs.

Breath held, Poppy scanned the patient’s features—white-blonde hair, light-blue eyes, sharp cheekbones—and found no resemblance.

She exhaled and approached the reception desk, where a lone nurse looked up from her paperwork. Her features were young and dainty, hair swept loosely in a low bun. “Hello, ma’am,” she said.

“Good morning.” Or was it early afternoon? Not important. “I’ve come for a visit with Mrs. Sutcliffe.” To sidestep any question of familial ties, Poppy added, “I’m an old acquaintance.”

It was far closer to the truth, sadly, than a lie.

“How nice.” The nurse smiled. “You’re one of her students?”

“No. I just—” Poppy’s thoughts snagged on the implication.

“Oh. Sorry.” The gal fluttered a hand in a don’t-mind-me fashion. “Given her other visitors, I just assumed.”

“You’re saying . . . she was a teacher?” Poppy stared, processing. Soon after the adoption, her struggles with reading had prompted Mama to find a devoted teacher who specialized in word blindness, later inspiring Poppy to pursue a teaching career herself.

But could there somehow, unknowingly, have been another draw?

“She taught for a good many years,” the nurse affirmed. Then a crinkle split her brow, suggesting suspicions over just how well Poppy knew the patient she had come to see.

Poppy quickly recovered with a light shrug. “Unfortunately, we lost touch for quite a while.” Also the truth.

“Ah. I see.” The crinkle ebbed and the nurse’s smile reappeared.

“Do you happen to know which grade she taught?”

“It was piano, actually.”

Poppy recalled the letter from the church secretary, her mention of Adeline substituting for the Sunday organist on occasion.

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