5:23 p.m.Susan hadn’t gone home after dropping Rachel off. Instead, she’d headed over to the Windsor Retirement Home. Some people went out on dates and hit the bars on a Friday night.Susan read to the elderly.It wasn’t something she talked about, it was just what she did. When her dad had moved there with Alzheimer’s when she was just seventeen, Susan had made it a habit to go to the home every weekend. Every Friday after school she stopped at the Krystal’s on the corner of Third and Main and got Dad his favorite sliders and onion rings and then snuck them into the home in her school backpack. She wasn’t supposed to bring in outside food—the staff liked to keep all the seniors on the same bland diet, so they didn’t run into any gastric problems.But Dad had always loved his grease. He frequently didn’t remember who she was when she walked in, but his face always lit up at the sight of the Krystal’s bag when she closed his door and pulled it out of her backpack.After they fought over the last onion ring, she’d pull out the latest John Saul or Tess Gerritsen book and read him a chapter.
