A. Homes - This Book Will Save Your Life

Richard and Ben go to look at the house. In addition to everything else, they have built some sort of underground retaining wall, so now there's a kind of dirt hump that looks like an oversized mole tunnel in a ring around the house.

The movie star is there, working with the construction guys. "Isn't it great? Really looks good, right?"

"Do you know what you're doing?" Richard asks.

"Well, yeah, the guys show me; it's not like they're just letting me randomly bang away at your house. In my next film I play a guy who was a carpenter; I thought I should get a feel for it. Hey, sorry about the fire ants. I think they came from my house — my sister bought some planters in Mexico that turned out to be infested. I read your friend's script — the G-man who was here about the hole. It's not bad; we're gonna option it. Have you ever met his wife?"

"No."

"She works as a hotel phone operator, but she's like a starlet; I'm thinking I should put her in the film."

The color lady shows up with the painter, who Richard has decided is also her sex slave. "You survived," she says.

Richard has no idea what she's talking about. "Yes," he says.

"What are we thinking now?" she asks.

"I don't know," Richard says. "You tell me. And by the way, this is my son, Ben. It's his room you've been working on."

She stands in front of Ben, looking at him closely, and then closes her eyes and waves her hands back and forth in front of him, around him, over him. "I'm getting a reading," she says.

Mesmerizing though it is, Richard is distracted by the sight of the movie star rappelling off the side of his house, holding a nail gun.

"I'm seeing a desk that's 'school of,'" the color lady says. "And a chunky handmade rug from Belgium, beautiful neutral-tone walls, grayish-brown mouse." Her eyes pop open. "Like it?" she asks Ben.

"Flat-screen TV," Ben says, channeling along with her. "High-speed Internet access — wireless."

SATURDAY MORNING, Nic pounds heavily on the front door. "Fred's dead. The nursing home called — he took a turn yesterday, they took him to the hospital. He died overnight. I don't understand why they didn't call. I am the person they're supposed to call."

"Can we drive you down?" Richard asks.

At the hospital Nic tells people he's Fred's son. The nurse is embarrassed. "We weren't expecting anyone; we sent him down to the morgue. I can have someone meet you there."

"What happened?"

"He'd most likely had a stroke during the night; we gave him oxygen and fluids, we supported him, but as you know he was DNR, that was a decision that he made — and then, while he was with us, he had what looked like another stroke. It was very peaceful."

"I want to see him."

"Yes," she says, picking up the phone and arranging for Fred to be taken out of storage. Ben and Richard go to the basement with Nic, waiting for him on the opposite side of a pair of heavy double doors marked "Authorized Personnel Only." Every time someone comes or goes, they catch a glimpse of Nic bent, talking to Fred. He is with him for a long time. When he comes out, his clothing smells of formaldehyde or whatever it is they're using now.

They go to the nursing home. "Is there a plan for a funeral?" Nic asks the director, a hard woman with a pinched face, like dried fruit.

"No funeral plans. We notified his niece in Delaware; he'll be cremated and interred at a plot shared with his wife, who predeceased him."

"Why wasn't I called?"

"The family was called."

"My name is on the paper that Fred signed, making his wishes clear."

"What can I tell you?"

"I want there to be a service for his friends to have a chance to say good-bye."

"Mr…," she says, and waits for Nic to fill in his name.

"Thompson," Nic says.

"We try not to make a big deal out of death. Everyone here is going to die, they all know it. We don't like to stir their feelings or cause panic."

"How about respect? How about treating them as adults who do know exactly what is going to happen to them, and make it a memorial service they can think about in a good way?"

"You are a guest here, you have friends among our residents, but you don't make the rules — I do."

"With your permission," Nic says, "I would like to hold a service and invite the residents."

"Not on the property," she says.

"Fine, off the property. Tomorrow. I will provide transportation and assistance for anyone willing and able to join us. Is that acceptable?"

She nods.

"And what would be a good time for the residents?"

"They're morning people," the directress says.

"How's eleven a.m.? I'll have them back in time for lunch."

"Fine," she says.

"And what about his belongings?"

"We usually recycle them. I can give you a few plastic bags if you'd like to clean out his room."

Nic goes down the hall, piles Fred's belongings into his arms, and goes around the home, speaking to each of the residents.

"Fred wanted me to give you his red sweater. Tomorrow we're going to celebrate Fred's life — we're out for pie. We'll leave around ten-thirty."

He gives away Fred's slippers, his new socks, his clean bathrobe, his cane. Nic gives Lillian — a woman who could still make Fred blush — a few of Fred's photos, the only truly personal item in his room: Fred as a young man in the army, Fred and his parents. "He had it for you," Nic tells her. "But I think you knew that."

"A lovely man," Lillian says. "Thank you."

Nic gives photos to Ben — Fred's wedding, Fred and his wife on their twenty-fifth anniversary. "Give one to Barth and keep one for yourself; whether you know it or not, you carry the past with you everywhere — it's better to know."

Nic tucks Fred's comb into his own back pocket, and he puts Fred's radio in the arms of a man who can barely lift his head.

"Fred asked me to be sure this made its way to you — he said you loved music," Nic lies.

The man mumbles something.

"We'll have transportation and pie, because you know how Fred felt about pie," Nic tells everyone. The residents are excited: not only have they received gifts, they have something to look forward to — pie.

"What about drinks? Can we get a decent cup of coffee?"

"Yes, coffee, tea, whatever you want."

NIC RENTS two minivans and hires a couple of off-duty aides from the nursing home. Richard calls Cynthia and asks her to come. "We need chaperones — some of these people have a tendency to wander."

In the morning, Nic and Richard and Barth and Ben and Cynthia and thirteen residents make the trip to the Farmers Market.

"What do you call this place?" one of them asks.

"It's the old Farmers Market," another says.

"Look, Brussels sprouts; we used to grow those in our garden, on the stalk, just like that. Can I hold them, just for a minute?"

Richard buys the woman a stalk of Brussels sprouts for two dollars. Barth of course is filming the whole thing, the loading and unloading of the old people.

At the memorial service he sits next to Cynthia. "Thanks for coming; how's the roommate?"

Cynthia shakes her head. "Not good — she's still in the hospital."

"Are you going to get a new one?"

"No. I'll keep the second bedroom open and start inviting the kids over — one at a time for overnights or weekends. I'm missing them."

Richard nods. "That would be nice."

"Well, I am their mother."

While they're talking, Richard notices one of the old people peeing on a chair.

Nic begins. "As far as I know, all Fred had was a bowling ball, his wife's dentures, and a couple of old pairs of shoes from when they used to go dancing. He liked pie, a nice big slice of pie, and he liked people. He liked each one of you, and you could tell from the way he would just light up as soon as anyone spoke to him. Is there anything any of you want to say about Fred?"