Apple Blossom Lane

Knowing full well that apples don’t grow in Florida, Cassandra Hart checked off the want ad in the paper that morning anyway. It took her a while to find the place, looking for the normal dismal nursing home setting. Apple Blossom Lane turned out to be one of the large old homes on Longboat Key. Located right on the Gulf of Mexico, the mansion was meticulously landscaped with various types of palm trees and all the brilliant flowering shrubs that Florida was famous for. Not an apple tree in sight. Cassandra was impressed with how the three story mansion had been redesigned to look more like a quaint summer cottage on the beach. She opened the door to the twenty-bed Assisted Living facility, resume in hand, and walked into the lobby.

She noticed immediately that no expense had been spared in decorating the old house in the usual bright Florida colors; shades of sunny yellow, lucious tangergine and bright seafoam greens. The whole first floor had been gutted and made into one large room, with the exception of the reception and office area toward the back. Sturdy white wicker furniture with large plump pillows and flowered cushions had been strategically placed in different groupings throughout the great room. Gorgeous prints of sunny beach scenes were placed on the vast walls and, of course, there were pots of every exotic plant you could find in Florida everywhere. 


Off to her right, there were a few residents sitting in one of the groupings, watching Oprah on a big screen TV. Cassandra smiled as they glanced in her direction, whispering loudly. She waved and they nervously looked away, pretending not to be nosey. She smiled, knowing she was probably their “excitement’ for the day and would no doubt be talked about clear into the evening, or at least until their short term memories gave way to how lousy the food they had for dinner was.

There was no one sitting at the desk in the reception area, but Cassandra could hear voices from the office located directly behind it. The brass plate next to one door read “M. Franks, Director.” She cleared her throat a few times, without results and then faked a cough. Great! Now they’re going to think you came to apply for a job sick! She thought, rolling her eyes at her impatience. But it worked. Within moments a young woman emerged from the office, smiled and with hand extended, walked toward Cassandra.

“Hello. Welcome to Apple Bloosom Lane,” she said, firmly grasping Cassandra’s hand. She quickly added, “I’m Michelle Franks. How can I help you?”

As soon as Cassandra introduced herself and stated that she was there to inquire about the position in the newspaper, Ms. Frank’s grip loosened and her smile became a bit more forced. Of course, Cassandra realized this was a new facility, and Ms. Franks was hoping she was there to gather information about placing an elderly relative in the facility, rather than the job in the want ads.

Cassandra accepted the application and pen handed to her and promptly sat at the small glass and wicker table Ms Franks motioned to before going back into her office. She began filling in all the lines and boxes with the same information she had given at four other facilities that day. She glanced over at the two ladies, still unaware of their (hearable0 whisperings. Funny, even with hearing aids, they still yelled to be able to hear each other.

She studied them for a few moments, immediately distinguishing the early stages of Alzheimers in the one woman. She had that look of confusion in her eyes, even though her friend was calmly trying to explain who Cassandra was.

“She’s filling out an application,” she said, over pronouncing her words.

The other woman shook her head and shrugged her shoulders, saying “Well this isn’t a school, so I’m not sure why a teacher would come here to get a job.”

“Not to teach,” she said with a slight touch of amazement in her voice. “To help take care of us. A nurse or an aid.”

“Oh, my dear, you aren’t sick, are you? Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well. I could have helped you,” and with a wave of her hand toward Cassandra, added, “We don’t need someone strange taking care of us.”

Her friend rolled her eyes and smiled over at Cassandra, realizing by the look on her face that she could hear their conversation and understood her friend’s illness. Cassandra smiled back and shrugged her shoulders. She knew if she decided to take this job that the three of them would get along just fine.

She filled in a few more blanks on the application and then opened her purse to pull out the card she’d written her references on. As she was copying the names and phone numbers, she had the distinct feeling that she was being watched. An uncomfortable feeling.

She looked at her reference card, but used her peripheral vision to look at a woman sitting in a wheel chair off to her left. If she hadn’t been working in this profession a few years, the woman’s stare would have startled her. But Cassandra was used to the few residents that she would describe as “bitter and hateful.” There was always at least one in each facility. Seeing the cold-as-ice glare out of the corner of her eye didn’t bother Cassandra near as much as the sickeningly sweet smile that came across her face as soon as she glanced in her direction. She shuddered as she smiled back and looked down at the application to sign and date it.

As she stood up, she smiled at the two other women and walked back over to the desk. She cleared her throat again, and this time Ms. Franks appeared from her office immediately.

“All finished?” she asked, taking the application and perusing it. “Thank you, Cassandra,” she said smiling.

“Call me Cassie, please,” Cassandra answered.

Ms Franks replied, “OK, Cassie. We’ll be in touch with you.” And walked back into her office with Cassie’s application.

Cassie turned to leave, still feeling the eyes of the woman in the wheel chair on her. She glanced back quickly. This time the woman didn’t have time to change the expression on her face and the hateful glare sent chills down Cassie’s spine as she walked out the door.