Slower than molasses on a frosty morning, the residents proceeded to the cafeteria. The six of them, Genny, Travis, Frank, Mark, Tony, and Isabell, shuffled down the hallway, still rubbing sleep from their eyes. Travis and Tony wore athletic shorts, sandals with socks, and t-shirts. Tony had the Def Leppard shirt, and Travis wore one with a picture of Garth Brooks wearing his signature hat. Genny had oversized p.j.’s with yellow smiley faces plastered everywhere and black thongs on her feet, her long brown hair piled loosely on her head held in place with a pencil she snatched from Isabell’s nightstand. Isabell, on the other hand, didn’t look like the other residents; two camis, one black and the other white, and a loose pair of boxer shorts tied with a piece of white nylon rope, the bow hanging from under where she wrapped the rope around the boy shorts.

No one spoke to Isabell, the longest Shady Grove retirement village resident in Morehouse, Missouri, not because she was unfriendly but because she wasn’t quite what you would call normal. Not for this part of Missouri. Her dress and style align more with the eclectic tastes of the coasts, Atlantic or Pacific. Unfortunately for the other residents and Isabell, no one was still alive to help take care of her or her artistic flair. But out of all the residents? She was the happiest of them all.

“Good morning, y’all,” Ms. Angela bellowed from the cafeteria. Angela loved her job almost as much as she loved the residents of Shady Grove. Every resident had two nurses all to themselves, a luxury not provided by many assisted care facilities. Travis managed to get around okay, shuffling as he went. Angela didn’t mind that he was slow or took longer than the other residents to enter the dining hall. “How’re you doing, Mr. Travis?”

He looked up at Angela, raising his eyebrows, a look she saw as a sarcastic comment. “Don’t you go there, Mr. Travis.” Angela laughed, her loud voice echoing through the dining area, as small as it was. With the nurses, administrative staff, and the residents, it didn’t have to be big, just big enough. Her voice was loud enough to let everyone know in the building that it was time to eat. The nurses trickled in behind their residents, helping if needed. Except for Travis, everyone could walk in on their own. He didn’t say much, having lost his wife less than six months ago. Travis was married to a lovely woman, Helena Estasisa, a Romanian first-generation migrant to America. Their marriage made her a legal United States citizen, something she desperately wanted before she died. Helena managed to have all the paperwork certified three days before her pneumonia shut down her organs. Travis took multiple pictures before she passed away, both of her certificates and her face, knowing full well she would die as a United States legal immigrant.

Helena’s family was too poor to be there at the funeral, and the most they could afford was cremation, a partial jar of her ashes sitting on the table on the other side of Travis’s bed. The only reason Travis was at Shady Grove was his benefactor, a wealthy woman, Casandra Geraldine. Casandra knew how to negotiate with the best of a male-dominated world and often went toe-to-toe with men with less status than her but more power. In her early thirties, Travis was her best accountant, keeping a tight rein on her finances but, more importantly, saving her thousands of dollars every year – without fail! Not one of her daddy’s accounting firms, of which he owned five, could hold a candle to Travis’ ability to see money when it looked like it was gone.

After Travis had his first stroke, Casandra took care of him. They had grown to be close friends over close to twenty years of Travis working his second job, namely for Casandra. His first job was as a United States Postal worker, but his legs and knees gave out. Surgery was attempted, but he failed to gain his mobility back. The shuffling he did now was a residual of four separate knee replacements. Even though Casandra did her best to hire the best surgeons out of her own pocket for Travis, she couldn’t have predicted his body’s inability to heal properly from the invasive procedures. Casandra visited Travis as often as she could, busy with work, her fifth year as a United States Senator in Missouri. Without her salary, Shady Grove offered a man of his years and familiarity with Southeast Missouri the best, most comfortable life at the best price for her.

“What’s for breakfast, Ms. Angela?” Isabell asked. She was sitting in her usual spot, facing the television on the wall opposite the serving line. The food was always hot, always in serving trays, and the hot food was kept hot with chafing fuels. Trays with buttermilk pancakes, bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, and an assortment of pastries, bagels, and bread for toast. If requested, the staff would make food for the residents, but employees of Shady Grove had to get it themselves. “Do we have buttermilk pancakes today?” She picked up the flat-screen remote and turned it to a channel currently playing reruns of Spongebob Squarepants. It was one of four satellite channels that did nothing but show old Nickelodian shows, the exact same show her parents watched before they passed away.

“Of course we do, sweetie.” Angela’s voice was almost as sweet as the maple syrup she pulled from her apron. If there was one thing Isabell loved, it was buttermilk pancakes with maple syrup. Over the years she took a liking to this brand that Angela found in Alabama a few years earlier. The brand underwent various name changes finally settling on Mountain Magic Maple Syrup. “And, lookie here. I got the good stuff,” Angela winked, putting it on the table and setting it next to Isabell’s silverware.

“Oh, thanks!” Isabell exclaimed with glee. “That’ll go good with those buttermilk pancakes.”

“Yes, ma’am, they most certainly will!” Angela patted her shoulder, turning her attention back to Travis. “You makin’ it back there, Mr. Travis?”

He scowled at her, still shuffling along.

“No need to get all angry with me about it. I’m just askin’ is all.” She turned around to hear Isabell laughing at Spongebob’s laugh. “After breakfast I’m going to change it back Ms. Isabell. You hearin’ me?”

“Yes,” she answered, mouth full of pancakes.