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Five
    â€œMom’s moving to Florida.” Dan folded the letter and slipped it back into its lilac-scented envelope. Even his tech-savvy mother reverted to some time-honored Emily Post tradition of only the written word would do in matters of importance. He would have thought an email would have sufficed. Not the guaranteed to get there within twenty-four hours delivery that cost her an arm and a leg. He’d sent their new address via email. Had that been a mistake? He hadn’t lived in the same state as his mother in over twenty years. He hadn’t counted on starting now.
    â€œShe’s coming here? Are you joking?” Elaine took a toaster out of the box marked “kitchen.” Joan hadn’t been kidding, her garage held all the comforts of home. And their new home was shaping up—furniture in place, dishes in cupboards—they’d spent the weekend acting like newlyweds. Putting the finishing touches on the first “place” they’d lived in together. Granted, it was a rental and destined to be short-lived, but still they were having more than a little fun fixing things up.
    â€œI may wish I was.”
    â€œShe’s not moving in—”
    â€œWith us? No. Mom would be the first to nix that.”
    â€œSo where in Florida is she moving? I presume with Stanley?”
    â€œSomeplace called The Villages and, yes, Stanley seems to be very much in the picture.”
    â€œI really like your mother. I’d be the first to say dear sister Carolyn can be a pain in the ass, but your mom seems to really have it together—you know, confident of what she wants and goes for it. This could be a good thing.”
    â€œTrue. She wants us to help with their house-hunt.”
    â€œSo it’s close to here?”
    â€œAbout an hour and a half away. Seventy-five miles, to be exact, on the other side of Orlando.”
    â€œTell her we’ll do it. We have a little ‘wait and see’ time. You still have some interviewing to do but didn’t you say the track’s not due to reopen for another couple days? It’ll be fun.”
    Fun probably wouldn’t be his descriptive term, but like Carolyn, he felt his mother in small doses could be…interesting. Stanley, he wasn’t sure about. The only time he’d been around him, Dan had listened to an hour’s diatribe on the need to unionize college ball and quit screwing over the players. That, a sadly overdone smoked turkey, and warm beer just about summed up the afternoon. How often could he put himself through that?
    â€œOh no. Look at this.” Elaine had flipped open her laptop and placed it on the kitchen counter. “Maggie Mahoney may want to consider running drugs in her new community. One little blue pill can go as high as fourteen dollars.”
    â€œViagra? Isn’t this a senior community?”
    â€œDon’t be naive. It’s not supposed to wear out.” The gesture, index-finger extended, appeared to be aimed at his crotch.
    â€œRight.” Dan didn’t need an explanation of what “it” was; he just willed himself to tune back into what she was saying and stop figuring out how many good years his “it” had left.
    â€œListen to this—The Villages is a hot bed…literally…for STDs and the human papilloma virus.”
    â€œSeriously? What about golf courses, lakes, clubs…you know, regular amenities?”
    â€œI am being serious. Sex seems to be the amenity. A little value-added. Couples have been picked up for doing it in golf carts, poolside, in the sauna—”
    â€œYou’re making this up.”
    â€œTake a look.” Elaine turned her laptop toward him.
    Dan leaned forward and scanned the article. Then he pulled up another. This wasn’t some shock-factor writing by a reporter seeking his or her fifteen minutes of fame; there were a number of articles from several newspapers including the Times .