All Roads Lead Home (Bellingwood) by Diane Greenwood Muir Page A

of you know where the bedrooms are
upstairs. Anybody who wants to crash on the sofas down here is welcome to do so .
No one has to worry about cleaning things up. From here on out, you can do whatever you like
and tomorrow morning there will be coffee and cinnamon rolls at the bar."
    A few more women, who decided
their own beds sounded like a good idea, said their good-byes . Several went upstairs and crashed in bed s and still
others snuggled into the sofas and recliners in the basement. Polly stayed awake for a
while longer, talking with some of the women and before she knew it, she saw
sunlight.
    She tiptoed over to
the bar where Lydia and Beryl were setting coffee and breakfast pastries out and whispered, "Do you ever sleep ?"
    Beryl laughed, "Don't kid yourself ,
tootsie pop. When you are gone, Lydia will sleep the rest of the day. That
woman prowls around at all hours of the night and always seems to find plenty
of time to sleep."
    Lydia poked her friend's arm, "It's that whole
menopause thing. I figured I didn't need to fight it, just roll with it. It
keeps everyone around me happier."
    "Here, Polly, have coffee. You might need it. You're
looking a little ragged."
    "Well, I did have … how many was it, Beryl? Three martinis." she said. Then, she
blinked her eyes. "And my head hurts."
    "Polly, I know you're pooped and you have a big
week ahead of you. Drink your coffee and Beryl will take you home. She should
be able to get there without getting too
lost. I'll get everyone else on their way. And then, check your email later, th e pictures will show up."
    " That sounds wonderful," Polly said. "Lydia, I
don't know how to thank you for last night. It has to be one of my top ten
extraordinary life experiences ! You ar e a wonderful, wonderful friend. " S he reached out to hug the woman. "I don't know
how to say thank you for everything."
    "There is no need, honey. I love doing this stuff
and having someone new around to appreciate it
makes it that much more fun for me! Now
go home and rest up for your week. I'll check on you later."
    Polly and Beryl went back down the hallway and found
not one, but two laundry baskets filled with her clean, neatly folded clothes . Beryl
picked one up and before Polly could
protest, said, "Just be quiet. If
she didn't have people around to take
care of , she wouldn't know what to do
with herself. Lydia Merritt has more energy than she knows what to do with and
her dear, sweet husband spoils her rotten. She has to turn it around on
everyone else so he doesn't turn into a marshmallow. T ake the basket and thank her later."
    Polly picked up a basket and her overnight bag and followed Beryl to her car.
    Lydia was right; she did want to go back to sleep, so after hauling the laundry upstairs, she left it at the end of the bed , dropped in and
promptly fell asleep.

Chapter
Five

    Despite a building full of people, Monday morning found Polly in the basement looking through boxes for heavier blankets for
her bed when she heard a crash and then a
very masculine screech . She ran up the
steps to the main level to find everyone else heading to the second floor .
She followed the crowd and when she got upstairs, the activity was in the old
girl's bathroom. Doug Randall was limping out, his hair and clothing filled
with plaster dust. Jerry Allen was right behind him with his hand on his back.
    "Ok ay , buddy. Breathe. Just breathe."
    "Did you see that?" Doug asked. "Did
you see that? There were bones and skulls!"
    Polly pushed through the people standing around.
    "What are you talking about?" she asked.
    "Bones. And skulls." H e took a breath. "In the ceiling!"
    Polly cocked her head and looked at Jerry quizzically . "In the ceiling? I
thought it was concrete and they were going to drop a new one to hold the
infrastructure."
    Jerry shook his head. "So did I . Doug must
have pushed in the right place, because what we thought was concrete wasn't at
all. It was dry wall made to look like concrete. Someone