I nodded, but felt oddly afraid. “Come on, then,” he said, taking the sack from the seat. “Let’s go inside.”
Greenhaven didn’t look like any kind of hospital to me, but it didn’t look quite like a house, either. It was too long and rectangular for that.
The walkway had a faded green awning that covered it, and flower beds alongside with freshly planted pansies that looked muddied and slightly askew.
The grass was patchy, with three deep holes dug near the building.
“The residents tend the grounds,” my father said. “It’s part of their occupational training program, and it’s therapeutic.
“Those holes are the future homes of Peach, Plum, and Pear.”
“Fruit trees?” “Yes. The vote caused quite a commotion.”
“Among the… residents?” “That’s right.” He swung open one of the glass double doors and said, “Come on in.”
It was cool inside. And it smelled of pine cleaner and bleach, with something vaguely pungent underneath.
There wasn’t a reception desk or waiting area, just a large intersection with white walls and narrow wooden benches.
To the left was a big room with a television and several rows of plastic chairs,
to the right were open office doors, and beside us were two pine armoires.
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