by Orly Konig
My breath hitches, and I sink deeper into Simon’s side. I watch the snail-pace progress as Hank and Julie make their way out of the room and around the corner, toward the dining hall.
“Come, I’ll buy you a coffee. Although by the look on your face, you could probably use something stronger.” Simon’s words chase away the eerie sound of rubber-soled shoes shuffle-squeaking on tile.
We walk down the hall, and I focus my attention into a narrow tunnel, hiding between imaginary blinders like a carriage horse. I know if I look to the side and into any of the rooms, I’ll lose what little composure I have left. Simon steers me down the hallway and to the waiting room. I jolt at the hiss of an espresso machine. I hadn’t noticed the kiosk in the corner when I came in.
A smiling gray-haired lady with a nametag that reads Barbie hands Simon a latte and asks what she can fix me. He grins sheepishly.
He leans to pretend-whisper. “Barbie fixes the best lattes around. But she keeps me in line. Three’s my limit. Unless I can sneak one from her replacement when she goes on break.” He winks at Barbie and flashes a grin that makes her giggle like a teenager, and twists my insides like it used to when I was a teenager.
Barbie hands me a latte and bats her eyelashes at Simon. “I’m on to you,” she says revealing a clipboard from next to the register. On it are a handful of names with check marks. I glance at the sheet and smile. Simon, two checks. Dan, one check. Tim, three checks. Robert, four checks and a big “No more today.” Barista Barbie obviously has a thing for the men.
Simon laughs and gives Barbie a last wink. He gestures for me to follow, and we step outside into the bright heat of midday. A handful of bistro tables are scattered around the flagstone patio, and park benches are tucked into nooks of bushes or under trees. A few birds chirp, but otherwise the patio is deserted. We find a bench in the shade and sit.
After a few minutes of sipping our drinks, he angles his body to face me. “Is that what you were hoping to find?”
I take another sip. Simon was right: Barbie really does make great lattes.
The hot wood of the bench warms the back of my knees while the intensity of Simon’s scrutiny burns through to my core.
“I didn’t know what to expect. But it wasn’t that.” Hank’s face when he saw me—saw her—fills my vision.
I shift on the bench so I’m looking directly at Simon. “Why did he think I was her? Where does he think he is? When?”
Simon pushes a hand along his thigh, ironing out an imaginary crease in his pants.
“Alzheimer’s is an ugly disease. For his age, he’s doing quite well, though. How much do you know about it?”
“I’ve watched movies and read books where a character has it. And I have friends who’ve talked about relatives with Alzheimer’s. But this is the first I’ve come in direct contact with anyone who has it.” I watch a squirrel scurry across the lawn, his tail waving hello. Or good-bye. “What am I supposed to do when he thinks I’m her? I can’t be her. That’s wrong.”
“I understand how uncomfortable it can be, but that’s his current reality. And trying to talk him out of it will only agitate him and make it worse.”
“I can’t do that. I can’t play games with him.”
Simon is slower to respond this time. “It’s not a game, Maya. And I’m not suggesting you pretend to be her. What I am saying is that when he’s confused about what year it is and what part of his life it is, you engage him about what he remembers of that period. Ask him a question about something he’s just mentioned, or something neutral.”
“How often does that happen?”
“More in the last few months. The disease is progressing.”
Hank and Julie come into view through the large windows. She has her arm linked through his. They could almost be a couple on a date. Hank says something and Julie laughs. I wonder if he’s telling her about old lady Marsh or commenting on the lifeless lunch.
I picture my grandmother and Hank together, talking. Talking about what? What did his family think when they saw the two together? “Is his family around?”
Simon is also watching Hank and Julie’s slow progress inside.
“Not anymore.” His voice drops and I know he’s thinking about her. My grandmother adored Simon. She called him Doc, just like Hank had. For as long as I’ve known him, Simon insisted he would be a doctor. “He has a few friends at the facility. Rowdy group. They’re fun and good for him. Most of the time.”
“Is it okay if I come back to see him?” I lean forward to gauge Simon’s reaction.
“Just check in with one of the nurses first.” His expression gives nothing away. So unlike the man I knew, who couldn’t hide a feeling with a ten-count head start. Is it a skill learned in medical school or from years of heartbreak?
I push a tall weed around with my toe and watch it sway. “I need to go. Thank you for the coffee. I … I guess I’ll be seeing you around then.” I stand and walk to the back doors of Tower Oaks. I feel him watching as the glass doors suck me in. And I feel Barbie watching me as the front doors spit me back out.
Eight
I glance at my watch and push down on the gas pedal. It’s been three hours since I left on my errand. Vale must be getting itchy to go to the tile store.
I park the car in the driveway and fight the urge to tell the carousel horse about meeting his dad. Good grief, Maya, you need to get out more. Talk to your husband, not a wooden horse.
Inside, the house is quiet. No smashing of tiles, no TV, no clothes dryer thump-thumping.
“Vale?” My voice bounces through the house, sounding loud and out of place. When did this house take on a hollow, unloved echo? I reach for the doorknob. Maybe I’ll wait for him in the studio instead.
A sticky note loses its sticky and flutters to the floor. I shouldn’t be surprised that the house feels abandoned when my husband and I have resorted to communicating through notes. Maybe not exactly abandoned, but unloved-in.
Don’t forget dinner at Thomas and Bree’s. Went early to shower. Come when you get this. p.s., Our shower doesn’t work. p.p.s., It’s 4:45.
Shit, I forgot. He left forty-five minutes ago. Fabulous. Dinner with my brother and his family isn’t exactly what I had in mind for tonight. Not that I had much in mind, but I’d hoped to talk to Vale about Hank and the horse. I can’t do that amidst the commotion that is my brother’s life.
I trot up the stairs to change. Bree serves dinner at six P.M. sharp. No exceptions. Ever. If I hurry, I’ll just make it and avoid another “you need to re-engage with the outside world” lecture.
I like my sister-in-law; I’d even go so far as to call her a friend. But Bree subscribes to the same philosophy as my mother: Perfect on the outside is perfect on the inside.
Her house is perfect, her kids are perfect, she’s perfect. And her marriage is perfect. Why wouldn’t it be? She’s always there for Thomas and the kids. She’s given Thomas kids.
Everything Bree is, I’m not.
I kick off my tennis shoes and pull my socks off. Case in point, botched pedicure. Two weeks ago, Bree treated me to a “girls’ day.” Lunch, pedis, shopping. It was an intervention, she’d said. Lunch had been a stiff affair at the country club. Mom and Bree both loved going there. I, of course, was like a bowling ball on a golf course. But I’d smiled and chatted and didn’t spill anything on myself. The perfect pedi with the stylish teal nail polish hadn’t made it out of the pedi chair before I smudged four nails. Bree, on the other foot, had waddled expertly to the drying station, mumbling about me being a lost cause. I’d begged off the shopping portion and I think Bree had been relieved.
I wiggle my toes with their smudged polish. Probably better not to wear sandals tonight. I get out of my dirty clothes and pull on a clean pair of yellow capris and a white T-shirt. I spray perfume on my wrists, neck, and chest, then another quick spray into each armpit for good measure.
My hair stays in the messy bun I’d shoved it into when I got in the
roasting car. I put in the diamond studs Vale bought me for our one-year anniversary. They’re the only hint at anything resembling perfect. The matching diamond pendant winks from the velvety drawer of the jewelry case. I reach for it, but my hand stalls midair. Instead, I push the lid shut. The pendant had been another present from my husband. He’d placed it on top of the first sonogram image of our baby.
I swipe at a rogue tear. This is not the time to fall apart. If Bree sees me with weepy, red eyes, she’ll pounce. I still haven’t told her that I canceled the appointment she’d made for me with her therapist friend.
I rush out of the house, dreading what’s waiting for me, but anxious to escape the ghosts in my own house.
* * *
Before I can get the car door open, two kids and a puppy tumble down the steps of the house, shrieking and barking and running toward me.
“Aunt Maymay, you’re here!” Eight-year-old Megan throws herself at my legs.
“Aunt Maymay, we got a puppy!” Alex, older by just over a year, grins at me.
“I see. Hey.” I touch his chin, tipping his face up. “You lost another tooth. Meg, show me your smile.”
Meg shows her teeth, all intact. Alex’s grin spreads, and he makes a sassy face at his sister. “Yup. The tooth fairy brought me a puppy.”
“Wow, that must have been one strong tooth fairy to carry that puppy.” I eye the ball of fluff, rolling in the grass next to us.
Alex giggles and takes off running, the puppy barking at his side. Megan rolls her eyes, the wiser-than-her-years younger sister.
Bree and Thomas had wanted a two-year gap between the kids. Guess Bree isn’t perfect at everything.
“Kids, back inside.” Thomas walks out of the house to corral everyone for dinner. “You just made it. Saved us all from a lecture.” He kisses me on the cheek, then gives me a gentle push toward the house.
We follow the kids and puppy. “When did that happen?”
Thomas exhales. “Two days ago.”
“He’s cute. Looks fancy for a shelter dog though.”
The kids had been begging for a pet for years. Bree had been adamant that she would not take care of a smelly, messy dog. But Thomas had crafted a deal: If the kids kept their rooms clean for four months, they’d go to the shelter and adopt a dog. A soft spot for animals was one of the few things we had in common.
“It’s a goldenpoo. Or something. Bree heard they don’t shed and are good with kids.”
“Doodle.”
“What?”
“Goldendoodle.”
“Fucking expensive is what I call him.”
I glance at my brother. I’m the one with the mouth, inherited from my grandmother, according to Mom. Thomas rarely curses.
“Kids obviously love him.” We watch as the three jockey for position in the kitchen.
“Yeah, he’s cute. Just wish she’d stuck with the plan.” He turns to me. “Where were you? Vale said you took off on some secret errand and have been MIA all day.”
I quirk an eyebrow, trying to think where the secret part of my errand came from. “No secret.”
“So where were you?”
“I went to visit Grandma.”
Thomas turns in exaggerated slow-mo.
“Oh stop.” I turn my back on him and dump my bag on the bench by the front door. “I wanted to see if I could learn anything more on the inscription.”
“Oh. And what did Grandma have to say?”
“Funny.”
“Seriously, Maya. What did you think you’d find at the cemetery?”
“Who was at the cemetery?” Bree weaves her way out of the kitchen, a salad bowl held over her head as she sidesteps around small and not-so-small bodies.
“Maya went for a heart-to-heart with Grandma.” Thomas doesn’t soften the disgusted-big-brother tone. I feel twelve again.
Vale follows Bree out of the kitchen, holding a platter of hot dogs and burgers. The kids bring up the rear, each carrying a platter—Megan has sliced tomatoes, pickles, and lettuce, while Alex has a plate of buns.
“Daddy and Uncle Vale cooked,” Megan announces with an accusatory tone. Her new best friend is a vegetarian, and Meg announced that she, too, would no longer be eating meat. Except that she can’t resist burgers, and Thomas makes the best burgers.
“Guilty as charged.” Thomas grins at her. “Come on.” He indicates for me to walk ahead. “Let’s get in there before they devour everything.”
For the next half hour, I’m spared the inquisition as food is passed, kids are reminded not to feed the dog, and Vale is reprimanded for feeding the dog.
The puppy scratches at my calf, adding a sad whimper in case I need more convincing.
“Don’t do it,” Bree scolds, waving a knife at me. “He has to learn that people food is off limits.”
The two adult males and the two kids are suddenly deeply engrossed in what’s on their plate.
“Nothing from me.” I raise my hands in surrender, even though I hadn’t been the one feeding him all along.
“What’s his name?” I reach down to pet the fluffy head, and open my palm to give him a bite of hot dog.
“Dov,” Alex announces, giving the V an extra edge.
“It’s Hebrew for bear. Because he looks like a bear,” Megan adds, with full foreign-language authority.
“Cute.” I wipe the puppy slobber from my hands onto the napkin, hoping I won’t get busted by Bree.
“What did you find out at the cemetery?” Vale looks skeptical. Or is that suspicious?
“A lot actually.”
“Grandma was chatty, eh?” Thomas smirks. Bree shoots him a warning look.
I make a face at him and Bree turns the warning look on me. “Turns out, the old man who built the carousel was a close friend of hers. He lives in town and left her a letter yesterday, after the memorial ceremony.”
Megan looks up. “But she’s dead, she can’t read.”
“Does she need glasses? Mommy got glasses to read with last week,” Alex offers helpfully.
“No, sweetie, glasses won’t help. If you’re done eating, clear your plates and go play.” Bree’s cheeks are pink and I can’t help think it’s because she was outed for needing reading glasses. Perfect people have perfect eyesight.
“You were gone a long time for just a visit to the cemetery.” Vale isn’t suspicious, he’s annoyed.
“I went to Tower Oaks after. Hank, the guy who built the carousel, lives there.”
“Tower Oaks?” It’s part question, part accusation. He knows Simon works there. He also knows I haven’t been in touch with Simon since he moved back. Until now.
The tension hangs between us, thicker than the ketchup Alex dumped all over his plate and lap.
“I’m going to get the kids into the tub. Thomas, clean the kitchen please.” And in two blinks, Vale and I are alone. Even the dog scatters, yelping after the kids.
“I wanted to ask him questions about Grandma and the carousel.” I answer the unasked question.
“What did you learn?” He leans back, arms crossed, right leg over left. Vale has never been the jealous type. I’ve never given him reason to be. Then again, our relationship has never been on such unstable ground.
“Not much. He has Alzheimer’s. Today wasn’t what the doctors call one of his better days.”
Vale’s face softens a little. “Sorry.”
I want to tell him more, tell him about Hank thinking I was Grandma, tell him that it was awkward and uncomfortable seeing Simon. But I don’t. I let the conversation fizzle into a stew of half-truths.
“Aunt Maymay,” Megan yells from the top of the stairs. “Will you come tuck me in?”
“Excuse me?” I look to Vale before pushing out of the chair. We’re in a shaky enough boat; last thing I want is to tip it over. He nods, but his posture doesn’t change.
At the top of the stairs, I turn into Alex’s room to say good night. He’s in Star Wars pajamas on top of his Star Wars blanket,
one arm around a giant stuffed bear I bought him two years ago, the other around his bear puppy. He looks up and gives me a toothless, sleepy smile. I blow a kiss, not trusting that I can keep the lump in my throat from bursting out.
Megan’s room is across the hall. She’s sitting on her bed, waiting, watching. “Are you okay, Aunt Maymay? You look funny, like Mommy does when she watches one of those sad movies.”
I wipe at a tear trickling down my cheek. I lean down to give her a kiss and inhale the sweet smell of kid shampoo.
I’d bought several bottles, along with diapers, lotion, and wipes. The smell took over the house the moment I’d unpacked the bags. It’s the smell of innocence and love. Now it’s the smell of loss.
“Into bed with you.” I pull the tie-dye comforter back and wait for her to slip under, then tuck the blanket around her, sealing her in like a mummy, with only her head poking out. I give her another kiss, then stand before the tears spill out. “Sweet dreams, sweetie.”
I turn to leave, slowly so as not to upset Megan, but as fast as I can before I come undone, again.
Nine
It’s early when I slip out of bed and put on my running clothes. Vale rolls over and pats the empty space.
“Where are you going?” He’s looking at me with one eye, the other buried in his pillow.
“I can’t sleep. Thought I’d go for a run.”
“Want me to come?” The words are partly muffled by a yawn.
“Nah, go back to sleep.”
“Sure?” He yawns again.
“Sure.” I sit on the edge of the bed to put my shoes on.
Vale rubs a slow circle on my back. “You could come back to bed.” His hand falls to the bed, and I twist to look at him. He lets out a gentle snore, the offer rescinded.
I latch the back door behind me and whisper a good morning to the carousel horse in my studio, then turn toward the ocean.
The sun is a fiery ball playing peek-a-boo with the ocean. I stretch my hamstrings on a bench along the boardwalk, watching the early crowd of runners, walkers, and seekers. The runners are focused, enjoying the still-crisp air, their strides long and confident on the packed sand. The walkers huddle in their sweatshirts, hands circling coffee cups as they watch the dolphins dance around the waves. The seekers take tentative steps this way and that, heads bowed, eyes squinting at anything that might prove to be a treasure they can display on their mantel back home.
