After the woman left the room, Andrea brought Anni around to the other side of Gram’s bed. “Hey, Gram.”
Her grandmother blinked before smiling. “Hi, honey.”
“I brought my dog Anni again to see you. Remember, I brought her with me last time?”
“Sure I remember.”
That was the frustrating thing about conversations with Gram. She was so agreeable that it was hard to tell if she actually remembered or was just playing along. At least she wasn’t argumentative like so many people with impaired memories. It was a small consolation.
Gram reached down to touch Anni’s head, patting her awkwardly. “Aren’t you a sweet doggie.”
Andrea glanced over to see that the bed on the other side of the room was no longer there. “Your roommate’s not here. Did she get transferred?”
Gram followed Andrea’s eyes and looked over for a second, but didn’t say anything. The woman had either died or had been moved to the hospice wing. Gram didn’t know or didn’t want to say.
“Can I carry her?” Gram said, crooking a finger at Anni. Carry her? Andrea was sure this was one of those times when words got muddled in her head.
“You want to hold her? On your lap?” She asked. When Gram nodded, she went to pull the crank so that the chair would lean back, then lifted Anni up onto her grandmother’s lap. At just over thirty pounds Anni was no lightweight, but she didn’t struggle when Andrea picked her up, which made it easier.
Gram closed her eyes and rested her hand on Anni’s back. Today, Gram looked tidy, with her hair neatly combed, wearing knit pants and a matching button-down top. Not too different from how she always looked, aside from her hair color. It made Andrea miss the old Gram, the one who used to give her advice, the grandmother with whom she could have a lively conversation. Gram always loved a good laugh, but this new grandmother, the one with holes in her memory, was a different version of the original. Still a sweet woman, but she’d lost her sparkle. Gram opened her eyes, looking surprised to have a dog on her lap. “Will you look at that!” she said. “Such a sweet little thing.”
“That’s my dog, Anni.”
Gram nodded. “I haven’t had a little one like this in a long time.”
“Yeah, it’s been awhile.” Being agreeable was key.
When Gram seemed to lose interest, Andrea lifted the dog off her lap and set Anni back on the floor. Anni snuffled over to the corner, her nose to the ground. Whatever scent trail she was on, it kept her happily occupied. Andrea suddenly remembered how she had planned to prompt her grandmother’s memory. “Gram, remember when you gave me your ring? The one Grandpa gave you?”
She was quiet for a long time, processing the words. Finally she said, “My ring,” twisting her finger like she was just now noticing that she no longer wore it.
“Yes, the ring Grandpa Fred gave you? Do you remember?”
“Of course I remember.”
Did she remember Grandpa Fred or did she remember the ring, or both? Or was it none of the above, and she was just being agreeable? Andrea didn’t know, would probably never know, but she plowed forward. “You gave me your ring for safekeeping, and for a while it was at my old house, but now I have it again.” Andrea snapped open her purse and pulled out the jeweler’s box. “See?” She got out the ring and held it out for her grandmother.
“My ring!” she said happily, taking it from Andrea.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I had it cleaned and it’s as beautiful as the day Grandpa gave it to you.”
“The night,” Grandma said, her head bobbing up and down.
“Excuse me?”
“Fred gave it to me at night.” She smiled. “The moon was out.”
“You remember when Grandpa Fred gave you the ring?” Andrea asked cautiously.
Her grandmother clutched the ring in her hand. “We went dancing. We danced and danced like the only people in the world. And we went outside and then he took a box out of his pocket.”
“This box?” Andrea held it up.
Gram continued as if Andrea hadn’t spoken. “He said, ‘I want you to be my wife and I promise I will love you forever.’”
Andrea found herself holding her breath. Sometimes it happened like this, but you never could predict the timing. It was as if there were a tear in the fabric holding back Gram’s memories and she was able to unexpectedly access them on occasion. “And he did love you forever,” Andrea said.
“Oh, I miss him.” She put her clenched fist up to her heart. “I miss him so badly.”
“I know. I do too.”
Anni returned from her exploring and, as if sensing she was needed, rested her head by Gram’s feet. Andrea sighed and leaned over to rub her knuckles over the dog’s back. “Grandpa Fred was a good man. You were lucky. I hope I find someone who will love me forever.”
Gram said, “You did.”
“What?”
“You did find him to love you.”
Andrea’s heart sunk. She sat up to meet her grandmother’s eyes. “Oh no, Gram, I’m not with Marco anymore. I’m sorry to say we got divorced.” Gram had been at Andrea and Marco’s wedding, looking smart in a lovely lavender dress with a matching hat. This had been after Grandpa had died, but before her slip into dementia. Her grandmother had danced all night and had been one of the last ones to leave the reception. Was it possible Gram actually remembered Andrea and Marco’s wedding day and all that came with it—the vows, the celebration? What had once been the happiest day of a young bride’s life? Now Andrea couldn’t bear to even look at the pictures. Marco’s betrayal had turned it into a sham.
“No.” Gram shook her head. “Not Marco.”
Andrea looked down at Anni and wondered if her grandmother was referring to the dog. Certainly Anni’s love was guaranteed, but that wasn’t what they’d been talking about. “Do you mean Anni? That she’ll love me forever?”
But her grandmother was gone now, having receded back into herself. The old woman settled against the chair’s headrest and closed her eyes. Her thin lips mouthed words Andrea couldn’t hear and then stopped, staying slightly parted. In a few seconds’ time, she’d dozed off. The memory of her proposal had worn her out, or maybe it was the physical therapy. Andrea gently unfolded her grandmother’s hand from around the ring and kissed her cheek. “I’m going to just put this somewhere safe for you,” she said. “Okay?” Even as she snapped the jewelry box shut, her grandmother didn’t stir. “Good-bye, Gram,” she said. “Sweet dreams.”
Andrea tiptoed out of the room, but Anni was not quite so considerate. The only sound as they left the room was the clicking of Anni’s toenails on the linoleum.
THIRTY-THREE
When Dan woke up the next morning, his first thought was that he should stop at the Phoenix Health Care Center after work. A few days earlier, Lindsay had made copies of a photo of Anni with their contact information, which she’d e-mailed to the nursing home. The administrator had e-mailed back saying they’d have to bring in physical copies if they wanted them posted on each floor, something his daughter found infuriating. Her biggest search strategies for finding Anni so far had involved trying to get the dog’s photo to go viral on Facebook. She didn’t understand that not everyone was as tech savvy. “How lame is this?” Lindsay had said, holding her phone out so that he could read the woman’s response.
He couldn’t see it without his reading glasses, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. “Just tell me what she said.”
After Lindsay explained, she said, “Like they couldn’t just print them off at their end. Jeez!” The last word was said as if she alone carried the weight of the world, and had to do everything. “How lazy can you be?”
“It might not be laziness,” Dan said, feeling empathy for the poor woman. “It’s probably just company policy.” He knew a thing or two about that. Sometimes in business, things g
ot so convoluted.
“What kind of policy doesn’t let people find a lost dog? I mean, please, people, have a heart.”
After that she’d printed the notice on regular printer paper, and left a stack on the kitchen table with a Post-it note asking him to drop them off as soon as he could. Every morning he looked at the fliers, sighing over the photo of Anni’s little face, and every day he had a good reason why that particular day wouldn’t work out. He’d been working longer days lately, trying to get the new lager line up and running, and hadn’t been getting home before seven as it was, but today he woke up with the thought in his head that dropping off those sheets was a priority. He’d let it wait for far too long. He’d make a point to leave at five thirty at the latest, drive straight to the Phoenix Health Care Center, and get the chore done.
That would give Lindsay peace of mind. She still had it in her head that Anni was out there, just waiting for them to find her and bring her home. He appreciated her faith, even as he didn’t share it. Anni had been gone too long. With every passing day his hope was being chipped away, and now the thought of ever finding Anni seemed remote at best.
He stuffed the printouts in his briefcase right before he left the house, and when he left work at night, he double-checked to make sure they were still there before heading out to his truck. His day had gone well, no big problems at work, and not too many small ones either.
Dan slid behind the wheel, noting that he didn’t even have to brush snow off his windshield. He pulled out of the parking lot without having to wait for oncoming traffic, and hit all the green lights on the way to the expressway. This is how it always went, it seemed to him. On good days everything lined up perfectly, like the universe was trying to help you along. And on bad days? Well, on bad days, you better watch out because if something bad was going to happen, it would, and there’d be no stopping it. Today, though, was a good day. He’d had that feeling from the moment he’d awoken.
He got a good space in the nursing home parking lot too, watching as a car vacated a space in the front row around the side of the building, and grabbing the spot immediately after it pulled out. If the woman at the front desk wasn’t busy, he could dash in and out and be on his way home in minutes. He was feeling so charitable that it occurred to him he could stop in and see Nadine while he was here, but then he rationalized that dinnertime might not be ideal for a visit. Soon, though, some weekend day very soon.
He went through the glass doors, relieved to see that the woman at the front desk didn’t look busy. She had a friendly-looking older woman look, big smile, gray hair done up in some kind of beehive thing teased up five inches from the top of her head. “What can I help you with, hon?” she asked in a high-pitched, Minnie Mouse voice.
Dan set his briefcase on the floor and told her about their previous visit, about how Nadine, a family friend, claimed she had seen their stolen dog visiting at the Phoenix Health Care Center. That was as far as he’d gotten, when the woman interrupted. “You said your friend is up on the third floor?” When he nodded, she said, “You know that’s our cognitive impairment floor.”
“I understand that—”
“Many of our residents up on the third floor are so easily confused.” When she shook her head, her hair didn’t move, not one iota. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this.”
Dan gritted his teeth. “I realize this, really I do. But you have to understand that my daughter is heartbroken over this.” He was too, if the truth be told. “And I promised her I’d drop these off and make sure they got distributed on every floor in your facility. If there’s any chance at all that this would help us find our dog . . . well, we’ve looked everywhere else.”
“I see.”
“We e-mailed ahead of time, and Ms. Kasbaum said it would be fine.”
“Oh,” she said, brightening. “If Ms. Kasbaum said it’s okay, then it’s fine by me.”
“Great.” He set his briefcase on the counter, snapped open both sides, and grabbed the stack of papers, conveniently paper clipped by Lindsay. Closing it up again, he grabbed the handle and, at the same time, handed her the printouts. “Our contact information is at the bottom,” he said, stating the obvious. “My daughter and I thank you. We really appreciate it.”
Dan was almost to the glass doors when he heard the woman cry out, “Wait, wait just a minute.” He turned to see her waving the sheet over her head. “I’ve seen your dog.”
His heart picked up, matching the pace of his footsteps as he made his way back to the counter. “You’ve seen her? When?” For a split second he allowed himself to hope.
She stood up and he understood the reason for the tall hair. She wasn’t much taller on her feet than she had been sitting. Her words came out in an excited, breathy stream. “I mean I just saw her, today. At least it looks like the same dog. I mean, could there be two that look the same? I guess there could be, but boy, she looks just like the photo. Exactly like this photo.”
Dan swallowed. “Okay, let’s back up for a minute. The dog that looks like Anni was here today? Who brought her?”
“A young woman. Late twenties, or maybe thirty, it’s hard to tell. Kind of long brown hair, well, not real long, just past her shoulders, I guess. Pale skin, very pretty. That’s all I know.” She held out one empty hand apologetically. “She had a nice smile.”
“She was a visitor, or what?”
“Visiting a resident, I guess. She’d been here before, so I just waved her through . . .” Her face grew stricken as she spoke and Dan knew why.
“So she didn’t sign in,” he said. It was only a guess, but her face already told him the answer.
“No, she didn’t sign in,” she said. “I’m sorry. I always follow the rules, but I was on the phone and someone was waiting to ask me a question, and she was such a good little dog. She’d been here before and everything was fine. I thought it would be okay. I’m just a volunteer.” Her face crumpled like she was about to cry.
“It’s okay,” Dan said. “If she’s been here twice, chances are she’ll come back, right?”
“Right.” The woman pulled a tissue out of the box next to her phone, put it up to her nose, and blew.
If she started crying, Dan didn’t know what he was going to do. He said, “Maybe some of the staff will be able to identify the woman and the dog. And it might not even be my dog. Please don’t be too hard on yourself. Everyone makes mistakes.”
“Thank you for being so understanding.” She pulled out a fresh tissue and dabbed at her eyes. “When I think of your little girl missing her puppy, I could just cry.”
“So,” Dan pressed on, “when did all this happen? Can you remember what time she arrived and left? Approximately?”
“Well,” the lady said, sniffing. “She got here not too long ago. It’s hard to remember.” Her mouth pulled from side to side as she thought. “And she left . . .” She glanced up at him, puzzled. “I don’t actually remember seeing her go. I mean, sometimes I miss things, but you’d think I’d notice that little dog . . .”
Dan gulped. “So there’s a chance she’s still here?”
“I guess.” She leaned over the counter and twisted her head to see the two side-by-side elevators. Her forehead furrowed, as she tried to remember. “I mean, I don’t know for sure.”
Dan reached down to grab a copy of the sheet with Anni’s picture. “I’m going to go up to the third floor and see if I can find them. I’ll leave my briefcase here.” He set it down on the floor in front of the counter.
“And I’ll make some phone calls,” she said excitedly. “I’ll call the other floors in the building and ask if they’ve seen a lady with a dog.”
As Dan rode up the elevator, he wondered if the place had a PA system. Making an announcement seemed like the most expedient way to handle this. The woman hadn’t offered, though, and maybe they had specified requirements for using t
he system. He’d ask after he was done checking the third floor.
The elevator car stopped on the second floor and when the door opened, he saw a woman about his age leaning on a walker. She wore what he was starting to believe was standard fare for the place, comfortably stretchy clothing, in her case yoga pants and a hooded sweatshirt. Pushing the walker slowly in front of her, she was halfway into the elevator, when she said, “Going down?”
“No, up.”
“Oh shoot,” she said, backing up one baby step at a time. “Sorry to be a bother.”
“No trouble at all,” Dan said, stepping forward to hold the doors for her. He shot looks in both directions, but there was no sign of a lady with Anni on the second floor. At least not that he could see from the elevator. “Have you seen a woman with a small dog? Sometime in the last hour or so?”
“Nope, can’t say that I have.” She nodded and kept inching backward.
“Okay, thanks.” The door closed and the elevator shuddered before continuing its rise to the third floor. After getting buzzed through the locked door, he wandered down the hall until he came to the nurses’ station. The last time he and Lindsay had been here, a sign on the back wall had said, “Happy Birthday, Kevin.” Since then, a new sign had replaced it. This one said, “Congratulations, Cleo.” Someone either had a baby or was retiring. A sheet cake underneath the sign sat partially eaten, and some empty punch cups were scattered nearby. No one sat at the desk, but voices drifted from the room beyond. Down the hall Dan heard someone say loudly, “I’m not going to tell you again,” and then the sound of a door slamming, muffling what came after. He stood at the counter for a second before calling out, “Excuse me?”
A woman in scrubs, a blood pressure cuff in one hand, walked through the doorway. A pair of glasses dangled off a chain onto the front of her scrub top. “Yes? Can I help you?” She had a weary look about her, like it had been a long shift.
Hello Love Page 18
