Luke stood and stared down at him. “I’m not a young boy anymore, Dad. I’m a grown man, and I have my own ways of understanding what’s happened in our country this past year.” He clenched his fists. “Don’t you get that?”
“Yes, I get it.” John remained in his seat, his voice as steady as it had been when they first began speaking. “I’m only trying to help you, son.”
“I don’t need help!” Luke brushed his fingers through his hair and glanced up at the ceiling. His anger was palpable, like a physical shield around him. “I have a right to my viewpoint without your trying to ‘help’ me . . . or change me back to how I used to be.”
“Lower your voice.” John finally let his own frustration show. “You will always be entitled to your opinion. But you will not speak to me in that tone of voice. Do you understand?”
Luke uttered a short laugh and shook his head. “You know, Dad, I really thought you were enough of a man that we could have this conversation without your turning it into a lecture. Or bringing God into it.”
“Well, then.” John’s voice was back to normal, but his heart was breaking. “I guess you don’t know me very well. God isn’t something I bring into a conversation. God is my life. When I talk to my son, a little bit of God is bound to ooze out.”
“And that’s why I’m leaving tonight.” Luke headed for the door.
“Luke, think about what you’re saying.” John stood and reached his hand toward his son. “If you don’t want me to share Bible verses, I won’t. There’s no reason for you to run off like this.” John held his breath and grabbed at the last straw. “Think of how your mother will feel.”
Luke rolled his eyes. “She won’t miss me. She’s already told me how she feels about Lori. The two of you don’t agree with anything I’m doing these days.” He opened the door. “I’ll spend the next few weeks with a friend of Lori’s. My things’ll be out by the first of the month.”
Three hours later Luke was gone.
John tried to replay the familiar Scripture verse in his mind while Elizabeth wept in his arms in the quiet of their bedroom. Where was the encouragement, the hope about the future, the reassurance that with God’s help, somehow Luke would one day come to his senses?
John had no answers for himself. All that played over and over in his mind was the first part of the verse: “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy.” It was that part that shook him to the core, that had never in his life seemed more true. The part that kept him up all night, praying desperately for the safety of his only son.
That God would save Luke before any of those things actually happened.
* * *
His family would be furious with him. But then that was nothing new.
Luke stood at the window of the apartment he now shared with Lori Callahan off campus. His other plans for an apartment had fallen through sometime after Christmas. Lori’s father had already rented this place for her. So when she suggested he move in, too, Luke couldn’t think of a single reason why not.
Kari and Ryan had asked everyone to gather at their parents’ house tonight for some kind of dinner party. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what the big deal was. They were obviously going to announce their engagement. Kari had made a point of calling the day before to see if he was coming.
“Probably,” he’d told her.
“Please, Luke. This means a lot to Ryan and me. He really wants you there.”
Luke had stifled a sigh. “I’ll try. I have a lot of homework.”
“Try hard.”
Luke couldn’t relate. There had been nothing upbeat about his life since the terrorist attacks. There were a few bright spots, yes, but mostly his days were an empty, meaningless vacuum. And maybe that’s all life had been before September 11 too. People were born. They died. In between, they did their best to make money and help as many people as they could.
That was it. No God, no heaven, no eternity to look forward to.
But that wasn’t how his sisters saw it, and they never let him forget that fact. Luke felt a tension in his shoulders as he stared into the dark night. He had nothing against Kari or any of his other sisters. But they didn’t understand him. All of them except Ashley were constantly trying to change him—sharing Scriptures, offering to pray, telling him he was going through a phase or that he was depressed.
Lori came up behind him and massaged the muscles at the base of his neck. “You look tense.”
“I am.” He didn’t turn around. He was living with Lori now, doing everything that went along with that. It was an agreeable arrangement, but it wasn’t love.
“Because of your family?” Lori ran her fingernails lightly down his sides. She lifted his white T-shirt and left a trail of kisses between his shoulder blades.
He grew still beneath her touch, not wanting her advances. “I guess.”
“Go, then.” She let his shirt fall back into place and came up alongside him. “If you want to be there, go. Your father won’t fight with you tonight. Not if it’s some big announcement for Kari and Ryan.”
Luke shook his head. “I don’t want to be there. I just feel bad, that’s all.”
Lori studied him for a moment. “Let me know if I can help.” She walked away and headed down the hallway toward their room.
The emptiness in Luke’s heart swelled until he wasn’t sure he could take it anymore. Why was he even here? What was he doing living with a girl he didn’t love—a girl that sometimes he could barely stand? And what was his family doing at the Baxter house without him? Had they all written him off? Or were they holding hands around the dinner table, praying he’d come to his senses?
Why was the emptiness getting to him tonight? Normally it didn’t bother him; it was part of his life now. To believe there was no God was to believe there was no meaning in anything. Work, relationships, children—all of it was meaningless. An ever-changing process that led nowhere.
He closed his eyes and let his head fall against the cold window. Last week’s snow had already melted across much of Bloomington, but winter was just getting under way.
Suddenly, Luke remembered last spring, when he and Reagan played softball, watched hoops on television, and read the Bible together.
How could he have been so gullible? Reagan had never loved him. If she had, she wouldn’t have disappeared so completely after one little mistake.
Looking back, it didn’t even seem that bad. They’d slipped up—once. But was that any reason for her to cut him off completely? Since September 11, she still had never once taken his calls or responded to his messages.
No, it was clear to Luke now that Reagan had never really loved him. It was God she loved. And now that same God was exacting of her a terrible penance for one little slip.
She could have at least spoken to him, told him how she was handling the loss of her father. But instead she’d cut him out of her life. And if losing Reagan was the price he had to pay for breaking the rules that awful Monday night, then the whole faith thing was a game. One Luke didn’t want to play anymore. Not now. Not ever.
He opened his eyes and stared across the darkened landscape once more. It was over—everything about life as he’d once known it. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep his mind from dwelling on the same two questions that had plagued him ever since he moved in with Lori.
Where was Reagan now?
And did she ever—on a cold winter night—find herself pressed against a dark window thinking about him?
Chapter Thirty-Six
The idea came to Ashley almost as soon as she started back at Sunset Hills.
Family Day, she called it. A Saturday afternoon when all the relatives would be welcome to visit at the same time. Sunset Hills would provide dinner, and Ashley’s new philosophy on Alzheimer’s care could be showcased.
Already the improvements in the residents had been so dramatic, even Lu had taken to studying the Past-Present ideas.
“You’re right,
” she told Ashley one afternoon after looking up research cases on the Internet. “I’ve talked to the owners of other adult care homes. Improvements can be drastic when you help Alzheimer’s patients live where they can best remember.”
“It’s hard to argue with the results.” Ashley had beamed at Lu.
“I’d like you to continue training the entire staff to handle the patients the way you do.”
It was Lu’s last comment that convinced Ashley to create Family Day. She found Lu a few days later. “Once the staff understands, let’s have an open house for family members. That way they’ll see for themselves how this approach works.”
Lu grinned. “I can hardly wait.”
Family Day was set for Saturday, January 19, and Ashley was surprised at the response. At least one relative for each of the residents planned to attend. Best of all, Bert’s son from Wisconsin was coming. Ashley had called to tell him something dramatic had happened with his father.
“That’s okay, Ms. Baxter.” Bert’s son had sounded tired. “You don’t have to lie to get us to come. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen Dad, so I’ll be there. I’m not expecting miracles.”
Ashley couldn’t wait to see the man’s face when he realized he was wrong.
Family Day dawned sunny despite the cold temperatures. Helen’s daughter was the first to arrive. The two had continued their conversations about “Sue” several times each week, and not once had Sue let on that she was anything but a visiting stranger. Ashley wasn’t sure, but she sensed a breakthrough was coming.
That day Sue and Helen sat together in her room sharing stories about Sue, as usual. Ashley checked in on them now and then, and at ten o’clock she brought the women each a cup of tea. They seemed lost in conversation, so Ashley crept back toward the door and watched.
“After the spies took my Sue”—Helen pointed to her dresser drawer—“she still lived in here.”
Sue glanced at Ashley, and the women exchanged a knowing look. This was the first time Helen had trusted Sue enough to talk about her drawer of photographs. Sue quickly returned her attention to her mother. “Is that right?”
Helen’s face grew noticeably softer. “Wanna see?”
Sue took her mother’s hand. “That would be wonderful.”
Slowly, Helen went to the dresser, opened the drawer, and pulled out the framed picture she’d shown Ashley months ago. “This”—her voice broke—“this is my Sue.”
“She’s very pretty, Helen. Just like I remember her back when she was younger.”
Helen clutched the photograph to her chest. “When she was . . . younger?”
They were treading dangerous ground. Ashley closed her eyes and prayed that Helen wouldn’t become combative.
Sue cast a gentle look at her mother. “I knew Sue very well. That’s how she looked when she was a girl.”
For a long while Helen stared at Sue, almost as though she were seeing her for the first time. Slowly, tentatively, she drew the photograph away from her chest and held it out so the image of the young Sue was positioned just below the face of the older Sue.
Ashley watched, mesmerized. Please, God, let her understand just this once. For Sue, Lord . . . please.
Helen looked from Sue to the photograph and back again. “You know, you sort of have Sue’s eyes.”
It was at this point that Helen was most likely to snap. Ashley could picture her ordering Sue from her room, accusing her of being a spy, and stealing Sue’s eyes, insisting she had somehow hidden Sue from her.
Ashley bit her lip and waited. Please, God.
At first, Sue said nothing. She reached for the photo and held it up beside her face so Helen could clearly see both images. “Yes. I looked just like Sue when I was younger.”
A wetness gathered in Helen’s eyes. “You . . . you did?”
“I did.” Sue kept the photograph adjacent to her face. She obviously wanted her mother to see the resemblance—a resemblance that even thirty years couldn’t hide. Sue’s voice was the softest caress. “Same eyes . . . same face. Same everything.”
Helen leaned forward and peered at Sue the way she might if Sue were standing in the middle of a dense bank of fog. She squinted, and her soft, wrinkled chin began to quiver. Then she lifted one trembling hand toward Sue’s face and brushed back a lock of her daughter’s graying hair. “Sue?”
Tears filled Sue’s eyes, and a sob slipped from her throat before she could recover. “Yes, Mama, it’s me. Sue.”
“My Sue?”
Ashley felt tears slipping down her own cheeks as she watched the scene unfold. It was a miracle, a moment stolen from yesterday. With Alzheimer’s there was no telling if they would share a time like this again. Every day brought with it a new set of challenges. But here, now, Sue was being given a gift that few children of Alzheimer’s patients ever get.
The chance to watch her mother remember—even if just this once.
Sue set the photograph down and leaned into her mother’s arms as though she were thirteen again. “I’m here, Mama.”
Helen began to cry. “Sue!” She stroked her back and nuzzled her face against her daughter’s. “I thought . . . I thought I’d never see you again.”
“I know, Mama.” Sue’s tears streamed down her face, but her voice was clear, and a smile punctuated her sobs. “I know.”
“Someone took you away from me.” Helen sniffed twice and ran her fingers over Sue’s hair.
“No, Mama, I’m here. I’ll never leave you.”
Helen buried her head in her daughter’s shoulder. “I missed you, honey. I never stopped missing you.”
Ashley took a step back toward the hallway. It was a bridge. That was the benefit of allowing Alzheimer’s patients to live in their memories, in the past, where they were comfortable. Sometimes, during moments like this, the memories were strong enough to span the gap between yesterday and today. Strong enough, in this case, to allow a mother and daughter the chance to love the way they hadn’t in years.
Lu walked by and paused, glancing over Ashley’s shoulder. She leaned close and whispered, “What’s happening?”
Ashley wiped her tears and smiled, keeping her voice low enough that it didn’t interrupt the conversation between the two women. “Helen remembered her. It’s the first time in years.”
“That’s impossible.” Lu stared at the two women and then back at Ashley. “I think we’ll change your title from manager to miracle worker.”
Ashley grinned. “That’s not my title.” She pointed upward. “It’s his.” Lu wasn’t a Christian believer, but Ashley had a feeling she would be one day.
“Well.” Lu stared at Sue and Helen, and shook her head. “I’d say he’s doing a pretty good job.”
* * *
Bert’s son and his family arrived just after lunch.
This was the moment Ashley had been looking forward to since she gave Bert his saddle. The changes in Bert had been dramatic and ongoing. Ashley even planned to write about them in a paper and submit them to several of the groups she had found on Web sites. Her experience would be further proof that allowing Alzheimer’s patients their memories was a good thing.
Ashley met the man, his wife, and their two daughters at the door and welcomed them. When they were seated, Ashley smiled at them. “I’ll go get your father.”
Bert’s son exchanged an odd look with his wife, and Ashley knew what they were thinking. How would Ashley get Bert out of his room? The old man hated leaving the place and was always withdrawn and difficult when he was brought into the commons.
Ashley giggled to herself and hummed as she made her way to Bert’s room. He was polishing his saddle the same way he did every afternoon at this time.
“Hi, Bert.” She stopped in the doorway and grinned at him. “How are you?”
He turned and smiled at her. His movements were still slower than they might have been, but there was life in his eyes, and his voice was laced with awareness. “Got me a saddle.”
&nbs
p; “I see that.” Ashley held out her hand. “Your son’s here to see you, Bert. I told him I’d get you.”
Bert’s hand stopped in midstroke. “My . . . my son?”
“Yes. It’s Family Day. Your son and his family are here.”
“David?”
Ashley wanted to shout out loud. Bert remembered!
The changes in Bert had happened quickly after he’d gotten the saddle. First he began making eye contact, and then he started talking. But he’d never showed any awareness that he even had a son—until now.
“Yes, David Riley. Your son.”
“Lives down the road . . . old dairy farm.”
“That’s right.” Smiling, Ashley reached her hand out a bit farther. “Come say hello to them.”
Bert’s eyebrows lowered, and he nodded his head slowly and seriously. “Believe I will.” He set the oilcloth carefully on top of the saddle and took small, hesitant steps in Ashley’s direction. When he was almost there, he took her hand and let her lead him from the room.
David stood when Ashley and Bert entered the room. There was silence for a moment, and then David took a step forward. “Hello, Dad. It’s me, David.” The man was a younger version of Bert—tall and proud, with muscled shoulders and calloused palms. He made his way across the room and held out his hand.
Ashley stepped back as Bert took his son’s fingers and held tightly to them. “Hi.”
Across the room, David’s wife let her lower jaw hang open, her eyes wide. Quietly she whispered, “How in the world . . . ?”
David cleared his throat. “Do you know who I am, Dad?”
Bert narrowed his eyes and grinned at David, their two hands still joined. “You’re my boy. Chip off the old block.”
David shot a look of shock and gratitude over his shoulder at Ashley. Then he pulled his father into an embrace and held him that way for a long time. “I’ve missed you, Dad. You don’t know how much I’ve missed you.” He pulled back and sniffed, clearly trying to control his emotion. “How . . . how are you?”
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