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  Chapter 15

  “Old age is not an illness”

  It took less than a month for me to realize that I couldn’t care for Aunt Gillian on my own, and I was worried that her memory lapses and bad tempers were more than garden-variety dementia. In her first month, I often had to remind her where she was and why she was there.

  “But I live in Cleveland.”

  I knew it was important to be patient, but I grew tired of having the same conversation over and again.

  “You did live there for many years, but then we thought it would be nice for us to live together.”

  I took the opportunity to craft a more pleasant history than the one we shared. It was the one advantage of Alzheimer’s disease. Revisionist history was often necessary, or at least tolerated, because the listener, my aunt, sometimes didn’t know the difference.

  “You hated living with me. We argued all the time.” Aunt Gillian flashed in and out of reality, so I could never be sure when she would pick up on one of the white lies I used to placate her.

  “No. We’re family.”

  She grunted and told me she wanted to take a nap.

  This was another problem: napping. For someone who claimed she didn’t need much sleep, she was spending much of her time doing just that. At first, I chalked this up to being older, but my aunt had always been a bundle of energy. Throughout my childhood, she rose before the sun every day, and by the time I awoke she had done the laundry, cooked breakfast, and written out a list of chores I needed to complete that day. Even last Christmas when she came to Florida, she had bustled around my house, making sure there was no dust lurking in the corners and rushing to refill Jack’s water glass before he even asked.

  Now, it was July and she could barely be bothered to get out of bed in the morning, and when she did, lethargy clung to her every move.

  What was most worrisome was her attitude toward me. She could be nasty at the most unexpected times, but more often, Aunt Gillian was sweet to me.

  “You look nice today,” she had told me on a recent morning when I came in to make up her bed.

  I looked down at my torn jeans and the ancient Georgetown t-shirt I wore. I had covered my hair with a scarf and I wore no makeup. I couldn’t remember the last time Aunt Gillian had complimented me, but I was pretty sure I wasn’t dressed like a cleaning lady at the time. But instead of deriving pleasure from her acceptance of me, I became alarmed. I resolved that day to take her to the doctor for a full evaluation.

  I read up on dementia and Alzheimer’s. There was a ton of information online, including a pamphlet from the Alzheimer’s Foundation of America. The website was informative and well organized, but the information on warning signs scared me. “Alzheimer’s disease is a progressive, degenerative disorder that attacks the brain’s nerve cells, or neurons, resulting in loss of memory, thinking and language skills, and behavioral changes.” This I knew. But I felt dizzy as I read the familiar symptoms. There was one line that cut me to the core. “Personality changes can become evident in the early stages of Alzheimer’s disease. Signs include irritability, apathy, withdrawal, and isolation.” Irritability was nothing new with my aunt, but since she had been in Florida, she didn’t put up much of a fight about most things. She ate the food I cooked, and her complaints that my cooking wasn’t up to par were halfhearted. She spent too much time in her room, often claiming fatigue. She didn’t seem to care much about her appearance and had rejected my suggestion that she schedule a regular appointment at the hair salon as she had done back in Cleveland.

  I took her to the medical center at Mizner University, which was renowned for its work with the elderly. The tests were scheduled over several days, and I was so nervous the first day I begged Jack to come along with us. He and Aunt Gillian were still getting along well, and I wanted a buffer at the doctor’s office, just in case.

  My aunt was silent the morning of her appointment. I’d waited until the night before to tell her about it. When I’d explained to her that she needed a complete physical, she had protested.

  “I’m fine. Old age is not an illness.”

  “I know. But everyone needs a physical, and I just want to make sure everything’s all right.” I never directly referred to her dementia, because I wasn’t sure how aware of it she was.

  “Why wouldn’t everything be all right? I don’t take any pills. There’s nothing wrong with me. Is there?”

  We were in the middle of dinner, and I chewed and swallowed before answering.

  “I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  I expected more arguing from her in the morning, but she said little as she dressed and ate her oatmeal, the same breakfast she had eaten for as long as I could remember. She finished the entire bowl, and I wondered if this was her way of showing me that she was in perfect health.

  Jack met us in the waiting room at Dr. Ortiz’s office, where we were the only people waiting. The room was spacious and elegant, painted a warm, dusty rose and decorated with sleek, modern furniture and accessories. One wall was covered with his framed degrees. After I got Aunt Gillian settled into a seat with a magazine, I wandered over for a closer look. Dr. Ortiz’s pedigree was impeccable, and I was further buoyed when I saw that he had attended Georgetown University a few years ahead of me. I took it as a good omen and sat down next to Jack, who was flipping through Cosmopolitan.

  “That seems like an odd magazine choice for a doctor who deals with older patients,” I said.

  Jack smiled. “Mature women need to know ‘Ten Ways to Please Your Man in Bed,’ too. Right, Gill?”

  Aunt Gillian gave Jack a stern look, but I thought I saw just a hint of a smile before she looked back down at her magazine.

  “Gill?” I whispered to him. I’d never heard anyone refer to my aunt as Gill.

  “Jack and Gill. It’s why we get along so well,” he teased. “Maybe if your name was Jack, you two wouldn’t argue so much.”

  “Yeah, right.” Just then the nurse called my aunt’s name.

  Dr. Ortiz was a lanky man who spoke English with just the slightest Spanish accent. His skin was honeyed and smooth. He looked like someone who spent his free time outside playing tennis and swimming. His manner was soothing, and I sensed that whatever the diagnosis, we were in good hands.

  “Ms. Jones, we’re just here to check you out and make sure everything is fine. There’s nothing to be afraid of; the tests we’ll be doing over the next week won’t hurt, and I’ll tell you exactly what each one checks for so you’ll know what’s going on.”

  His eyes never left my aunt’s, and I could tell that she liked Dr. Ortiz right away. I hadn’t told Aunt Gillian that the testing and examinations would mean that we would be seeing him several times over the next week, but when Dr. Ortiz smiled at her, she didn’t seem to mind.

  He then explained that he would take a medical history to gather information about my aunt’s current and past health problems and a family history of illnesses. He would interview me as well to get a good idea of how Aunt Gillian was doing.

  This was where his spell broke. Aunt Gillian frowned.

  “Ernestine can’t tell you anything more than I can. I’m not a child, you know.” She shifted in her seat and pulled her purse closer to her, as if Dr. Ortiz had suggested she hand over its contents for scrutiny.

  I tensed up and stole a glance at Jack. It’s okay, he mouthed at me.

  “It’s just standard procedure, Ms. Jones,” Dr. Ortiz said in a soothing voice. “We know that you know yourself better than anyone.”

  Aunt Gillian sighed and leaned back. “Just as long as you don’t take her word over mine.”

  “Take my word about what?” I couldn’t help interjecting. I knew part of this was the dementia talking, but then again, she had always treated me this way. Nothing I had ever done was good enough, not even bringing her into my home and care when she needed it.

  Jack and Dr. Ortiz shot me warning looks. I pursed my lips to keep them closed. They w
ere right—I needed to try to act like an adult. This wasn’t about me. It was about my aunt’s health.

  “Your word is the most important, believe me.” My aunt nodded and started rifling through her bag. I prayed she wasn’t looking for cigarettes, and while she was occupied with the contents of her purse, Dr. Ortiz flashed me a reassuring smile. I felt my facial muscles relax and I smiled back.

  He went on to explain that he would ask Aunt Gillian a series of question, and although he didn’t say so, I knew they would be used to evaluate her mental status, memory, and sense of time and place.

  “Of course, we’ll do a routine physical, with some specific neurological tests added to make sure we’re covering all of our bases. And after all that is done, we’ll come together and go over the results.”

  Aunt Gillian stopped rummaging in her bag, coming up empty-handed and seeming upset about it.

  “Can I get you something, Ms. Jones, or help you find something?”

  “My cigarettes. I can’t find my cigarettes.” Her voice was irritable, and I could feel my cheeks heat up with embarrassment. I started to speak, but Jack took my hand and I managed to stay quiet.

  “Ernestine, did you take my cigarettes?”

  I said nothing. I kept my lips pursed and occupied myself with admiring my own restraint.

  Dr. Ortiz smiled at the mention of cigarettes, as if he was glad she had mentioned it.

  “Ms. Jones, this is a nonsmoking facility, you know.” He raised a conspiratorial eyebrow at her as if to indicate the foolishness of the bleeding-heart liberals who’d created such a policy.

  “Why don’t you come with me? I’ll walk you over to the examination rooms down the hall, and we’ll see if we can’t get you comfortable there.”

  He offered his arm and Aunt Gillian took it after shooting a self-satisfied smirk my way. Dr. Ortiz winked at me over her shoulder as they left the room.

  I looked at Jack, and we burst into laughter.

  * * *

  Jack left to get some air, and I wandered over to the cafeteria for coffee. I was stirring in skim milk when a man standing next to me spoke.

  “That’s not good for you, you know.”

  I looked up at him. “Milk?”

  “Coffee. I should know. I’m a doctor.” He grinned when he said that, giving the line just enough irony to keep it from being cheesy. “May I join you?”

  I shrugged and nodded, doubting that this guy was all that interesting and feeling almost certain I wouldn’t like him. But I needed a distraction, and he seemed to be just as good as any.

  “I’m Marvin Brunson,” he said in a booming voice as we sat down.

  “Tina.” I decided not to give him my last name. I had no plans to take our chance meeting further. But I was intrigued. He didn’t look like a Marvin, not with those camouflage green eyes, caramel skin, and chiseled shoulders covered by a tailored jacket. His sandy brown hair was cut short and curled just enough so it didn’t look too perfect. He was tall, a full head taller than me, and his skin was smooth and clean-shaven. Everything about him was well-groomed and expensive, and I felt downright frumpy in my jeans, t-shirt, and plain black cardigan.

  He asked why I was at the hospital and I told him. But I didn’t want to talk about me.

  “So, you’re not a chiropractor, I hope.”

  “Plastic surgeon.”

  “So you do boob jobs, then?” I was feeling antagonistic because he seemed smug. But Marvin seemed prepared to take it.

  “Breasts, tummy tucks, face lifts, the whole spectrum. I would ask you if you’re interested, but you don’t look to me as if you need any improvements.”

  I shook my head. “Nice. I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”

  Marvin raised his eyebrows. “Would you rather I suggested Botox?”

  Marvin was insulting, a jerk who was enamored with himself. He was the adult version of the boys who had hurt me back in school. And he was just the kind of man I knew to avoid.

  “Do women really fall for this stuff? And, more important, do you pick up a lot of women in the hospital cafeteria?”

  He shrugged and smiled. “I’m not spending my Saturday nights home alone.”

  Even though I didn’t approve of him, he was vaguely charming. I had to smile, raising my cup.

  “To Botox.” He touched his cup of orange juice to my coffee cup. Then I looked at my watch.

  “I have to get going.”

  “Can I see you again sometime? Maybe we can meet here for corned beef sandwiches on Thursday,” he joked.

  “I don’t eat corned beef. It’s not good for you.”

  He grinned. “Maybe you want to give me your number and I can take you out for something you do eat.”

  I tilted my head and looked at him. I couldn’t say that I liked him, but I was intrigued. I scribbled my cell phone number on a piece of paper and gave it to him. I didn’t think it mattered. He wouldn’t call.

  * * *

  After Aunt Gillian’s initial tests, we drove to my house, where I’d promised to make Jack lunch as a reward for spending the morning in a doctor’s office. Aunt Gillian was tired and went to her room to watch television, saying she would eat lunch later. I offered to help her but she pushed me away.

  “I’m not an invalid, you know,” she called back over her shoulder.

  I looked over at Jack and shrugged. I had been trying all day to pretend that this was just like any ordinary day, business as usual, such as it was since Aunt Gillian had come to live with me. Jack knew better.

  “It’s going to be okay, you know. No matter what Doctor Feelgood says, things will be okay.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t like Dr. Ortiz? I thought he was great.”

  “I could tell. He had you and Gill charmed.”

  “What’s wrong with a little charm?”

  He didn’t answer. I watched him fiddle with his silverware. He sounded jealous. This wasn’t the first time I’d heard him use this tone. If it had been anyone besides Jack, I would have recognized it as clear jealousy, but this was Jack. We were friends. Just friends. I had always wanted more from our relationship, but after five years, I wasn’t sitting around hoping that our friendship would be anything more. Was I?

  “What, you’re worried that he’ll take your place in Aunt Gillian’s heart?” I poked Jack with the cheese I was preparing to slice for his sandwich, but he didn’t smile.

  “Yeah, right.” He seemed to realize that he had been rolling the cloth napkin between his fingers and put it down. He looked up and offered a wan smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Where’s my sandwich? You dragged me into a hospital—”

  “It’s a medical center, actually.”

  “—Medical center, where I spent half the day. As you know, I hate medical centers. The least you could do is give me the sandwich you promised.”

  His act was unconvincing, but I was too worried about Aunt Gillian to keep arguing.

  “Okay, your highness. Turkey or ham?”

  Chapter 16

  “Strange fruit”

  After lunch, Jack fell asleep on my sofa and I sat down with a novel from the pile I’d been meaning to read. I was ten pages into it when the telephone rang. I jumped up to answer it so another ring wouldn’t wake Jack or Aunt Gillian. The caller ID showed Cleveland Police Department. I felt my shoulders tighten as I said hello.

  Aunt Gillian’s house had been broken into, the detective on the line told me. We had left the house locked up and in the care of a local realtor, who agreed to check on the place in exchange for the listing whenever we were ready to sell. The police got my number from the realtor.

  The place was vandalized and ransacked, but according to the realtor, there didn’t seem to be much missing from the things we left there when we moved my aunt to Florida. The detective sounded weary and apologetic when he told me that there wasn’t much chance of catching the burglars. He thought it was someone from the neighborhood looking for cash. I didn’t be
grudge him a lack of interest in the case. I knew how overtaxed Cleveland’s police department was, and I understood that a break-in at a near-empty house wasn’t top priority.

  “Someone needs to come here and see to things,” the detective told me.

  “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

  We made an appointment to meet Tuesday afternoon and I hung up. Only after did I consider the situation. I needed to go to Cleveland, and Aunt Gillian needed to finish her testing. Even if we put off the tests, I didn’t relish the idea of traveling with her, especially not back to Cleveland. I thought it might give her ideas about staying up there, and that was not an option. And there was the matter of the house. It should be sold, but I needed my aunt’s permission before that could happen. My head began to ache and I set down the book that I’d been clutching.

  “Jack,” I whispered, not wanting to startle him.

  He slept on, and after a few more attempts to wake him, I poked his chest. I leaned over and put my mouth next to his ear.

  “Jack.” I said it loud enough to jolt him awake. He sat up so quickly we bumped heads.

  “Why are you yelling?” He rubbed his head and squinted at me.

  “Wake up.”

  He sighed and slumped back against the couch, glancing at his watch.

  “I was only asleep for half an hour.”

  “My aunt’s house was burglarized. In Cleveland,” I added when he didn’t react right away.

  “I know where she lived.” He rubbed his eyes and thought for a moment. “You have to go there.”

  I nodded and stared at him. I hoped he would volunteer without my having to ask.

  He stared back until he couldn’t stand it anymore. “I can’t give her baths and stuff like that. You’ll have to hire a nurse, at least for a few days.”

  I nodded. “Of course. I won’t be gone long. Two days, three at the most.”

  He sat forward now, taking over the planning. “I’ll have to get a sub for my classes, and take her to all her tests. Those shouldn’t be canceled. We’ll go grocery shopping today, and I’ll order in all of that comfort food she likes, because I’ve never cooked cornbread in my life.”