“Then leave it on the desktop as wallpaper.”
“I can’t do that either. She checks my computer to see what I’ve been doing. She doesn’t know I know, but I do, so I have to be really careful.”
“Or you could use a password.”
“I’ve tried that. She always finds a way in.”
“She won’t if you use one of my passwords, guaranteed.” We were almost at the dock when suddenly she sat up straight and said, “Oh shit,” and then ducked down into the bottom of the swan. “Turn us around! Turn us around!”
I made a hard left, taking us back out into the lagoon. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“My friends are there by the ticket booth.”
Sure enough, a group of four kids around Jocelyn’s age were standing in line. Two boys and two girls, wearing jeans and Tshirts. No stop-sign red hair, no black eyeliner. Only Jocelyn had both of those. Funny how she’d gone to so much trouble to stand out, and now all she wanted to do was disappear.
“What are they doing?” she asked.
“I think they’re buying tickets.”
She groaned. “Why can’t they ever just do what they say they’re going to do?”
“What did they say they’d do?”
“Send me a message as soon as they got here.”
“Maybe they’re giving you a little more time.”
“Maybe.” But she didn’t sound convinced. “Give me that tissue again.” She started rubbing the rest of the black off her cheeks. “What are they doing now?”
“Getting tickets.” I glanced down at her. “What difference does it make if they see you anyway? I thought you didn’t care what other people think.”
“They’re not people, they’re my friends.” She kept rubbing. “Are they gone?”
“Nope, in fact they’re coming this way. Maybe they’re going to ride the swans too.”
“That would not be good.” She huddled deeper into the bottom. “I can’t believe this. They’re supposed to be here to see the mockingbird, not ride a stupid swan. And they weren’t even supposed to come in the day. They were supposed to come tonight to hear him singing.”
“Maybe it’s better they’re here now. Maybe he won’t sing at night now that the lady mockingbird has found him,” I grinned at her. “It’ll be fun to find out.”
“Or maybe it’ll be so boring they’ll never come back. And if my dad doesn’t let me start taking the ferry on my own soon, I’ll be stuck riding this swan all summer.” She glanced up at me. “No offense. It’s just not doing for me what it does for you. How’s my face?”
“You’ve got a bit right there. And I’m sure your friends will have a good time with you no matter what.”
“That’s because you don’t know my friends. Are they in line for a swan?”
“No, they’re walking away.” I smiled at her. “It’s safe to come up now.”
She poked her head up and took one last look around before getting back into the seat. As soon as she was settled, she whipped her head around and pointed a finger at the man in the swan beside us. “What the fuck are you looking at?”
The family who had been watching us turned their swan away as quickly as they could and headed for the dock.
“He’s probably going to report you for using bad words. Happened to Liz all the time.”
“So what? We’re done here anyway.” She knocked my hand off the tiller. “We’re going in now. How’s my face?”
“Fine,” I said, dabbing at one last spot of black on her cheek.
When we reached the dock, Ryan said the man had definitely reported her, but he didn’t care. We could keep going if we wanted. I shook my head, told him thanks but we had to go, so he reached out with his hook and hauled us into the dock. The moment her feet were on the ground, Jocelyn took out her phone and started hitting the buttons. “I need to find out where they are,” she said, her head bent over the phone as we walked up the ramp. “Get them to meet me at the fountain.”
“That won’t work,” I said, “because they’re right there.”
She snapped her head up. “What? Where?”
“By the tree.” I started to raise a hand to show her, but she slapped it down.
“I see them. Shit. And they see me too. Shit again.”
The taller of the two boys called, “Hey, Goth girl. How’s it going?”
“Good,” she called back, and I watched her face soften and her smile turn shy as the four of them came toward us. “Do not follow me,” she muttered, and walked away.
I understood her need for privacy, but I was curious, I couldn’t help it. So I took out my phone and practiced my texting skills while I listened. I found out that the taller boy’s name was Sean and the girls’ names were Alex and Courtney. The two of them giggled the way some girls do, and Jocelyn smiled and nodded with them, but her eyes kept returning to the shorter of the two boys. His name was Josh—the one who’d had the party.
“You’re so lucky,” the one named Courtney said. “It would be so cool to spend the summer on the Island.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you had to be here.” Jocelyn turned that shy little smile to Josh. “How was the party?”
He was thin but good-looking. Clean-cut, my mother would have said. The kind you should instinctively mistrust. Then again, you were supposed to be watchful around long-hairs, business types, tradesmen, men who were unemployed, and anyone who worked at the park, so what difference did it make? But Josh seemed okay. He had a nice smile and when he said, “It would have been more fun if you’d been there,” and put an arm around her shoulder, Jocelyn looked surprised but she didn’t pull away, so I figured he must be a nice boy.
“Let’s go see that bird,” he said, but as they turned to go, the girl named Alex glanced over at me. Her eyes flicked down from my face to my shoes and back up again, pausing a moment to read my WHAT WOULD BUDDHA DO? T-shirt before returning to my face. “Is that the retard?”
Jocelyn’s face went as red as her hair. “Her name’s Grace. Let’s get out of here.”
She glanced back once as they walked away. And I was the only one who saw the little wave of her fingers.
RUBY
Within a few hours of my meltdown, I was fine again. Medicated, exercised, and more than lucid enough to grasp the full impact of the disaster I’d created. Mark kept me away from the house for the rest of the day, canoeing in the lagoons, hiding out in the café, even napping at his place. Anywhere was fine by me as long as I didn’t have to face Grace’s tears or tell Mary Anne the truth or think about clients who might or might not come back again. If Mark was hurting from his run-in with the taxi, he kept it to himself while we paddled and ate and talked—about the Boy Scout jamboree on Snake Island, the flashy new sailboats at the yacht clubs, the fabulous food at the Rectory Café. Anything but what had happened or what it meant, while Big Al sat smugly between us, smiling and waiting for my next performance.
It was almost dark when Mark finally took me home. Jocelyn and her friends were there, the five of them huddled around the bird-in-a-box while the other one, the healthy one, sat up high in the lilac bush singing for them. Someone needed to shoot that thing.
Grace was there too, of course, sitting alone by the birdbath, still tiptoeing around me, giving me a wide berth, as though I might bite if she got too close. Mary Anne must have been at her window all day because the moment Mark opened my gate, she came trotting over with a box of my favorite cookies—white chocolate and macadamia nut—to have our little chat.
I sighed and let her follow us into the house, let her make tea and set out her cookies. When the first cookie was halfway to her lips, I finally said the three little words that would change everything forever. “I have Alzheimer’s.”
Her face froze for a heartbeat and then it began. The falling cookie, the watery eyes, the gentle, fluttering touch—that god-awful sympathy I’d been dreading since the diagnosis.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she aske
d, sliding her chair closer.
“I didn’t tell anyone.” I stared at her hand on mine. Wanted to pick it up, put it back where it belonged, and tell her to stuff her sympathy. But it seemed a lot of bother for nothing.
“You obviously told Mark,” she said, her tone only a little accusing, only slightly hurt.
“Just a few days ago,” he said. “And only because she needed a lawyer.”
“Liz knows too,” I said. “For all the good it did.” I met those watery eyes again. “But Grace still hasn’t been told and I want to keep it that way. You can’t say a word to her or anyone else, do you understand?”
“But—”
“Mary Anne, I’ll make it public when I’m ready.”
Which might be tomorrow. The story of my meltdown was probably all over the Island by now anyway, so what difference did it make.
I got to my feet. “I’m going to bed. Tell Grace I said good night. And tell her I don’t bite.”
“She’s just afraid you’re still angry with her,” Mary Anne said. “You really scared her.”
“That makes two of us.” I went up the stairs, leaving her and Mark to discuss me, my condition, my prognosis, anything that made them feel better while I popped an extra sleeping pill and hoped it kept me from hearing that goddamn mockingbird.
The next morning I slept in, waking up at nine to the sun streaming through my window and the mockingbird still in good voice. Ignoring my own notes and signs, I didn’t pull on my shorts and T-shirt. Didn’t tie up my hair. Didn’t do anything but close the bedroom door and go down the stairs. Mark was there already, or perhaps he’d never left, standing at the stove flipping French toast with cinnamon, another favorite. Mary Anne was there too, sitting at the table, sworn to secrecy and twitching with questions. She rose and hugged me, kissed my cheek, asked how my night had been.
“Uneventful,” I told her, leaving out the dreams, the sweats, and the fact that the pills hadn’t stopped me from hearing that damn bird.
“Breakfast is almost ready,” Mark said.
“Where’s Grace?” I asked.
“Outside with Jocelyn.” Mary Anne nodded at the window. “Keeping the cats away from the mockingbird.”
The bird-in-a-box. Yes, I remembered.
I glanced over at the answering machine. Saw the flashing light and wondered how long it had been doing that. Pressed the button and wished I hadn’t as soon as the first message started. “Oh, Ruby, I do hope everything is okay,” from Audrey, who had been here yesterday. “We were so worried about you, Ruby,” from Joannie on Algonquin, who was probably spreading the story even as I listened to the message. And the one that truly bothered me: “What the hell was that?” from Grace’s client, Marla.
I drummed my fingers on the counter and stared at the phone, knowing damage control should start immediately with a call to each and every woman who had been caught in the storm. Followed by a visit to the neighbors, anyone who might have heard my outburst and be wondering, talking about what was wrong with Ruby. And there was Grace to consider as well. Poor Grace who was still outside with the crippled bird. On the lookout for cats so she wouldn’t have to come near me.
I could see her through the window, sitting by the birdbath with Jocelyn, the two of them watching the healthy mockingbird dance high above them on a wire. Flicking his tail and flapping his wings, putting on a show for his biggest fans.
The thing might be cute if he’d shut up once in a while. I’d never heard anything like it. He went on and on, sounding like a robin one minute, a cardinal the next, and God only knew what kind of bird after that. He even sounded like a cell phone a couple of times, which was entertaining at first, but was truly annoying at three in the morning.
I turned back to the answering machine. Thought about making those calls. Was reaching for the receiver in fact, when Big Al asked if I had a story ready. Something believable to explain my behavior.
I drew my hand back, closed my fingers up tight, and was still staring at the machine, waiting for inspiration, when Mark announced that breakfast was ready. I walked over to the stove, looked into the pan.
French toast with cinnamon. My favorite.
“Sit here,” Mary Anne said, pulling out a chair in front of a place mat laid with cutlery and a napkin. A glass of orange juice on the left, a cup of tea on the right. When had she done that? I wondered and glanced over at the answering machine. There was no rush, Big Al said. I had all day to make those calls.
I spotted my notebook on the counter as I sat down. I should pick it up. Start today’s list, keep it current so I didn’t forget anything. But again, I had all day and Mark had set a plate in front of me. French toast with cinnamon. My favorite. So I left the notebook where it was and picked up the fork instead. Ate the toast, drank the tea. Heard Mark ask, “Do you want to go canoeing after breakfast?” I shook my head, took both meds and vitamins with the orange juice, and Big Al and I went back to bed.
By Monday morning, both Mary Anne and Mark had stopped being nice. They made me call the doctor. Stood beside me while I explained what had happened, adding enough of their own observations to the conversation that the doctor finally asked who was with me. “Former friends,” I told her.
“Were either of them with you when the outburst happened?”
“Both.”
“Put one of them on.”
And by eleven o’clock, the three of us were sitting in her waiting room, waiting.
Instead of having the receptionist call my name, Dr. Mistry came out herself and scanned the room. For the first time since I’d started coming to her, my impossibly young and pretty doctor had come looking for me. She spotted me in the corner. Smiled like she was genuinely glad to see me. “Come on in, Ruby,” she said. “And bring your friends.”
Friends? I looked from Mark to Mary Anne, and then back at the doctor. “Why would I do that?”
“Because I need to talk to all of you.”
“They have nothing to do with this.”
Her smiled hardened, became frighteningly professional. “Ruby, things have changed. It’s time to talk about your options whether you like it or not. Your friends clearly care about you, and it’s best if they’re there when we do.”
Then she walked away, discussion closed. Making it clear my opinion mattered for nothing, and Big Al laughed.
Mary Anne rose. “You heard the doctor. Let’s go.”
Mark offered me a hand. “She did sound like her mind was made up.”
I let him help me up, let them lead the way. I’d probably get lost anyway.
My doctor’s consulting room was large, bright, and filled with plants. Spider plants, Boston fern, ficus trees, and potted palms. Together with the bamboo furniture and soft chintz cushions, they give the room the feel of a conservatory instead of a medical office. The only giveaway being the massive oak desk in the middle, with her on one side and the patient on the other.
I took my usual chair, the one closest to the door. Mary Anne sat on my left. Mark dragged over a third chair and sat on my right, blocking my exit. Dr. Mistry smiled again and folded her hands on the desk. “Ruby, I’m not the bully you think I am right now, I’m simply worried about you. But I do need to confirm that you’re okay with having me discuss your situation with your friends present before we go any further.”
I shrugged. “Sure, why not?” There were no secrets anymore anyway. What was the worst that could happen?
“All right, then.” The doctor sat back, clearly relieved. “Why don’t you tell me again what happened on the weekend.”
I went over it for her, leaving nothing out because honesty with your medical practitioner is the key to good treatment. When I was finished, she turned to Mark. “Tell me what happened.”
He told the same story I did, and when he was finished she asked if Mary Anne wanted to add anything. She shook her head and Dr. Mistry turned back to me, the monkey in the middle.
“Ruby, I know how difficult that epis
ode must have been for you, but I believe it was the wake-up call you’ve needed, and having your friends here today is a real step forward. It means you’re finally moving past the anger and denial into acceptance, which means you’re ready to deal with the future in a realistic manner.” She leaned forward, her earnest-doctor expression sitting awkwardly on her lovely young face. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to finally look across this desk and see people with you. But before we proceed, I need to be sure that they’re fully aware of what it means to be a caregiver.”
And there it was, the worst that could happen.
“Caregivers?” I shook my head. “Absolutely not. No. Never.”
“I can be whatever she needs,” Mark said.
“The same goes for me,” Mary Anne added.
“She needs someone to look after her,” Dr. Mistry chimed in, the three of them completely ignoring me. Paying no attention at all when I repeated, “Absolutely not. I forbid it.”
“Do you both know what that will entail as time goes on?” the good doctor asked.
Mary Anne smiled at me. “Ruby and I have been friends since we were children. She’s more like a sister than my real sister ever was. I know what this illness does, the toll it takes on relationships, and I will be with her whether she likes it or not.”
“And I plan to be with her for years to come,” Mark said.
“You would,” I muttered, and he smiled. Bastard.
“Very well,” Dr. Mistry said, and launched into one of her tedious, inspirational speeches. “It’s important to know that we’re all on the same track.”
I wanted to stop her, to point out that both Mark and Mary Anne worked full time, and Mark didn’t even live on the Island. He was merely a summer visitor with a daughter and a law practice. Neither of my dear, stupid friends had time to worry about me on a daily basis.
But Dr. Mistry was on a roll and I couldn’t find an appropriate break in her monologue, a spot to interject and object. So I sat back and listened to her talk about the need for a positive attitude and the trouble with depression and getting myself a buddy, someone else with Alzheimer’s whom I could e-mail or visit with. Nothing that was new or even vaguely interesting, until she said, “I’m going to adjust your medication again.” At last she had my full attention.
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