The Charm Bracelet

by Viola Shipman

  These aren’t just any magazines, these are my magazines. Paparazzi. Seemingly every issue. Even though I don’t have a byline on any of the articles.

  Arden’s lip quivered, and she clutched the magazines to her as if they were her mom.

  A breeze through the screen door ruffled Arden’s hair, and she heard a fluttering. She tilted her head, trying to determine the noise.

  She walked into the cabin and that’s when she noticed a myriad of Post-its fluttering in the wind. They were stuck to nearly every surface, almost like a Yellow Brick Road: The log walls, the refrigerator, the microwave, the pantry, the phone, even the floors. Arden followed the trail, plucking and reading the jagged handwriting aloud: “Eat breakfast!” “Get milk!” “Do laundry!” “Pay the phone company!” “Vacuum!” “Make dinner!” “Be at work by noon!” “Always put keys in basket by fridge!”

  Arden drew her arms around herself.

  She turned and walked into her mother’s bedroom, a little log-filled nook that overlooked the lake, the long shadow of a pine falling across the middle of the worn mattress. More Post-its were stuck to the mirrors over the dresser and the bathroom sink.

  “Take medicine!” “Take a bath!” “Brush wigs!”

  Arden took a seat on her mother’s bed and turned to face the window looking out at Lost Land Lake. The glass was cracked open, and the smell of water and pine filled the air. In the distance, kids screamed as they jumped into the still-cold lake. A dragonfly flitted onto the old wood windowsill.

  Arden grabbed a pillow from her mother’s bed and began to hug it.

  Another scent overwhelmed her: Her mother’s perfume.

  Shalimar.

  Arden noticed Lauren standing in the doorframe. In the shafts of light splaying off the lake and through the pines, her daughter looked so young.

  “Mom?” Lauren asked, walking over to take a seat on the bed. “Are you okay? What’s going on with all the Post-its?”

  “No, I’m not okay,” Arden said, her voice shaky. “And I don’t know.”

  Suddenly, the screen door banged shut.

  Lolly appeared in the door, smiling. It was then she noticed Lauren fidgeting with a Post-it and the look on Arden’s face. Her smile began to fade.

  “I didn’t want you to see this. I didn’t want you to see the cabin this way,” Lolly began to mutter. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “What’s going on, Mom?” Arden asked.

  Lolly walked over and took a seat on the end of the bed. She hesitated, as if she wanted to make up an excuse, but all she could do was blink back the tears pooling in her eyes.

  “I don’t know,” she said, as a flood of tears trailed down her cheeks, clearing paths through her makeup. “I’m scared.”

  Six

  “It’s my belief she has MCI.”

  Arden was sitting with a geriatric doctor in an office at Lakeview Geriatric Center, grateful to have gotten an appointment on such short notice.

  The beauty of living in a small town, Arden thought, before asking, “MCI?”

  “Mild cognitive impairment,” Dr. Van Meter said. “It’s the stage between normal forgetfulness due to aging and the development of dementia.”

  Arden watched her mother through the window walking with Lauren in the immaculate back garden of the center, pointing out birds and flowers to her granddaughter, before the two took a seat on a teak bench. Arden knew this facade was, in essence, just like a pretty celebrity on a magazine cover. It made a great first impression, and helped distract people from the real issues in their lives.

  “Are you sure?” Arden asked.

  “Completely,” the doctor said, patting Arden’s leg. “We’ve performed a comprehensive series of physical and neurological tests on your mother, including a mental status examination.”

  The doctor stopped and smiled at Arden. “This isn’t the end of the world, Ms. Lindsey. You need to know that. Not everyone with MCI develops dementia, but this does signal the need for significant changes in your mother’s life and care. People with MCI have mild problems with thinking and memory, and they are often aware of their forgetfulness. Symptoms can include difficulty performing more than one task at a time, difficulty solving problems or making decisions, forgetting recent events or conversations, taking longer to perform more difficult mental activities.”

  “That explains the Post-its in her cabin?”

  “Yes. And you should be aware that, over time, should your mother develop dementia, her life will become more complicated. She will have difficulty performing tasks that used to come easily, she will get lost, she will have language issues, she will misplace items. She could have personality changes that lead to inappropriate behaviors.”

  “She’s had that for a long time,” Arden said, trying to make a joke.

  The doctor didn’t laugh, and Arden realized that her mouth was moving as she stared at the doctor’s face. She wasn’t able to hear all that she was saying, because Arden kept thinking, What do I do? I can’t move to Scoops.

  Slowly, the doctor’s voice began to play in her ears again, as if the volume on a TV were being turned up.

  “As the MCI worsens, symptoms are more obvious and interfere with the ability to take care of oneself, like dressing, eating. One forgets current events, as well as one’s own life history and awareness of who one is.”

  Arden took a sharp breath. Suddenly, the image of her mother’s charm bracelet filled her head.

  “Is there a…,” Arden began to ask.

  “There is no cure,” Dr. Van Meter said, cutting Arden off in midsentence with a polite but definitive smile.

  No cure.

  Arden couldn’t feel anything, do anything more than stare at the doctor. She felt helpless.

  “But there is hope,” the doctor said. “I know this is difficult, Ms. Lindsey. Your mother has done a good job of not letting people know for a long time. She’s made jokes, deflected attention. Like many people with MCI, it’s hard for them to ask for help. She didn’t want to burden you, or alter her life, but it’s getting more serious now.”

  The doctor stopped and smiled reassuringly. “Ms. Lindsey, my hope is that—with the right diet, exercise, routine, mental stimulation, and ongoing care—she can have some normalcy in her life for a long while. But there will be good days and bad days. Right now, we need to focus on the good ones, okay?”

  Arden smiled and nodded as the doctor continued to talk. Her heart broke.

  “How much does my mother know?” Arden asked, still thinking about the doctor’s words: There is no cure.

  “Just that she’s getting old and occasionally becomes confused,” Dr. Van Meter said. “We like to leave how to tell a loved one up to the family, unless, of course, you’d prefer we do it.”

  In the distance, Lolly and Lauren had removed their shoes and stuck their feet into a fountain. They were threatening to splash each other.

  What do I tell them? Arden thought.

  Lolly’s laugh echoed up and through the office window to her daughter.

  If I tell her the truth, will she spin into a depression? Or would I be doing her a disservice by hiding her condition?

  “Sorry to interrupt, doctor. You asked that I meet Ms. Lindsey?”

  A bearish rumble of a voice surprised Arden, and she opened her eyes, a large shadow now cast over her body.

  She saw that it was actually a bear of a man—well over six feet tall, bearded, muscled, soulful brown eyes—standing in front of her.

  “Ms. Lindsey,” Dr. Van Meter said, “this is Nurse Thomas. He’s a geriatric nurse here who also does home care. I think it would be beneficial if he came by to assess your mom at home and help you establish a good routine for her.”

  Nurse Thomas smiled. “My first name is Jake, by the way. Not ‘Nurse.’”

  Arden chuckled, and tucked her dark hair behind her ears.

  “Well, I have your number and will give you a call tomorrow to set up a schedule, if that
works for you,” Jake continued.

  Arden nodded and tugged at her earlobe.

  “Carol Burnett?” Jake asked, picking up on her nervous tic and mimicking the ear tug. “I love her, too.”

  “Yes,” Arden said, flabbergasted.

  “Everything’s going to be all right, by the way,” he said with a warm smile, giving his earlobe another tug in return. “Nice to meet you. See ya later.”

  As Arden watched Jake lumber away, she felt an immediate connection to him. There was something comforting and safe about him, like being tucked into a blanket next to a fire in the middle of a snowstorm.

  “Arden,” the doctor said, standing, signaling an end to their meeting, “all you can do right now is be patient with your mom. What you tell her is up to you. We usually think it’s best to be completely honest. Nurse Thomas will help you get your mother into a routine that will help her, and he will be available to help coordinate home care as well, things like meds, meals, physical therapy.”

  Arden continued to nod, starting to feel overwhelmed.

  “When you go home, make sure to talk about the past.”

  Arden’s heart stopped for a beat.

  “It’s what we call ‘reminiscence therapy,’ and it may help her remember her past. You can pull out old pictures, play her favorite music, put together a memory album—a sort of life-story book—in order to encourage her to talk about the past. That can help jog memory—both long- and short-term. It will help keep her mind active and engaged, and helps allow Jake to incorporate routine without it seeming as a threat. This also lets you hear stories she might not be able to relay to you one day.”

  Arden winced. The last thing I want is to return to the past.

  “Ms. Lindsey, I know it’s hard, but please know this: Your mother needs you now more than ever.”

  * * *

  Rosemary Clooney crooned from the car radio as Arden drove back to the cabin. Lolly had found an oldies station.

  Arden kept looking over at her mom and in the mirror at her daughter. Arden felt as off course as the meandering roads that led to Lost Land Lake.

  Arden could feel her hands shaking on the wheel trying to figure out what to tell Lolly and Lauren about Lolly’s condition. She tightened her grip to keep herself from crying.

  Overhead, the blue skies were quickly giving way to dark clouds and a rumble of thunder. Without warning, the skies opened, and Arden had no choice but to pull off the road by a farm.

  The rain pounded the car and slid down the windows in thick sheets.

  “Look how beautiful,” Lauren said, putting her face to the back window. “All that green. The rain makes it look like a thick oil painting.”

  Arden’s guilt magnified.

  “How are you feeling, Mom?”

  Arden tilted her head at her mom.

  “So very serious,” Lolly said.

  “I am serious, Mom, because this is serious.” Arden sighed. “I know the doctor didn’t tell you much about your medical issues…”

  “I’m getting old, Arden.”

  “Well, we need to address your memory issues,” Arden started gingerly. “There are some big issues we need to discuss.”

  “You’ve said ‘issues’ about a hundred times in the last few seconds, my dear,” Lolly said, turning down the radio. “As the kids say today: What’s the 411, bro?”

  Arden took a deep breath. “When I spoke to the doctor, she told me that she had diagnosed you with MCI, which is mild cognitive impairment. The doctor says it is a stage between normal forgetfulness due to aging and the development of dementia.”

  Lolly clucked her tongue. “MCI … CSI … HBO … LOL.

  “YOLO,” Lolly continued. “Right, Lauren?”

  “That’s right, Grandma,” Lauren laughed, sharing a long look with her grandmother before Arden interrupted.

  “Mom, I know you want to make light of this … I know that’s the way you’ve always dealt with the difficulties in your life, but we’re going to tackle this together, okay? I have someone scheduled to come out to help you get started with some new medication, a routine, meals, PT, and mental exercises … And we’re going to start with some therapy, too. For the body and mind. We’re going to share some memories.”

  Lolly chuckled. “Memories are very different from mental exercises, my dear.”

  Lolly stopped and looked her daughter squarely in the eyes. “I told you, I’m getting old, Arden. Period. Not really much of a surprise there.”

  “Mom, I don’t think you want to talk about it because, well, maybe you’re depressed. And that’s totally understandable. We can get you help for that.”

  Lolly smiled and looked at the vista beyond the car. Her face—bright with makeup—shone with an inner light.

  “I’m not depressed, Arden,” Lolly said. “And I don’t need help for depression. I’ve had an amazing life. One filled with blessings I could never have imagined. Depressed is the last thing I am. Realistic, yes. Sad, never.”

  Lolly reached out and patted her daughter’s leg. “This is actually going to be more difficult on you and Lauren than it is on me. Yes, my life isn’t a walk in the park, but whose is?”

  Lolly cranked the radio back on, and Dean Martin came on without warning.

  “I think that’s enough talk about ‘issues’ today,” Lolly said, ending the discussion. “I’m tired, and I have to work tomorrow. I’d like to get a little rest before then.”

  The rain began to slow, and sunshine filtered through the pines.

  Arden rolled down her window—the smell of fresh pine invading her senses—and started the car. As she drove, she heard a soft flitter, and then she saw it—a flock of dragonflies rushing by her car.

  Arden thought of the charm her mother had bought her so long ago, and shook her head at its erroneous premonition.

  To a life filled with good fortune, indeed, Mom.

  Seven

  The scent of cinnamon and sugar arrived before Arden had fully woken up.

  One of the quirks of growing up and living amongst a group of little log cabins alongside a lake was that you could smell—and hear—nearly everything your neighbors were cooking and doing, especially in the summer season: Scents and stories wafted through open windows and floated from screened porches: Muffins and bacon, coffee and cookies, grilled steaks, fried fish, and the latest local gossip.

  This morning, Arden already knew she would be having her mother’s rhubarb–sour cream coffeecake.

  “It smells delicious,” Arden said, as she entered the cabin’s tiny kitchen, her foot coming to rest on an errant rhubarb leaf. “But it looks like a natural disaster.”

  Lolly’s kitchen was always filled with life, and it had as much or more character than its owner: Old, warped, and worn pine countertops, open cupboards painted farmhouse red with vintage cherry-print fabric on tension blinds serving as the doors. A giant, white farmhouse sink sat below a window overlooking the lake, while a center island of lake stones took up the middle of the space. The antique appliances—the pink gas stove and the aqua refrigerator—suddenly took on deeper meaning for Arden. She could picture herself as a little girl helping her mother bake, running back and forth from fridge to stove to island with ingredients and measuring cups.

  Who would’ve guessed they’d outlast my mom? Arden couldn’t help but think.

  “She’s messier than Julia Child, but I’m determined to make a baker out of her yet,” Lolly laughed, nodding at Lauren.

  Lolly had positioned a large, dark green rhubarb leaf on top of her red wig, like a sort of bizarre beanie, while Lauren’s blond hair now featured two stalks of luscious red rhubarb holding a bun in place.

  “It’s my country nod to chopsticks,” Lauren smiled, striking a supermodel pose. “You like?”

  “I’m hoping the coffeecake is better.”

  Lolly and Lauren looked at each other, surprised by Arden’s sense of humor. “We have a third Musketeer?” Lauren asked with faux astonishment
. She picked up three rhubarb stalks, handing one to her mother and the other to her grandmother. “Touché!”

  “En garde!” Lolly laughed.

  “We need to talk after breakfast,” Arden said, putting her rhubarb stalk down, then turning to leave the kitchen. She added, “We need to finish our conversation from yesterday.”

  Lauren frowned, placing her veggie sword atop a cutting board and whacking it with a knife.

  “Let’s check the coffeecake!” Lolly said, winking at Lauren while opening the oven door. “Always insert a toothpick into the center. If it comes out clean, it’s ready … and it’s ready!”

  “My first coffeecake!” Lauren said with amazement.

  Lolly cut a little edge of the coffeecake—bright red spots against a fluffy white cake, all nestled under a golden crumb topping of brown sugar, cinnamon, and butter—and then blew on the fork to cool it. Lauren took a bite. Lolly followed suit and smiled.

  “It won’t be your last! It’s delicious! Get the coffee. I’ll bring out the cake!”

  The desert rose dishes rattled a bit in Lolly’s hands as she set them down, pushing aside a half-finished puzzle, which had seemed to occupy the middle of the trestle table on the screened porch for as long as Arden could remember. “It’s lovely today. You know how Memorial Day weekends can be.”

  Arden scooted up the long wooden picnic bench and took a seat at the small, pine green table. Her rear and arms sank into position: Years of use had molded diners’ arms and rear ends into the table and bench. You didn’t just sit at this table, it enveloped you.

  “A little homemade whipped cream?” Lolly asked, placing a small container onto the table. “Just to gild the lily?”

  Lolly took a big scoop of whipped cream and threw it on Arden’s coffeecake.

  “So? What do you think?” Lauren asked. “It’s my first coffeecake.”

  Arden took a bite, her face brightening with delight. “It’s incredible.”

  Lauren’s face lit up like the day. “Grandma’s recipe.”