Bri and I settled around the table with Mom between us. Dr. Delong sat across from us. She laced her fingers together on top of a folder which was resting on the table. “I’ve been over your medical records, Mrs. Davis, and your latest test results. I’m concerned about some of the memory tests we conducted, especially the mini mental status exam. On their own, the results were a bit inconclusive and would likely be chalked up to becoming forgetful as a sign of aging.”
“See, I told you guys I was just getting a little old and senile. That it wasn’t anything to worry about,” Mom said happily.
“Unfortunately, that is not the case with your condition. The MRI indicates decreased blood flow to certain areas of your brain, areas associated with memory.” She pulled out several images of Mom’s brain and pointed to a few spots that weren’t the same color as the surrounding brain tissue. “I’m going to order a PET scan and a blood test to check your a-beta-42 protein levels. But both those tests are really just formalities in my opinion.” A sad, resigned expression settled on the doctor’s features.
“What are you saying, Doctor?” I asked impatiently.
She drew in a deep breath. “I believe your mother suffers from early-onset Alzheimer’s.”
Brielle gasped loudly then covered her mouth to trap a sob.
I wrapped my arm around Mom’s shoulders, drawing her closer to me. “So, what do we need to do? Early detection has to be a good thing, right?”
“It is a good thing because your mother can learn coping mechanisms now to help her manage better as her disease progresses.”
“Is there a surgery or medication you can put her on to cure her?” I asked, leaning forward.
The doctor sat up straight. “I can put her on cholinesterase inhibitors. They provide symptomatic relief, but they won’t cure her.”
“So, what? We just watch her deteriorate and hope she doesn’t hurt herself in the meantime?” I asked angrily.
“You’re going to turn on the locator capabilities on your mom’s cell phone in case she wanders off. You’re going to create a safe spot in her house for her to put her purse, keys and phone every day. Make a habit out of it. You are going to help your mom establish a schedule for herself that makes her feel safe and happy,” the doctor explained.
Mom had zoned out at some point. She was playing with the links on her watch.
“What do you think about moving her to LA where there are a lot more resources available and where I can be around to help more often?” I asked. The thought of Mom slipping away mentally while I was over two thousand miles away filled me with guilt.
“At this stage, I wouldn’t recommend changing much of her daily life. Keeping her in her normal environment with the things she’s used to seeing and doing everyday will likely help keep her memories better intact. Once the confusion becomes too great, then it might be time to consider moving her to an area where there are more resources.” The look on the doctor’s face was a cross between serious and sympathetic.
“I understand.” I zoned out while Bri asked more questions about day to day tasks and ways to help make things more manageable for Mom.
Eventually, my sister nudged me. Her hands were filled with papers, and she was on her feet.
“Sorry. I kind of spaced out for a minute,” I apologized sheepishly to Dr. Delong.
“Don’t worry about it. I know it’s a lot to take in. And feel free to call me if you have any questions.” Dr. Delong held her hand out for us to shake.
I slipped an envelope from my inside jacket pocket. “Some signed photos and a few other things for your daughter.” I held it out to her.
“She’s going to lose her mind. Thank you for these,” she gushed, letting her doctor persona slip for a second.
Dr. Delong showed us out.
The car ride home was quiet. Mom dozed in the seat next to me. Bri’s sad eyes peered at me in the rearview mirror. My face remained stoic. I couldn’t let myself feel anything. Not yet. I had to figure out how to take care of Mom and Bri from the other side of the country. It seemed impossible.
When we pulled into the driveway at Mom’s, she stirred in the passenger seat.
“Hey there.” She smiled sleepily at me. “We need to go so we aren’t late for my doctor appointment. I don’t want you to have to speed to get us there on time.”
“We’re not going to be late, Mom. We already talked to your doctor. How about let’s go inside and rest for a bit?” Bri said, leaning across the seat to speak softly to Mom.
“Resting sounds good,” Mom agreed.
I helped Bri get Mom inside and settled. Bri lay next to Mom in her bed with some old soap opera on TV.
“I’m going to head outside for a bit. Clear my head. OK?” I said to Brielle.
“No problem.”
I escaped to the garage without another word. I tossed my jacket onto the old chair by the door. Pacing the floor, I allowed my thoughts to race.
My mom had Alzheimer’s.
She was going to forget how to drive.
How to cook.
How to take care of herself.
She was going to forget her childhood.
Forget her marriage.
Forget her divorce.
Forget me.
Angry tears pooled in my eyes. I kicked a trash can in my path, though it wasn’t very satisfying. My old punching bag hung on the far side of the garage. I stalked over to it, drew back and threw a punch. My knuckles ached on impact, but the satisfaction of hitting something was worth it. So, I hit it again.
And again.
And again.
I kept punching the bag until the chain holding it from the rafter was creaking and clanking.
Suddenly, Bri was standing in front of me, just beyond the swing of the bag that had taken a beating since we got back home. I took one more half-hearted swing then leaned against Dad’s old worktable.
“Feel better?” she asked, quirking her brow at me.
I lifted the hem of my shirt to mop the sweat from my face. “Not really.” Exhausted mentally and physically, I crossed the room to a pair of chairs and collapsed into one of them. “Mom sleeping?”
“Yeah.” Bri shuffled over and sank down next to me. Tears filled her eyes, gutting me. “What are we going to do?” her words were barely a whisper.
“I don’t know, Sis.” I hung my head in defeat.
“I could sublet my apartment and move back in here so she wouldn’t be alone so much,” Bri offered.
“I don’t know if that would work long term. You don’t have time to deal with Mom every day. And she would definitely resist you putting your life on hold to look after her. Especially since she seems to be fine at least a portion of each day. And what about when she slips back in time and thinks you’re a teenager trying to sneak out? I wish I was closer.”
“But you aren’t. And you can’t be unless you quit the band. Which really isn’t an option because your job is the only way we can pay for Mom’s medical expenses,” Bri reasoned.
I sighed and leaned my head back, staring up at the ceiling. “I know. I wish she had a few reliable friends who could help keep an eye on her or something. Something more than just getting a nurse from the rest home to pop in.”
“She wouldn’t want any of her friends to know what’s going on. She prefers to be the one helping others … not the one needing help. It’s so frustrating because even when she’s confused and needs help, she’s so resistant to accepting it. We got into a fight the other day because she couldn’t find something in the kitchen. When I tried to help her, she yelled then burst into tears. A few minutes later, she’d forgotten the whole ordeal and didn’t understand why I was annoyed with her. I definitely can’t do this alone. And you can’t be here. So we’re going to have to figure something out.” Bri sounded as defeated as I felt.
“I know. Maybe ….” I paused, inhaling deeply and glancing around.
“What’s that smell?” Bri asked, staring at me.
/> “Smoke,” I barked as I jumped up from my chair and headed toward the door leading into the house, where a haze seeped under the crack.
When I threw open the door, the smoke detector in the kitchen was going off. Gray smoke billowed from the area near the stove. I rushed in that direction while Bri headed for the front of the house, no doubt looking for Mom.
A large pot sitting on the front burner of the stove was the source of the smoke. Without thinking, I grabbed the handles. “Shit,” I shouted as the metal seared my skin. I tossed the pot into the sink with a clang. Then I twisted the knob on the stove to turn the burner off. Cursing under my breath, I ran cold water over my fiery red palms and fingers. Once some of the sting subsided, I turned on the exhaust fan over the stove and opened the window to let the room air out.
Bri rounded the corner with her arm draped over Mom’s shoulders, like she was holding Mom up. Mom looked so small wrapped from head to toe in a big, fluffy bath robe. Her hair hung limply in wet clumps.
Mom’s hands fluttered about agitatedly. “I was just going to take a shower while I waited for the water to boil. I wanted to fix my baby boy his favorite spaghetti while he was in town for a visit. I didn’t realize I was in the shower too long,” Mom rambled, trying to explain what had happened. “I promise I’ll be more careful next time.”
Bri and I exchanged a look. “Mom, didn’t you hear the smoke alarm going off?” I asked. There was a smoke detector right in the hallway outside Mom’s bedroom.
She shook her head forlornly and stared down at her clasped hands. “Not over the shower running.”
“It’s OK. The wall doesn’t appear to be damaged, and the worst of the smoke’s been cleared out. I do think you’re going to need a new pot.” With a towel wrapped around the handle, I lifted the silver pot from the sink to show her the scorched bottom.
“Is the sauce in the other pot all right? That burner was only set to simmer.” Mom moved across the kitchen floor and gave the marinara sauce a stir. Then she lifted the spoon to her lips for a taste. “Needs a tad more salt, but it’s good.”
She sprinkled in a little salt. Bending down, she pulled another pot from the cabinet. At the sink, she filled it with water.
“Mom, what are you doing?” Bri asked cautiously.
“The sauce is almost ready. But we need pasta, so I have to get the water going again,” Mom explained like it was no big deal that she’d almost set the house on fire just a few minutes ago.
“Why don’t I take care of the noodles while you go dry your hair and get dressed?” Bri suggested.
Mom fingered her damp hair. “Thank you, honey. That’s a great idea. I am a little cold with this wet hair.” With that, she spun on her heel and made her way to her room.
“Maybe we should flip the breaker on the stove after dinner and tell her that it’s broken for now. She can use the microwave to cook or I can bring her food. At least that’s a temporary solution until we can come up with a game plan,” Bri offered as she set the pot of water on the burner again.
“Great idea.” I mentally made a note to go outside and flip the breaker as soon as we finished dinner. I tugged the refrigerator door open and dug around the shelves in the door, shifting bottles until I found the aloe. A couple of squirts of the cool gel had my fingers feeling slightly better.
Before long, the three of us gathered around our small dining room table and ate our fill of Mom’s famous spaghetti. No one ever managed to make sauce like my mom. She always said it was a secret recipe she got from her mother. It wasn’t written down anywhere. Now with Mom’s memory problems, the importance of documenting things like old family recipes seemed so much greater. It was another piece of her we’d lose at fate’s whim.
As I dragged my garlic toast through the last of the sauce on my plate, I looked at the woman who’d always taken care of me. It was time for me to take care of her. “So Mom, after the smoke earlier, I was looking at the stove. I think it needs some repair. I’ll take care of having someone come out. But that means until then, you’ll need to just warm food up in the microwave or let Brielle bring you things she cooked at her house. OK?”
Mom looked up at me, her nose scrunching up. “You really think it needs repair? That thing is almost as old as your sister is. It’s never had problems before.”
“It’s best to be safe. And if it’s that old, we should definitely have it checked out,” Bri hastened to back me up.
“If you really think it’s necessary, then give Charles a call. He’s always been a whiz with appliances. He fixed the fridge that one time and the dryer.” Mom stacked our plates and carried them to the kitchen.
The three of us worked together to clean up the kitchen and put away the leftovers. By the time we’d wiped down everything with lemon-scented cleaner, only a hint of a smoky smell lingered.
We retired to the living room, where Mom seemed to be very alert and aware of everything. “So, Brooks, I didn’t get a chance to really talk with you much about how Dawson and Izzy’s wedding went. And you didn’t say. Do you have pictures?” she asked eagerly.
I pulled up Izzy’s personal Facebook profile so I could show Mom the wedding album. Mom and Bri ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ as they scrolled through the images.
“Izzy was such a beautiful bride. That girl really did always have such a creative flair about her,” Mom said as she admired Izzy’s unique dress.
I couldn’t help but smile as I recalled all the times Izzy had experimented with her clothes and hair in an effort to express her creativity. Mom had met Izzy several times over the years, even back when we were all in high school. Mom had witnessed several stages of Izzy’s imaginative experiments.
“Hey, Brooks, who’s this girl you’re staring at so intently?” Bri asked, zooming in the screen to examine it more closely.
♪ Crush by Dave Matthews Band
Heat flooded my face as I snatched my phone from Mom to see what picture they’d been looking at. One of me and Britt dancing. We weren’t paying attention to the photographer, or the rest of the world for that matter. We only stared at each other.
“That’s Izzy’s best friend, Brittany. Since she was the maid of honor and I was the best man, we had to dance with each other,” I explained lamely.
“That doesn’t look like an obligatory dance,” Bri teased. “You look like you want to devour each other. I’ve never seen you look at a girl like that before.”
“Your sister’s right. You’re looking at her like your father looked at me when we were young and in love. Back when it was fresh and new. He had this way of staring at me like he was so smitten, the rest of the world could go up in flames and he’d never notice,” Mom said wistfully, resting her hand over her heart.
“Britt and I don’t know each other that well. But she’s nice,” I said, trying to downplay everything. I certainly didn’t want to be compared to my cheating father who broke my mother’s heart.
“Honey, you don’t have to know each other that well to fall. Believe me. When love grabs ahold of your heart, you just have to hang on for the ride. The heart doesn’t care how little you know. It only cares what it wants. You should listen to it. It’ll make your life so much richer.” Mom smiled at me knowingly and patted my knee.
I ran my finger along my collar, feeling like the air was getting thicker in the room, making it harder to breathe. I needed to change the subject. Now. “So, I didn’t get a chance to tell you, but it looks like the band’s going to be temporarily moving to Las Vegas this summer to perform at one of the hotels there,” I said.
“Really?” Bri asked excitedly. “I can’t wait to come visit you there.”
Mom’s face took on an air of disapproval. “Oh honey, are you sure living in that place is a good idea? It’s all gambling and sex and drinking.”
“Mom, I don’t care much for the party scene anymore. I’ve grown up a lot, in case you haven’t noticed.” I flexed my muscles at her, making her giggle. “Don’t worry about
me.” I pulled her into a hug.
“A mom always worries. I’ll worry about you when you’re sixty,” she said.
My eyes blinked rapidly, trying to stave off the emotion that threatened to leak out. I just hoped she remembered who I was when I was sixty.
“Oh, I meant to tell you, I read in the paper the other day that the trial against that girl who stalked Dawson is going to be officially starting soon. Her daddy’s lawyer was trying to get her a plea deal. But Casey wouldn’t confess to everything the deal asked for. And when Dawson and Izzy showed up at the courthouse to hear Casey’s allocution, Casey went berserk and tried to attack Izzy. Anyway, there’s been lots of talk about what people think will happen to her daddy’s company if Casey goes to jail. It would be bad for a lot of folks around here if that company closed. That’s a lot of jobs that would be gone. I’m not saying the girl shouldn’t be punished for what she did to Dawson and Izzy. I just hope our town won’t have to pay the price for her actions.” Mom shook her head sadly at the prospect of the computer company shutting down.
My phone rang in my pocket. I’d pretty much ignored it since I left LA. I hoped it was Britt reaching out. I longed to hear her voice. When I glanced at the screen, my heart sank, but I answered the call.
I got to my feet and headed to my room so I could talk. “Hey, man.”
“Hey, dude. How are you?” Dawson asked.
“Doing all right,” I said vaguely. “How’s the honeymoon going?”
“Great. I never knew so many romantic places existed. I mean we’ve traveled the world performing, but I’ve never seen it like this before,” he gushed.
I tuned him out a little as he described the current resort he and Izzy were staying at.
“Anyway, I’m sorry to bother you, but I got an alert today that a piece of furniture we ordered is going to be delivered finally. I’m hoping you can be at my house to accept delivery and make sure they set it up.” Dawson’s voice was earnest, entreating.
“I’m in Ohio at the moment, but I can be back in LA tomorrow if you need me. What did you get her?”
Turn up the Tempo (Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series Book 4) Page 16