Close To Home (Westen Series)

by Ferrell, Suzanne

  She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from letting her own tears start.

  “Did she have to give up driving?”

  “No.”

  “No? You mean she still drives?”

  If the situation with Mama weren’t so worrisome, the look of incredulity on his face would be funny. “No. What I mean is Mama never did drive.”

  “Really?” He held his pen between his two hands and studied her as if she’d announced she’d discovered men on Mars. “In this modern age she never learned to drive?”

  “She was a stay-at-home mom and we lived in a small town where she could walk anywhere she needed to go—like the groceries, over to the school, church or even here to see Doc Ray. If she needed to go to the shopping mall in Columbus or Newark, then Daddy would take us all on Saturday.”

  Clint nodded his head as if that made sense then looked at the paper in front of him again. “Has she become forgetful lately? Like forgetting where she’s placed things? Or having trouble with short-term memory?”

  With a deep sigh, Emma nodded. “You already know she does.”

  “Does she repeat herself often or ask the same question over and over again?”

  Emma considered the question and thought back over the past few months. Her mother had been repeating questions she’d just been given the answer to. Had she simply been distracted by the chaos of her grandsons? Or was there some other reason behind her behavior?

  “Yes, she has.” Emma took a deep breath and asked the question she’d been avoiding for months. “Does Mama have Alzheimer’s?”

  Chapter Eight

  The sound of the clock’s second hand clicking off several seconds echoed in the silence that filled the office. Clint braced for Emma’s reaction to his diagnosis. She had so many problems in her life right now he hated handing her one more. He gripped his pen in both hands and lifted his gaze across the desk to hers.

  Her pale face, tear-filled eyes and stiff posture as she teetered on the edge of her chair tore at his heart. Over the years he’d delivered bad news to numerous patients and their families. This time was different. How did he tell someone he’d become friends with bad news? How had Uncle Ray done it time and time again for so many years?

  Setting his pen down, he stood and walked around the desk. He leaned on the desk’s edge in front of her and took her hand in his. “Yes, I think your mother is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s, Emma.”

  She gasped softly, her bottom lip trembling a moment before she caught it with her teeth. Her hand squeezed his as she inhaled and exhaled slowly.

  Watching her broke his heart. He wanted to gather her in his arms and tell her everything would be okay. However, he was talking to her as her mother’s physician right now, not as a friend. He couldn’t hide the facts of her mother’s condition from her—especially not a condition that would change not only her mother’s life, but also her whole family’s completely over the coming months and years.

  “I can’t afford a nursing home for her.” Desperation and guilt filled her voice.

  “That’s not something you need to think about right now. According to the research, the longer Alzheimer’s patients remain in their own environment, the slower the progression of the disease.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded at her.

  She squeezed his hand then seemed to compose herself with another deep breath. “There isn’t a cure yet, is there?”

  “No, although more and more research is being done all the time.” He didn’t want to fill her with false hope. “I’m not sure their efforts will be in time to actually help your mother, but they may make enough advances to help keep her at home longer.”

  “How long do you think that will be?”

  “The early stages can last two to four years. The symptoms are mild and you’ve already learned to deal with them—forgetfulness, mild confusion, getting lost in strange places.”

  “Like when she decided to walk home from the Miller’s down the highway?”

  “Yes, and believing Cleetus was the taxi driver.”

  A wistful smile played on her lips. She released his hand and relaxed back in her seat. “If it hadn’t been so dangerous, it would’ve been funny.”

  “You realize she can no longer be considered an adequate caregiver for the boys, don’t you?”

  She narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips into a firm line. “I figured that out the day you put casts on the boys’ wrists. In fact, I’ve been aware something serious was wrong with Mama for a few months now. I just didn’t want to face it.” She stared out the window a moment then looked back at him. “Denial. It’s the first stage in the grieving process, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Then anger.” As much as he wanted to reach out and touch her once more, he returned to his own seat instead, already missing the physical contact of holding her hand. She’d needed his strength for a few minutes and he’d gladly given it. Now that the initial shock was over, she’d moved past the need for his help. He admired her independence even while he wanted to solve all her problems for her.

  “You said Mama is in the early stage of the disease? What comes next?”

  “It depends. The symptoms vary from person to person. Her memory will deteriorate. She may begin having difficulty with activities of daily living, such as brushing her hair, showering, choosing clothes for the day.”

  Tears filled her eyes. She blinked them away. “Mama would be devastated. She’s always been very…particular about her appearance.” Emma crossed one leg over the other, tapping her hand on her knee. “Anything else?”

  “She may start to wander at night.”

  “Out of the house?” Panic filled her face. She sat straight up in her chair.

  Again, he wanted to ease her worry. “Some people do get out at night, but you already have Harriett sleeping at the house the nights you work. I doubt even Houdini could escape her watchful eye.”

  This seemed to reassure Emma some and she eased back in her chair. “When will I need to think of placing her in a nursing home?”

  “Once she requires more than general supervision. That might be years from now.” He picked up the business card on his desk. “This is the name and phone number of a county social worker.”

  When she opened her mouth to protest, he held his hand up to still her words. “Before you accuse me of trying to take the boys away again, let me explain.”

  She clamped her lips together, but anger kept her eyes narrowed. Sometimes talking with Emma was like working around a time bomb—a very cute, very sensitive time bomb. The least little move and he could set her off. He wondered what she’d do if he ever tried to kiss her.

  Whoa. Where did that come from? He needed to focus on the matter at hand—Isabelle’s health—and nothing personal.

  “Ms. Wilson specializes in geriatrics. You can meet with her to discuss your mother’s situation. She’ll be a good resource person for you when the time comes to move Miss Isabelle out of your home.”

  Emma took the card and read the name printed on it, her spark of anger once more diffused. “I know Elizabeth. She eats dinner at the Peaches ‘N Cream every Wednesday. It’s the day she visits her clients in this end of the county.”

  “Why don’t you meet with Elizabeth one afternoon this week? She can fill you in on care options for your mother and when they’ll be needed better than I can.”

  “I can’t this week. I have work to do on the house and the boys will be so wound up after school.”

  “I’ll keep the boys busy after school.”

  When she drew her brows together and stared at him, he knew she’d quickly forgotten their earlier discussion. He tried to squelch his disappointment. She’d just been given devastating news that would make anyone forget what had happened earlier in the morning. “I’m going to work on the house in the afternoons, remember?”

  “You’re starting this week?” She seemed to suddenly remember his plans to help her.

  So muc
h for making an impression. “That’s what we discussed this morning. The supplies are there and I’ve instructed Harriett to keep my afternoons free for the next few weeks.”

  “That makes sense.” A light blush filled her cheeks and she nodded. “I’ll call Elizabeth to set up a meeting.”

  “I’d like to start your mother on medication. It’s shown to have an effect on improving memory and slowing down the disease’s progression.” Clint picked up the other paper on his desk and handed it to her. “It’s not a cure, but it might help with activities of daily living.”

  She took the paper and read it. “Is there anything else you wanted to discuss with me?”

  “Not right now.” At least nothing to do with her mother’s care. He didn’t think asking her to have dinner with him would appear too professional, so he walked around the desk as she stood and opened the door for her.

  She held out her hand. “Thank you for taking the time to look all this up for me. You could have simply left me to find it out on my own.”

  “I’m new at this kind of medicine, Emma. Usually in the ER I just refer people to specialists. But Uncle Ray would follow through, so I just did what he would’ve done.”

  She stopped in the doorway, laid her hand on his and smiled. “He taught you well. Maybe there’s hope for you yet, Doctor Preston.”

  As he watched her walk out the front door he hoped so, at least where she was concerned.

  * * *

  Clint hammered the last nail into the wall’s stud frame. Standing, he stretched the aching muscles of his back and arms. Despite telling Emma about his past construction experience, he hadn’t told his body how much work it was in for when he came up with the idea of helping her. Every muscle in his body had ached for days now.

  The whirring of the table saw filled the room from outside where Emma busily cut more of the vertical spacers for the wall’s frame. He shook his head. The woman took to a saw like a duck to water.

  Taking a break from his framing, he shoved his hands in his jeans’ pockets and watched the other two members of his crew hard at work. Ben had the small hand broom and was sweeping the sawdust near the sawhorse into a dustpan. Clint had discovered the little boy loved to saw things in two, so he’d put him on cleanup as a way to earn his right to help him cut the two-by-fours for the framework.

  Across the room Brian, who loved to sort through the tools, screws and nails, was busy picking up all the screws, nuts and bolts Clint had accidentally spilled.

  If his brothers saw him now, making work for the two boys to keep them out of trouble, they’d accuse him of taking lessons from Uncle Ray. That old man always managed to have some project he needed their help with when they came to visit. For some reason, it took the exact length of their vacation to complete. Clint’s smile widened into a grin. Of course, he, Seth and Wade all managed to get into some sort of mischief anyway, despite the organized work schedule.

  “Hey, Doc Clint, why you smiling at me?” Brian asked as he looked up from the jars he’d sorted the metal pieces into.

  “Just remembering when I used to help Doc Ray build things.”

  The younger brother cocked his head sideways to stare at him. “Doc Ray built things? He just fixes people.”

  Clint motioned to the bag of penny nails. “Bring me a handful of those nails and I’ll tell you all about the things my brothers and I helped him build.”

  “Me, too!” Ben dropped his broom and raced to slide in beside Clint. Harriett’s words rang in Clint’s ears. What one does, the other does, too.

  Both boys sat cross-legged, while Clint knelt down to place another two-by-four into the wall’s frame. “When I was a little older than you guys, Uncle Ray decided it was time for me and my brothers to learn how to handle a hammer and some nails.”

  “Why?” Ben asked.

  “Well, to be sure we wouldn’t hurt ourselves,” Clint hammered one of the penny nails into the wood. “And he also wanted to teach us that all our time shouldn’t just be in playing.”

  “Why not?” Brian asked. “Playing is fun.”

  Clint winked at Brian. “Playing is fun, but as we grow up it’s nice to have fun working, too.”

  “Like when we work with you and Mommy?” Ben added.

  “That’s right.” Clint pounded several more nails into place. “And Uncle Ray said he had to teach us things, since our dad couldn’t.”

  “Why couldn’t he?” It was Brian’s turn to ask.

  Clint inhaled then forced the air through pursed lips in frustration. Their minds always seemed two questions ahead of his answers. “My dad died in a car accident when I was seven.”

  “Did you like having a dad?” Ben asked.

  “Yes, I remember laughing and playing with him. I was very sad when he died.”

  “Did you want another dad?”

  Clint looked at the boys, who were studying him with serious expressions. “I wanted one for a long time. But my mom never found anyone she wanted to marry until I was grown up. Uncle Ray filled in for me when I wanted a man to talk to about things.”

  “Did you miss your dad?” Ben asked.

  “I missed him a lot when he first died.”

  “We miss our grandpa,” Ben announced.

  Brian nodded his head. “He died too.”

  “What do you miss about your grandpa?”

  “He took us fishing.” Brian played with the laces of his tennis shoes.

  “And he taught us how to swing baseball bats.” Ben watched him intently. “We was hopin’ Doc Ray’d be our new Grandpa...”

  “...but he went ’round the world. So, now we gots ta...”

  “...find a dad.”

  Whoa. That came out of the blue. A little understanding registered with Clint. “Sometimes just having a dad isn’t the most important thing in the world. It’s more important that you have a parent who loves you like your mom does. You know, you guys have a pretty terrific mom.”

  “Yeah, but she’s...”

  “... a girl.” Ben pronounced the word like it was worse than squished bug guts on the side of the road.

  Clint laughed. “Yes, she is, and a very nice one. I bet she’d take you fishing if you asked her.”

  “Girls aren’t supposed to fish,” Brian said with complete sincerity.

  “Or go camping, or play baseball,” Ben added.

  Brian nodded his head. “And besides, Mommy’s always busy.”

  Clint agreed with them on that. Emma seemed determined to work herself into an early grave. If she wasn’t working at the café or the hospital, she put all her energy into the remodeling. He’d wanted to take some of the burden off her shoulders when he’d volunteered to help with the construction, not increase it.

  What was worse, he had a sneaking suspicion he was responsible for her frenzied agitation. By working so hard she wanted to prove to him she was a good provider for her sons, as well as a good mom.

  The whirring outside stopped. Emma would be inside in a few minutes. It would hurt her to find out all her hard work was actually making her sons sad.

  “Tell you what guys,” he resumed his work on the frame. “How about we plan a surprise for your mom.”

  That put smiles back on both boys’ faces.

  “What kind of surprise?” Ben asked.

  Clint studied them for a moment. “Well, how about a picnic and fishing trip?”

  The boys bobbed up and down on their knees beside him, whooping and giggling.

  “Shh,” he cautioned them. “If it’s a surprise, we don’t want to tell your mom just yet. Let’s keep it a secret, okay?”

  They both nodded their heads, just as the front door opened, and Emma came in carrying a load of the spacer boards. “I guess I’m done for the day.” She laid the boards in the corner, then turned to study the three of them. “What are you guys up to?”

  “Oh, nothing, just finishing up our frame,” Clint answered as innocently as he could. It would’ve been more convincing if the b
oys hadn’t started giggling.

  Emma eyed them for a moment. “If you guys are done, then we could eat dinner before I have to go to the hospital. I’m on call for them tonight.”

  Her announcement brought groans from both boys.

  “You worked last night, Mommy.”

  “Stay home with us.”

  “Guys, if they need me, I have to work. It’s the only way I can pay all the bills and buy groceries.” Sadness and desperation crossed Emma’s features, and her shoulders slumped.

  Suddenly, her exhaustion showed from every fiber of her being. If she wouldn’t accept his help outright, he’d just take the burden off her in more subtle ways.

  “I’m heading over to the Peaches ‘N Cream for dinner, why don’t you all join me?” His offer hung in the air as he busied himself gathering up tools.

  “We couldn’t do that, Clint,” she started to refuse.

  “Sure you could, I hate eating alone there. You’d be doing me a favor.”

  “Please, Mommy?” Both boys asked.

  Clint turned away, hiding a smile. Three against one, this time she had to give in.

  “Please, can we eat with Doc Clint?” Brian asked.

  From behind him, Clint heard her exhale heavily.

  “Oh, just this once. Since Mama is eating dinner with her quilting circle, I suppose we can afford a dinner out.”

  Damn the woman. He planned to pay for dinner. He also knew if he told her, she’d fight him tooth and nail about it. Well, he hadn’t expected the fight to help Emma to be an easy one. He’d just pick and chose his battles one at a time.

  He turned and smiled at the threesome. “It’s a date then. Let me run across the street and change. I’ll meet you back in about fifteen minutes?”

  “Give me thirty,” she said, scooting both boys out of the room. “I need to shower.”

  Clint swallowed hard and nodded. The thought of Emma in a hot, steamy shower rushed his blood straight out of his head. Suddenly, he needed a long cold shower himself.

  * * *

  While the boys finished off the last of their French fries, Clint sat back and watched their mother. On the walk to the café, she’d been skittish, keeping both boys between them. Only when their food arrived at the table, did she relax.