by Wendy Webb
Another part of me didn’t want to do anything of the kind. Did I want to knock on his door and find nobody there? Why should I knock on his door at all? A coolness washed through me as I realized I didn’t want to know.
Jason turned to take Alice upstairs. I was going to follow, but Gil touched my arm.
“Do you feel like staying for one more?” Gil asked me, his eyes expectant, almost pleading. I didn’t, but I could sense that he wanted, perhaps needed, to talk.
“Sure,” I said and settled onto a barstool next to him.
“Jase, I’ll be up in a minute,” Gil said.
We sat there in silence at the bar for a moment until Gary brought our drinks and the last of the happy-hour snacks. Cheese, crackers, salami, and a couple of dips with a veggie tray. That would more than do for dinner for me.
“I don’t suppose we’re going to hear what happened at the inn for a while,” I said. “If ever.”
“Simon will tell me when he can,” Gil said. “I’m thinking maybe somebody had a heart attack or something like that.”
It sounded right to me, despite the fact that my stomach had knotted up. I wanted to change the subject.
“How’s it going with Alice?” I asked him, popping some cheese into my mouth.
Gil shrugged. “This is what you do for family, right?” he said, his eyes betraying the sadness he didn’t want to let on. “It’s hard. I’m not going to lie.”
I covered his hand with mine. “I know.”
“She doesn’t really know who I am or what I’m doing there,” he said. “And Jason doesn’t tell her. I understand why. But sometimes I feel like a third wheel.” He took another long sip. Gary sidled by to refill Gil’s glass and was gone again just as quickly, ever discreet. “A third wheel with my own husband.”
“I was going to say, ‘I know’ again, but I really don’t,” I said. “This is brand-new territory you’re in.”
And then the tears came. He couldn’t hold them back. “Jason was the love of her life,” Gil said, his words choked by his own sobs. “But he’s mine, too.”
My own eyes filled with tears. So many thoughts were running through my mind at once. I hoped I could coalesce them into something Gil would understand.
“What you are doing is allowing Alice to live the end of her life, while she still has some of herself left, with her great love. You are, in a sense, stepping aside—even though you’re still very much there—but allowing her to live out her dream at the end of her life.”
Gil snorted, bringing a napkin to his face.
“You’re also allowing Jason to find some . . . I don’t quite know what to call it. Solace? Closure? He has confided in me that he feels a great weight of guilt for leaving Alice.”
Gil nodded. “He broke her heart to find his own happiness in life,” he said. “For other people, that might not be a problem. But for Jason . . . he’s such a kind and decent person. A genuinely good human being. He does feel the weight of his decision. You’re right.”
“It’s beautiful, what you’re doing for her,” I went on. “And for him. I’ve never seen a more selfless act of love.”
He sighed and caught my eye. “There was no other choice. My upbringing . . . it’s what you do. You care for your own. You owe them honor and respect.”
“It doesn’t mean it’s easy,” I said.
“Sure, it’s hard for me,” Gil said. “But I love Jason more than I’ve ever loved anyone. This is the right thing to do. For him. For Alice. For their kids and grandkids. And, ultimately, for me.”
I put my arm around his shoulder, and Gil rested his head against mine.
“If I ever need to get away, can I come talk to you?”
“Of course,” I said. “I’m living here, so the way I see it, we’re in this together.”
He took my hand and buried his face in my sleeve.
“Dominic, too,” I went on. Just saying his name made my stomach do a flip. “He has a lot of experience with people with Alzheimer’s. He was great with her today.”
“We really appreciated it,” Gil said. “Jason has found someone who is going to be sort of like a caregiver.”
“He told me Alice doesn’t like her.”
“Yeah,” he said. “We’re not going to put a burden on you, but Alice feels safe around you. Would you be willing to be with her, every once in a while, so we can get away?”
“Of course,” I said. “Gil, can I ask you something?”
“Of course, Brynn. Anything.”
“This is going to sound weird,” I said, wincing.
“Honey, nothing is going to sound weird to a man who is living with his husband and the husband’s ex-wife, who thinks they’re still married,” Gil said, laughing as he wiped away tears.
“Okay,” I began. “Do you know . . . has Jason ever said if Alice has ever had any”—I winced again—“psychic abilities?”
Gil looked at me for a long moment. “Oh my God. You, too?”
I exhaled, the relief palpable. “Yes! She has said a few really strange things to me,” I said, my words coming out in a stream. “It’s like she knows things, private things that she shouldn’t know.”
“I hear you,” Gil said. “She’s doing the same thing to us. That’s not all of it, though.”
I held my breath.
“It’s like she’s invading my dreams,” Gil said, his voice a whisper. “It sounds crazy when I say it out loud.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I said, holding his gaze.
The air thickened between us.
“Are you dreaming about her, too?” he whispered.
I nodded. “But, it’s like . . .” My words trailed off. I didn’t quite know how to describe what I was trying to say.
Gil finished my thought. “It’s like, in the dreams, she doesn’t have Alzheimer’s. She is totally lucid. Completely herself.”
“In charge, almost,” I said. “Like she is directing things.”
Gil exhaled loudly. “I am so glad I asked you to stay and talk. I thought it was just me.”
“Me, too!” I said. “It was starting to feel like I was losing it.”
He shook his head and laughed. “Tell me about it.”
“Have you mentioned any of this to Jason?”
Gil took a sip of his wine. “Jason shuts it down every time I bring it up. He won’t acknowledge it, even though he’s right there when she starts talking about something that happened to the two of us that she couldn’t possibly have known about. It’s like he’s in denial. He got angry when I asked him if she had psychic abilities before. Even like a sense of, I don’t know, women’s intuition. That sounds so dated and stereotypical, doesn’t it? But I’m trying to find anything to explain it.”
“Is he dreaming about her, too?”
Gil shook his head. “I have no idea. If he is, he hasn’t told me. And he totally shut me down the other day when I told him about the fact that I was.”
I turned to him. “What do you think this is?”
He shook his head. “It’s like . . .”
“What?”
“Okay,” he said, exhaling. “I’m just going to say it. To me, it seems like the veil between this world and the next is so thin where she is right now.” Gil looked down into his wine. “It’s like that veil is in tatters, and she can see through the holes.”
I felt goose bumps on my arms.
“Dominic thinks much the same,” I told him. “He thinks, when she’s sort of . . . I don’t know. Delusional? Saying things like she has to pick her kids up from school. He thinks she’s not delusional at all. That somehow, she is really back there. Not just remembering a moment in time. Really living that moment, in the past, and also the moment with us in the present at the same time. It’s like time as we know it is different for her.”
I considered what I was about to say next. “You know how sometimes she just zones out and doesn’t seem to be really . . . present?”
Gil nodded. “That’s commo
n among Alzheimer’s patients, I guess.”
“It’s almost like she’s submerging into . . . something. Someplace else. Maybe that’s where she’s going, back to the past.”
Gil let out a strangled laugh. “Do you know how crazy that sounds? And yet here we are, seriously talking about the fact that she really, actually, goes back to being the young wife making cookies to have them ready for the kids when they get off the bus.”
I nodded. “That’s what Dominic thinks.”
“I’m not saying he’s wrong. Who knows what really happens when we’re nearing the end? What sort of doors open.”
We stared at each other for a long moment.
“For all we know, Alice could live another twenty-five, thirty years,” he said. “I hope she doesn’t. And not just because of me. I know it’s terrible to say. I’m not trying to be ugly, but . . .” He frowned.
“I get it.”
“Her body is strong. Her heart is strong. There’s nothing wrong with her physically that isn’t happening in her brain right now. But it’s out there. Waiting for her. When she loses all recognition of her family—I cannot imagine how much it’s going to hurt Jason and the girls. And the grandkids. And, somewhere deep inside of the shell of herself that she’ll become, Alice, too.”
“I’d never want to be in that place. Be a burden to my family.” I let out a harsh laugh. “If I had one.”
“Oh, honey,” Gil said. “You’ll have one if you want one. Don’t even.”
I shrugged.
Gil pushed himself to his feet. “I guess I’d better get back up to the suite,” he said, sighing.
“Hang in there,” I said to him. “Remember, if you ever want to talk, I’m just down the hall.”
He gave my shoulders a quick squeeze and made his way toward the upstairs door.
I looked at the clock. It seemed so late, considering everything that had happened that day, but it was only a bit after four. I had plenty of time for the errand I was dying to do.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
After dashing upstairs to get my purse, I was on my way down the street. The rain had stopped, but the cobblestones were still glistening, a fresh scent of flowers and the lake and the rain wafting through the air. The sun was poking through the gray clouds and shining down in rays.
I pushed open the door of Just Read It and was greeted with the now-familiar tinkle of chimes. Beth poked her head out of the back room.
“Hey, you!” she said. “How are you liking The Illustrated Man?”
It took me a moment to realize she wasn’t talking about Dominic.
“I loved it!” I said. “I read the whole thing in one sitting. Or one soaking, you might say.”
She laughed. “You’re a bathtub reader, too!”
“Yes, indeed,” I chuckled. “I really loved the book. I may add it to my curriculum this year.”
I actually hadn’t thought anything of the kind until I said it, but the very thought of it sizzled through me. I couldn’t wait to hear what my students would have to say about those short stories. And all at once, it occurred to me: a reason to be excited about going back to work.
I sighed. “You know, this is the first time in a while I’ve found myself looking forward to the coming year,” I told her. “I haven’t been able to conjure any sense of happiness about the prospect of being back on campus and had seriously doubted I was up to the job. And now here I am, excited about talking to my students about The Illustrated Man.”
“The power of books,” Beth said.
“The power of a bookseller,” I said.
She smiled. “I was just pouring myself a cup of tea. Care to join me?”
I nodded, and she disappeared into the back and reemerged carrying two steaming mugs. I took a sip of the savory, spicy drink.
“Turmeric and ginger,” she said. “It’s good for what ails you.”
I leaned on the counter. “Have you heard anything about what went on at the inn?”
Beth shook her head. “I’m sure word of what happened will make its way through town soon—nothing is ever a secret here in Wharton—but as of now, no.”
“I haven’t heard, either,” I said. “I was planning to call Kate later, but I don’t want to be a pest. I hope everything, and everyone, is okay up there.”
“Me, too. But that’s not the reason you came in here,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Browsing for your next good read? I’ve got some recommendations, if so. I’m getting into genre fiction this summer.”
“I’m always looking for a good mystery,” I said, “but actually, I came in to find some books about Alzheimer’s.”
She furrowed her brow at me, but then the expression melted into recognition. “Oh,” she said. “Alice.”
“I’m going to be spending time with her this summer,” I said. “She’s very jittery and afraid with most people, but she feels safe with me for some reason. Gil and Jason wanted an afternoon away today and asked if I’d sit with her.”
“And that was okay?”
“More than okay,” I said. “She’s lovely. It’s no trouble at all, spending time with her. I told them I’d be happy to do it again. They’ll need a break every so often.”
Beth crossed her arms and leaned against the shelf. “You seem like a really nice person,” she said. “I just don’t want to see you get too caught up with what is, after all, Jason and Gil’s situation. Alice is their responsibility, not yours.”
“I know,” I said, thinking of how I just came out of one caregiving situation and had somehow fallen headlong into another.
“So, you want to learn more about Alzheimer’s so you’ll know what to expect?”
“Not just that. It’s . . .” I took a breath. “Do you have any books that explain a link between Alzheimer’s and psychic abilities? I did a quick search online but didn’t come up with anything.”
At this, she raised her eyebrows. “Care to expound on that at all?”
“I know, it sounds weird, but Gil and I both have had some odd experiences with Alice,” I started, not quite knowing how to finish the thought. “I was just hoping there was a real-world explanation.”
Beth stepped over to her computer, sliding her glasses on. “I can’t think of any right off the top of my head, but let me check.” She tapped at the keys, searching her inventory. She looked at me over the top of her glasses. “Nothing’s coming up.”
“It was worth a shot,” I said, shrugging.
Thanking her, I pushed open the door and made my way back up the street. I had suspected my search wouldn’t lead to much, even though I had secretly hoped to find a volume or two outlining several scholarly studies on cases like hers.
I told myself I’d do a more careful search online, but something inside me made me realize there would be no rational, real-world explanation for the strangeness swirling through the halls of LuAnn’s. It occurred to me it wasn’t the first time that could be said of the place.
I arrived back at the house to find Gary in the side yard stoking a wood fire under a giant cast-iron cauldron. Around it stood several picnic tables and assorted Adirondack chairs. A keg of beer sat on ice, along with several bottles of wine and glasses.
“Hey!” he called out to me.
“What’s all this?” I asked him.
“Fish boil. We do it every Friday. Tonight’s the first one of the season.”
I grimaced at him, causing him to burst into laughter.
“Come on now, it’s not that bad,” he coughed out.
“What in the name of Julia Child is a fish boil?” I asked him, eyeing the cauldron darkly.
“It’s a lake tradition,” he said. “C’mon in the kitchen with me, and I’ll tell you all about it. We’re full up for the six-thirty seating, and Gus and Aaron are both out today, so I could use an extra hand or two for the prep. LuAnn said she’d help, but, really, the last thing anyone wants is that woman in the kitchen.”
Not quite understanding exactly what he
was talking about, I followed him through the back door to the kitchen, chuckling at him.
Gary was tossing an apron to me when we heard a voice calling to him from inside the restaurant. Dominic.
“Hey, man, do you know—” he began as Gary popped his head out of the swinging door separating the kitchen from the back of the bar. “Oh! I was just wondering if you’ve seen Brynn.”
“She’s in here with me,” Gary informed him, wiping his hands on his apron. “Come on back. Make yourself useful.”
Dominic did what he was told and followed Gary into the kitchen, where I was tying a clean white apron around me. Gary picked another off a pile of linens and tossed it at Dominic.
“We’re washing dishes?” Dominic asked. “I’ll pay my bill, I promise.”
“Very funny, smart guy,” Gary snorted. “We’ve got a full house for the fish boil, and Gus called in sick. Called in hungover is more like it.”
I smiled at Dominic, knife in hand. His eyes twinkled at me.
“Just tell me what to do,” Dominic said.
“I made the slaw before happy hour, so that’s done. I’ll handle the fish.” Gary directed us to a giant bowl of red potatoes. “You two take these.”
“What, cut them in half?” Dominic asked. “Or in slices?”
Gary’s face was aghast. “No, no, no, no,” he chided. “Cut just the top off each one. Just a little bit!” He took the knife out of my hand and sliced the top off one of the potatoes. “Like that,” he said, tossing it into a bowl.
“Got it,” I said. “But why just the top?”
Gary squinted at me. “You’ve really never heard of a fish boil before, have you?”
Dominic and I exchanged a glance. Both of us shook our heads.
As we sliced the potatoes and Gary worked with the fish, he told us the history of the fish boil.
“It started back when this place was new,” he began. “We’ve got a little rivalry going with Door County on Lake Michigan over which area actually did it first. We did, obviously.”