by Lisa Lace
“She’s young,” I say softly.
“Sixty-two. It’s a form of early onset Alzheimer’s. Uncommon.”
“I’m sorry.”
Elise holds her mom’s hand, having pulled up an extra chair to sit beside her. “I think the symptoms were starting to show before Dad died, but she really went downhill after we lost him.”
“When did he pass?”
“A few years back.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to keep saying you’re sorry.”
“You never told me about any of this.”
“You didn’t need to know.” She strokes the back of Kaitlyn’s hand softly. “There are some topics that are off-limits for you and some that are off-limits for me.”
I sit down on the bed just next to where Elise is sitting in her chair and put my hand on her shoulder. “I told you about my off-limits topics, though. You know all about what I’ve been through.”
“What you’ve been through,” Elise repeats. “What’s done. What’s over.” She looks at her mother with sad eyes. “This is different.”
“Does she know we’re here?”
“I don’t know.” Elise’s voice is quiet. “I like to think so.”
“What do you do when you’re here?”
“I talk to her about my life. I do her hair or nails or something nice for her.”
“Can I talk to her?”
Elise smiles. “Of course.”
I don’t know what to say, but I want to make an effort. Elise pictures me as some soulless monster who doesn’t know how to empathize with anyone, and I want to prove her wrong. I may have money, but I still have a heart.
“I’ve asked your daughter to marry me, Mrs. Sawyer,” I say. “I wanted to meet you before we say our vows. I don’t know if Elise has told you about me, but I don’t want you to worry about her. I’m going to take very good care of your daughter. I have a daughter of my own, you know. Elise pretends to be strong and to have it all figured out, but I know how hard she tries. I promise I’m going to share the load with her from now on. She’s going to be all right with me.”
Elise is listening silently as I speak, gently applying some rose scented moisturizer to Kaitlyn’s hand in small circles. She smiles as I talk to her mom; she looks humbled.
She gasps when Kaitlyn pulls her hand away and moves it in my direction. Kaitlyn turns her head to look at me, then slowly pats my hand with hers. That’s all.
Elise puts both her hands over her mouth and gasps. “Oh, my god.”
“What? Is she okay?”
“She heard you. I know she did.” I can hear the tears catching in her throat. “She understood.”
“I’m glad.” I squeeze the hand that Kaitlyn’s offered me. “I want you to know how much I care about Elise, Mrs. Sawyer. You have a wonderful daughter.”
Elise is in a strange mood after the visit, kind of tearful and pensive. Once we’re back in the car, I wait a moment before leaving.
“Are you okay?”
She nods. “I’m fine.”
“I wish you’d told me about your mom. I would have visited with you before now.”
“I didn’t want to cross any lines. What we have”—she looks across at me with a pained expression—“is business. My relationship with my mother is something intimate and terribly close to my heart. I didn’t want her to get caught in the crossfire of whatever this is. Like the way you keep Grace out of the media to protect her, I wanted to keep my mom out of our arrangement.”
Our arrangement. In the last couple of weeks, I thought Elise and I had grown closer. I was starting to kid myself that this was more than some kind of exchange—but clearly, I was wrong. Elise is focusing only on our end goal.
“I understand. But I’m glad you let me come.” I give her shoulder a squeeze. “I believe this arrangement is going to cross a great many lines before we’re done. There isn’t going to be much of a divide between what we’re doing and our personal lives. We’ve got to put everything into this.”
She nods slowly, closing her eyes.
“I know.”
Elise
I am sitting and reading in the library when Rory finds me. He knocks on the wall outside of the door to get my attention.
“What are you up to?” he asks. I look up to find Rory is dressed, ready to go out.
“Reading Great Expectations.” I hold up the book. It is one of several first edition Dickens’ novels that Rory owns. I frown. “I thought that you were staying in today—to go over the case details that the lawyer sent.”
He shakes his head—he’s grinning.
“There’s somewhere I want to take you,” he says.
“Where?”
“It’s a surprise.”
My interest is piqued. I’ve felt a little funny around Rory since he came to meet my mother. I felt ashamed that he’d peered behind my own curtain and seen the impoverished circumstances my poor mom has to cope with—like it’s my fault she’s there. I also felt touched by what he’d told her. Lie or not, if any of those words got through to my mom, I know it would mean the world to her to know I’m cared for. I hope Rory’s words did sink in, and that deep down inside, where my real mom is, she felt a shred of comfort to believe I’d found a loving man to look after me.
“I was about to start an article.”
Rory holds up a hand. “That can wait.”
“I need the money, Rory.”
“I’ll give you a thousand dollars.”
I laugh and roll my eyes exaggeratedly. “Throwing money at things again, Rory. I’ll come, but I’m not taking a dime. I’ll catch up on my writing later.”
He smiles broadly. “Good. I think you’re going to like where we’re going.”
“Is it that ice-cream place I said looked cool?”
“You’ll see.”
I pull on my boots and pick up my purse and follow Rory to his garage. I wonder which of his eight cars he’s going to take today. He stands for a moment, his eyes traveling over his cars as he makes his decision. I wait patiently. Eventually, he chooses the Porsche, and we get in.
“How did you sleep last night?” he asks me as he turns the key in the ignition. The engine purrs smoothly.
“Good. Thanks.”
Since moving in, I’ve yet to sleep in the same bed as Rory, although we’ve spent another night together. We didn’t think anyone would be watching closely enough to know if we slept in the same room or not, so we decided to keep our distance, so as to keep this thing as uncomplicated as possible.
I won’t lie. There have been a number of nights I’ve considered slipping down the hall and into his bedroom. Memories of our nights together still regularly play out in my fantasies, and my body sings with desire for him. I don’t push my agenda, though. The sex is an added bonus to this arrangement, but it is also the thing that makes this arrangement complicated for me. My feelings for Rory are growing. It worries me.
We don’t say much else to each other as we drive. It’s a clear-skied day, although there’s a cool breeze in the air. I laugh with delight when Rory rolls the top down, and I experience my first drive in a convertible with the wind in my face.
We’re headed uptown. As we drive, the streets get gradually nicer and better cared for, roads and streets becoming avenues. Graffiti disappears, litter vanishes and flowers bloom as we drive deeper and deeper into the most expensive parts of town.
Eventually, Rory pulls up outside some grand building that looks like a hotel of some kind, surrounded by acres of sprawling green land. The building is made of red brickwork and is immaculately maintained, from its gorgeous little flower beds and rose bushes, to its sparkling clean windows and gleaming pillars.
“Is this a possible wedding venue?”
He laughs. “Not quite. Come on. I’ll show you.”
We step out the car and Rory takes my hand, striding confidently up the gravel path toward the steps leading into the building. As we got close
r, I see the engraved granite sign out front: Belleview Alzheimer’s Care. Disappointment blooms inside of me.
“Rory! Is this a nursing home?” I tug at his hand, trying to pull him back to the car. “This is exactly what I didn’t want. Let’s go.”
He tugs me back toward him and circles his arm around my waist. His eyes meet mine. “Please come inside with me. I’ve done a lot of research to find this place. It’s state-of-the-art.”
I feel my anger rising. “I told you I didn’t want my mother being part of this arrangement.”
“Have a look around before you make any decisions.”
“Rory—”
“Elise.” His voice is sharp, but his expression pleading. He looks desperate to do this for me, and I know his intentions come from a good place, even if they make me feel like some begging pauper.
“Fine. We’ll look around.”
Rory smiles widely and pulls open the grand door. He checks us in at the reception desk, and within minutes, the care home owner is there to give us a tour. She shakes both our hands warmly. She’s a well-presented woman dressed in pastel slacks and a pretty blouse. She has a big, genuine smile on her face and the most contagious laugh. She introduces herself as Colleen Wheeler.
“Mr. Everest and Miss Sawyer. I read all about your engagement in the paper. Congratulations. Now, whose parent are we considering for residency at Belleview?”
“Elise’s mother,” Rory answers.
Colleen takes my hand and pats it comfortingly. “I’m so sorry. We know here how difficult that initial diagnosis is and how much it takes to care for someone living with Alzheimer’s.” She smiles. “I can promise you that your mother would receive only the very best care here. We focus specifically on people with Alzheimer’s. We are experts in the condition, and in managing the progression of the illness. Shall we take the tour?”
I’m in awe as we walk around. The place looks like the mansion from the X-Men movies. I’m half expecting Professor Xavier to come whizzing down the halls in a wheelchair of his own.
Everything in here is gorgeous, like a beautiful hotel for the most sumptuous vacation. I can hardly believe that people actually live here, let alone people like my mom, who are so often pushed aside and forgotten about.
Colleen strides ahead enthusiastically, as Rory and I follow a step behind, hand in hand. He’s listening intently to everything she has to say, asking questions and soaking up all the information. I don’t say anything. I don’t want to hear about this place. I don’t want to know how wonderful it is. It’ll make me want my mother to be here, and I can’t accept Rory’s help—not when this arrangement won’t last forever.
“This place has been designed to be the most optimal environment for those living with Alzheimer’s,” Colleen tells us. “The very architecture has been created with the specific cognitive effects of Alzheimer’s in mind. The way this building is designed makes it far easier for a resident to orient themselves than in any other building.”
We walk through a common lounge area, where residents are sitting peacefully reading or playing cards in lush armchairs at exquisitely carved tables. There’s the most beautiful red brick fireplace in the room and several large shelves filled with books. There are pots of tea scattered around on the tables beside residents, and even a trolley piled high with scones and jam.
Colleen smiles. “This is one of our lounges, where residents can relax and engage in our activities. We have a book club here, and other activities that are proven to improve and maintain the cognitive abilities of people living with Alzheimer’s. The scones are just a treat.” She winks at me.
“We have an onsite cinema, store, and beauty salon, so the place feels like a real community. We have activities or entertainment nightly, including bingo, live music, films, comedy, and even pop-up galleries for our art-lovers. Let me show you one of our suites.”
She takes us into an empty room on the ground floor. It’s nicer than my apartment used to be. The room is divided into three areas—a living area, a bedroom, and a bathroom.
“Each resident has their own en suite bathroom, all fully accessible to the disabled, of course. Everything in all of our rooms is especially adapted for the handicapped. You’ll see we have state of the art equipment, not only for medical assistance but for leisure.” She points to a television on the wall. “We have a full cable package for all our residents, as well as thousands of films and shows on demand. We’ll record any show we’re asked to, so if your mom has a favorite program, you’d only need to let us know, and we’ll make sure it gets recorded for her.”
“What are the staff like here?” Rory asks.
“We have wonderful feedback.” Colleen beams. “Our turnover is very low. Staff love their jobs, and our residents love the staff. We’ve only had two people leave in the last three years—one to become a mother, and the other to study management with a view to returning at a higher level.”
As we go on, my head starts to spin with wonder. Everything is beautiful, everything is so carefully arranged. I have no doubt that the residents here feel right at home, safe, and cared for. It makes my heart ache for my poor mother.
Finally, the tour ends, and Rory promises to be in touch. Colleen leaves us, and we head back to the car. As soon as the door’s shut, he smiles broadly at me.
“Well, what do you think?”
“You know I can’t afford a place like this, Rory.”
“Obviously, I’d want to pay.”
“I don’t want you to pay.”
“Why not?”
My eyes sting with tears. I want nothing more than for my mother to live here, but I don’t want to be a charity case—I have my pride—and I wouldn’t want to give my mom all this, only to take it away from her when Rory wins his custody case.
“It would be cruel to let her stay here and then take it away.”
Rory looks at me incredulously. “You think I’d do something that callous? I’d pay for your mother to stay here until…until she no longer needs to be cared for.”
“Why would you do that?”
Now he gets frustrated. “For God’s sake, Elise. I may not wear all my emotions on my sleeve, but I’d think by now you’d realize I care for you. A great deal.” He bows his head and clears his throat. “Besides, what’s it going to look like if a billionaire lets his fiancée’s mother stay in a place like Cedar Manor?”
“It would help you if she stayed here?” I ask slowly.
“Of course, it would, Elise. We’ve got to paint a picture, remember?”
“And if this arrangement ends, she’d stay?”
“I can have my lawyers draw up a prenup if you like. I vow to pay for your mother’s care as long as she needs it. I promise you.”
I nod. Damn my pride. My mother deserves the best. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“If this is something you really want to do, then I’ll accept it—with more gratitude than you could know.”
Rory leans across his seat to kiss me. “I’m the one who's thankful, Elise. You’re looking after my family. The least I can do is look after yours.”
Rory
It takes everything in me to sit opposite Margot in a lawyer’s boardroom and not jump across the table and throttle her. There are three lawyers present today—my lawyer, Bill, Margot’s lawyer, Terence, and the mediator, James.
We’re here today for a mediation meeting. The idea is that we meet with James, who is a family law mediator, and he helps us come to an agreement before the custody battle goes to court.
Margot is very good at playing the innocent, broken-hearted mother. She has her blond hair combed back into a neat bun, is wearing little makeup, and is dressed in a pair of mom-jeans, a floral blouse, and a pastel cardigan. She fiddles with her wedding ring as if trying to draw attention to the fact she’s married. The perfect wife and mother.
I was told to prepare my version of Grace’s schedule, my custody and visitation proposal, and all my relev
ant records. I have everything I’ve prepared in front of me in a folder.
James begins the meeting. “Now that everyone’s here, we can begin.” He looks down at his paperwork. “We’re here today to discuss custody and visitation of Grace Everest. Each of you has been asked to prepare your own proposal for how custody and visitation will fall. I’ll ask you each to present your proposal, and then the mediation will begin.” He looks across at Margot. “Would you like to start, Mrs. Rosenthal?”
“Oh, oh, yes, thank you.” She stammers out the words like a little sparrow. Her acting makes my skin crawl. I’ve heard her rattle off obscenities while high on coke and straddling me. “I’m so pleased to be here today. It’s taken a long time to get this far in the battle for my little girl.”
“Enough with the act, Margot.” I spit out the words, sitting as far back in my chair as I can so as not to be contaminated by her poison. “You don’t give a fuck about Grace.”
She flutters her eyelashes, forcing crocodile tears to rise. “Rory, this would be easier if you’d be civil.”
“She’s right, Mr. Everest,” James says from the head of the table. “You need to let her speak. We’re all going to be civil with one another today.”
Bill pats my back. His silent gesture is all that keeps me from telling Margot what I really think of her. Scum of the earth bitch.
Margot shuffles the papers in her hand, reading from her documents. “My proposal is that I have full physical custody of Grace and that Rory gets visitation every other weekend.”
“Every other weekend?” I scoff, letting out a bitter, harsh bark of a laugh. “You must be kidding me, Margot. I’ve had her, twenty-four-seven, for seven years, and now you suggest every other weekend?”
She swallows, pretending to be nervous. “I can offer Grace a real family home. There are great schools in our area. There’s even a girl’s little league.” She looks across at James and simpers. “I can’t stop myself buying dresses for her and toys. I keep thinking about when she’s coming home.”