Ben sounds so sincere, I almost believe him. Almost. But then I look down at his hand and see LOVE tattooed across his knuckles. If he had punched Lindsay, that word would have been the last thing she saw before he made contact. Is that his idea of love? Or is Lindsay telling the truth and I've totally misjudged him? How can I be sure? I used to think I was good at reading people, the way Adam talked about. But my own husband cheated on me, and I never had a clue until it was too late. How can I be sure of anything ever again?
"I don't believe you."
He sighs and pushes back in his chair. "Look, I get you. Honestly, if I thought some guy was waiting on my sister, I'd rip his arms off."
This visual doesn't make me feel any better about his temper.
"So there's only one thing left for me to do." He rakes his hand through his hair, spiking it up even more.
"What?"
"Prove myself."
I don't know how he plans to do that, but before I can ask, Lindsay comes back.
She grins as she reaches the table. "Wow, I never expected to see the two of you sitting together. This is a good sign."
Or a sign of the coming apocalypse.
"Did Ben tell you his news?" She sits down and leans her shoulder against his.
There's news? I shake my head, and Ben pushes the cardboard cup in front of him from one hand to the other. "No, we didn't get to that."
"Ben's got a job!"
This is the worst news possible. I was counting on him running out of money and needing to leave town. If he's got a job, he's not going anywhere. "When did this happen?"
"While you were gone." Now she leans across the table and squeezes my arm. "Isn't it great? I'll admit I was kind of ticked when you said I had to meet Ben here. But if you hadn't, he never would have found out about the job."
She might as well slice my finger with a piece of paper and squeeze lemon juice on it. "Who hires someone they don't know after running into them at a coffee shop?"
Adam looks up from the table he's wiping down. "I do."
I stare at him, hoping I misunderstood what I just heard. "You gave him a job?"
"Yes."
"Doing what?"
"Playing his guitar."
"Are you insane?"
The handful of remaining customers looks in our direction. I guess that came out a little louder than I meant it to. Across the table, Lindsay glares at me while Ben looks resigned. Causing a scene doesn't help matters one bit, but that's just what I've done.
I stand up and motion to Adam. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
We walk behind the bookshelves where I hope no one can hear us talking. "What happened while I was gone?"
Adam looks genuinely perplexed. "I was keeping an eye on your sister, just like you asked. I figured the best way to do that was to talk to them."
"How do you go from chatting with complete strangers to offering one of them a job?"
"Easy. He asked me if we ever hire musicians to play here. I said no, but I know of a band that's looking for a guitar player. He plays guitar." He holds his hands out, palms up. "It seemed like a perfect fit."
"You have no idea what you've done."
"Why don't you tell me?"
Either this man is extremely trusting, or he's playing me. Since I don't see any benefit for him in the latter, I can only assume he hasn't had much life experience. "It's a long story. Let's just say he's no good for my sister. He's dangerous."
"You sound pretty sure of yourself."
"I am."
"What if you're wrong?"
"Believe me, if you knew what I know, you wouldn't ask me that."
"Because of the thing with her eye?"
Wait a minute . . . "How do you know about her eye?"
"They told me the whole story." He smiles softly and puts his hand on my shoulder. "It sounds like you made a snap judgment and you won't consider that you might have been wrong."
Backing away, I shake off his hand. "What makes you so insightful? You don't even know Ben."
"And you do?"
Truthfully, no. I don't know Ben at all. But I know what I saw, and I know what my gut tells me. And that's enough.
He steps toward me. "It's wonderful that you love your sister so much. That you want to protect her. But she's a grown woman. She has the right to make her own decisions."
"Even if they're wrong?"
"You need to have a little faith."
Which is exactly the wrong thing for him to say. Having faith in people hasn't worked out so well for me, especially lately.
"We need to get home."
I leave the bookshelves and collect Lindsay. From the look on her face I can tell she heard every word, but she doesn't argue about leaving. Neither does Ben. Probably because they both know they won a battle today.
But the war's not over. And I intend to win this one, even if I have to fight the whole thing by myself.
38
Lindsay and I don't say a word to each other on the way back home. When I pull in the driveway, I barely have time to turn off the ignition before she jumps out of the car and runs inside. The door slams, and a sigh of relief whooshes from my lungs. I hate that she's mad at me again, but at least I know where she is and that she's safe, away from Ben. Now I can turn my attention to my mother.
Arms loaded with packages, I push my way into the house. Just about everything I bought today is because of what I read on the Internet earlier. I have running shoes and exercise clothes because I intend to take up jogging. I have Sudoku and crossword puzzle books to keep my mind in shape. And I have several bottles of vitamins, which are supposed to delay mental impairment. There's no guarantee any of it will work, but I intend to make my body as unwelcoming a host for Alzheimer's as possible. The rest of the stuff is to help my mom. Again, I don't know that any of it will work, but I'm going to give it a shot.
Upstairs, a door bangs so hard it makes the pictures on the wall rattle. Dad comes out of the hall, looks up the stairs, then looks at me. "Are you two at it again?"
"Things didn't go quite the way I planned."
He takes some of the bags from me and puts them on the coffee table. "What happened?"
"Ben got a job. From your buddy, Adam."
"Really?"
"Yes. He hired him for some band." I dump the rest of my bags and slump onto the couch. "I knew there was something off about that man. Turns out he and Ben are the same type."
Dad scratches the back of his head. "Honey, there's something you ought to know about Adam. He—"
"Stop." I hold my palm out at him for emphasis. If Dad starts defending Adam, I'll lose the shreds of composure I've managed to hold on to. "I get it. He's your friend. No offense, but I don't want to talk about him anymore. Where's Mom?"
"Two guesses."
"Watching Lucy?" He nods. I pat his hand. "I've got a surprise for you." I grab one of the bags and plop it in his lap.
A smile lights his face as he pulls out a long box. "Wow. I Love Lucy, the complete series on DVD."
"I don't know about you, but I'm tired of hearing the same episodes over and over again."
"Some variety will be nice." He flips it around and reads the back of the box. "Although 'Vitameatavegamin' makes me laugh no matter how many times I see it."
"Agreed. It's a classic for a reason."
He pats my hand. "Thank you, Sugar Plum. This is a very thoughtful gift."
I'm glad he understands why I got it. Not because Mom will tell the difference, but because he will.
He points at the other bags. "What else do you have there?"
"A little bit of everything. Hey, do you still have that old card table we used to do jigsaw puzzles on?"
"Sure. It's in the hall closet." His eyebrows lift. "Are you planning on working a puzzle?"
"Yes. With you and Lindsay and Mom." His brows fall, along with the corners of his mouth. "Honey, your Mom's not up for that."
"Probably not, but there's no reason wh
y we can't be in the room with her while she watches her show."
"I guess not." He rubs his chin. "What makes you want to do a puzzle?"
"I did some research today on Alzheimer's and I read about nonmedical therapies. One of the things they recommended was to find activities the person used to enjoy, and try to reintroduce them."
"Like the puzzles."
"Exactly. Remember how much fun we all used to have?"
The melancholy twist of his mouth says more than any words.
"I don't expect Mom to jump in and put a puzzle together on her own, but maybe if she sees us doing one it will spark something in her. Maybe she'll even join us. It's worth a try, right?"
Lips puckered tightly, he nods. "Right."
"Great." I push off the couch and grab most of the bags. "Do you need help with dinner?"
"No, I've got it covered." He kisses my cheek. "But thanks."
I kiss him back. "You bet. Let me know when it's time to eat."
I'm halfway up the stairs when he calls after me. "What are you doing until then?"
"Making peace with my sister."
Hopefully, I can convince her to join us for after-dinner puzzle fun. One way or another, that family room is going to live up to its name tonight.
Lindsay isn't interested in talking with me, but she has no qualms about talking at me. Apparently, I am hardheaded, unforgiving, and lame. I'm a lot of other things, but those are the attributes that stick in my head. As tempted as I am to tell her she's soft in the head, naive, and reckless, I don't. Instead, I ask if we can call a truce, for our parents' sake. Then I tell her about my puzzle idea. Wonder of wonders, she agrees to go along with it.
After dinner, we all go to the family room together. The card table is already set up, far enough from the TV so it's not in the way, but close enough that Mom will notice it. While Dad fiddles with the DVD player, I take out the puzzle boxes.
"Think you bought enough?" Lindsay asks.
I did get a little carried away. "I wanted us to have choices. Which one looks good to you?"
Lindsay picks up one after the other, studying the pictures on the front. "This one." She chose a scene of colorful hot air balloons in a robin egg blue sky.
"Nice."
She spills the contents onto the middle of the table. Immediately, we begin sorting out the edge pieces so we can build the frame. The familiar Lucy theme music fills the room, and a moment later, Dad joins us at the table, placing the TV remote beside him.
As we work on the puzzle, we talk about the weather, local news, music . . . anything that's light and controversy-free. Occasionally, we respond to jokes we hear from the TV, our laughter blending with Mom's. It's almost as if we're a normal family, enjoying a normal evening.
Almost.
When the episode ends, Dad picks up the remote and turns off the TV. Usually, Mom watches one show, sometimes two. But he always turns it off in between.
I wait for some kind of response from Mom. Finally, it comes.
"I'm tired."
She stands up. Dad pushes back his chair and goes to her. "Bedtime, then."
Threading her arm through the crook of his elbow, she lets him lead her. But before they pass the card table, she stops next to Lindsay.
"What are you doing?" Mom asks.
Lindsay looks up. "We're working a puzzle."
"You remember how we always used to do puzzles together, Mom?" I ask.
She doesn't acknowledge my question. As she stares at the pieces on the card table, her hand stretches out, almost on its own, and strokes the back of Lindsay's head. "You always had such beautiful hair." Her hand drops and she looks back at Dad. "I'm tired."
When they're out of the room, I turn to Lindsay.
"It worked," I say. "She remembered you."
"She remembered." Lindsay lets go of the sobs she's been holding back. "She's still in there. Somewhere, somehow, she knows me."
I pull Lindsay to me, stroking her hair like Mom did. Only I don't stop.
39
Saturday, I attempt to salvage the garden. I considered bringing Mom out to sit on the porch while I worked but decided against it. If she remembers anything about her flowerbeds, seeing them in this shape might make her hysterical. Once I've gotten the weeds under control, I'll invite her to join me. A quick perusal of the backyard shed reveals that Dad didn't get rid of the yard tools, he just hasn't had time to use them. Wearing Mom's wide-brimmed straw hat and her green canvas gloves, I kneel on the edge of the flowerbed, yanking up dandelions. They don't look like difficult plants to remove, but these things must have root systems reaching to China. When mere tugging and pulling gets too strenuous, I grab a trowel and start digging them out.
I've gotten about halfway around the bed when the screen door hinges creak. Dad walks out on the front porch, my cell phone in his hand.
"You've got a call, Sugar Plum."
Sitting back on my heels, I take off a glove and wipe the back of my hand across my sweaty forehead. "Who is it?"
"Jade."
My knees pop as I stand up. I'm definitely not used to so much manual labor. As I mount the stairs, I try not to let on how much my muscles hurt. But it's pretty obvious.
"Looks like you need a break anyway," Dad says.
I take the phone. "Thanks." Then I sit on the porch swing and wave Dad away. After he goes back in the house, I put the phone to my ear. "Jade?"
"Hey there, Sugar Plum."
"Very funny." Pushing off with one foot, I set the swing to swaying. "It's good to hear your voice."
"You too. I was afraid you were stranded in the desert somewhere."
"Why would you think that?"
"It's the only reason I could come up with to explain why you haven't called in the last three weeks."
With everything else that's been going on, I haven't had time to miss Jade. But now I do. "Sorry. Life's been kinda crazy."
"I'll bet. How's it going with your mom?"
"Tough. But I'm glad I'm here." And sorry I waited so long to come. "How are things with you?"
"Great. I've been throwing wild parties in your house every night."
Sure she has. Knowing Jade, she's probably spent most of her time reading or doing homework. Right now, I'll bet she's sitting on a chaise, enjoying my backyard. The professionally landscaped, immaculately kept yard that I pay a crew of gardeners to maintain. I look down at the blister beginning to rise on my thumb. How the mighty have fallen.
"Have all the fun you want," I say. "Just make sure it's clean when I get back."
"Speaking of coming back, when are you?"
"I have no idea."
"But you've been gone so long."
"Yeah, but Lindsay and I only got to our parents' a few days ago."
Jade sighs, sending a long hiss of air through the phone. "You can't stay away forever. Sooner or later, you've got to come back to real life."
We talk a little longer and before I hang up I promise Jade that I'll figure out a return date soon. But just thinking about it muddles my brain. True, life as I've become accustomed to living it is back in California. Only nothing there is the way it used to be. Soon, I'll be without a husband, and if Tony gets his way, without a home.
Dad comes back out onto the porch, holding two glasses of lemonade. "I thought you could use a break."
"Thanks." I take the glass he hands me and motion for him to join me on the swing. It groans under our combined weight, but I have no doubt it will hold us.
"Is everything okay?" he asks.
"Yep." I sip my drink. The tart and sweet combination makes me want to smack my lips. "Mmm. That's good."
Beyond the picket fence, two boys zip by on their bikes. Birds sing in the trees, leaves rustle. My father and I sip and sway, the condensation from our glasses sliding across our fingers and falling to make dark splotches on our jeans. The scene is Norman Rockwell perfect, except for one thing: I shouldn't be sitting on this swing. It should be Mom. The two
of them should be sitting together, reveling in the simple pleasures of life, enjoying the view from their porch.
"How do you do it, Dad?"
"Do what?"
"How do you get up every day and take care of Mom, when you know it's not going to get any better?"
"I have to. I love her."
His face is so honest, so raw, I have to look away. "You make it sound easy. But love isn't always enough."
"If you ask me, it is. If it's not enough, then it's not really love." He squeezes my hand. "You know the love chapter in the Bible?"
"First Corinthians thirteen." If I didn't know it, I'd be a pretty sad marriage expert. Sadder than I already am.
"The next time you read it, really concentrate on the words. It's all about putting the other person first. There's nothing easy about loving someone that way. It's something you choose to do, every day."
For the first time, I see how truly amazing my father is. "Mom is so lucky to have you."
"We're lucky to have each other. If the roles were reversed she'd do the same thing for me." He pats my leg. "Enough of this. Let's talk about something more interesting."
"Like?"
"Like, how about coming to church with us tomorrow?"
That cross-country drive has me so discombobulated, I didn't even realize today is Saturday. "I'd like to, but what about Mom? Who's going to stay with her?"
"No one. She's coming too."
"Really?" Since we arrived, she hasn't left the house once.
Dad nods. "Church is the one place she still connects to. Not that she remembers who most of the people are, but she still loves to sing. Still loves to hear the sermons." He stands up and takes my empty glass. "I think you've done enough work out here for one day. Why don't you come in?"
I glance at the flowerbed. It still needs plenty of attention, but I made a good dent in it. "Okay. Let me put the tools away first."
Going back and forth between the front of the house and the shed, I think about what Dad said. How love is a choice. Over the course of our marriage, Tony and I made a lot of choices. Like flipping through a card file, I peruse the memories, trying to recall a time when either of us chose to do something purely because it would benefit the other. Nothing comes to mind. Not one thing. And even though Tony committed the biggest betrayal of all, if I'm honest, I have to admit that I didn't love him the way I should have either.
The Mor Road Page 16