“It is,” Maxine agreed.
“What do you think caused it?”
“It’s difficult to speculate. It seems she’s generally exhausted. The editor of the paper quit a few days ago.”
“Sam?” Elena furrowed her brow in surprise. Sam and her mother had worked together diligently and tirelessly for the better part of twenty years.
“He’d had enough, I suppose. It’s thankless work, especially now that the internet has changed everything,” Maxine said, bowing her head. “Suffice it to say, your mother is in no state to work at this time. The newspaper already reported a break from publishing. And, well, it’s no secret that they’ve been suffering financially. I hope there’s a way Carmen can get out of this without losing too much—monetarily speaking.”
Elena sucked in her breath, surprised to feel a wave of sorrow. The 150-year-oldMillbrook Gazettewas her mother and grandmother’s pride and joy. It had been in the family for generations before that. Through that time, they’d written about everything that had happened within Millbrook and the surrounding universe. They’d had opinions about everytechnological revolution, every political scandal, and every new book. Although her mother was the owner and operator of the paper, she still wrote and published several articles per week, all of which went through the eagle-eyed edit of the great Sam, until three days ago.
Maxine led Elena down another hallway, through a set of silver doors, and into the third doorway on the right-hand side. Elena’s heart pounded hard in her neck. Before she let her eyes drop down to the woman in the bed between them, she counted to ten, and fixated on Maxine as Maxine spoke in low tones with the nurse. The nurse updated Maxine on Carmen’s vitals, then disappeared through the door, her hips shimmying in a way that made her scrubs make a shush-shush sound.
When Elena forced her eyes down to her mother’s sleeping form, she nearly collapsed. The woman in the bed—the great and iconic Carmen Vasquez—was perhaps twenty pounds lighter than she’d been five years ago, skin and bones and fatigue sketched across her sleeping face. She looked terribly small under the covers, her hands spread out on the sheets, her nails dry-looking and slightly yellow. That wasn’t like her either. Carmen loved getting her nails done. She’d been fastidious.
What had happened?
Why didn’t you call me and tell me you needed help, Mom?
But Elena knew why her mother hadn’t done that. It wasn’t Carmen’s way.
Elena sat down on the chair beside her mother’s hospital bed and fought to keep her tears at bay. Maxine was talking to her, but her words were all fuzzy in her ears. It wasn’t until Maxine said the terrible term Alzheimer’s that Elena yanked around to look at her.
“I’m sorry,” Elena interjected. “Did you say Alzheimer’s?”
Maxine nodded. “I did. We’re going to test for it. We can’t rule anything out.”
“She’s sixty-seven years old,” Elena shot back angrily.
Maxine pulled a chair up beside Elena and sat down, as though she wanted to give her old friend the courtesy of pretend solace. Or maybe it wasn’t pretend. Who knew?
“I’ve just learned that the nurse spoke to a few of your mother’s colleagues. They suggested that she’s been hiding symptoms over the past few months. She’s been forgetting things. Odd things.” Maxine swallowed.
“I’m sure she’s just stressed,” Elena said.
“Maybe. But it’s better to know what’s causing this, to face it,” Maxine said.
Elena imagined herself saying something similarly in the past, back when she’d been the sort of journalist who’d fought to discover the truth in every circumstance. For a little while, she’d prided herself on her drive, her intellect. But it was these very things that had led to her downfall.
She remembered an hour earlier, when the car had begun to smoke and she’d considered getting out and hitchhiking back to Queens. She couldn’t handle real life any longer. It was why she freelanced those awful articles. It was why she hadn’t made a friend in years.
It was time for Maxine to go. She had other patients, other responsibilities. Elena thanked her and watched as she clipped the door closed behind her, leaving Elena and Carmen Vasquez alone in a room for the first time in five years. Elena’s tongue was dry with panic. She wanted to wake her mother up and demand answers.Why does everyone think you’re losing your memory? You, who never forgets anything?
It wasn’t long until Carmen’s eyes fluttered open. When they did, Elena half considered leaping up and getting out of there. She was terrified that her mother would immediately rip her in two, bringing up Syria and all the disappointments Elena had brought into her life. Instead, the look Carmen gave Elena wasone of childlike wonder mixed with fear. She sat up in bed and blinked at Elena, her dark gray hair ruffled. For a moment, Elena was terrified that Carmen didn’t recognize her.
And then Carmen said, “What are you doing here?” Her voice was sweet and tender, and it nearly broke Elena’s heart in two.
“Your neighbor called me,” Elena said.
“That was silly of her,” Carmen said. “She’s always worrying.”
Elena considered saying, "Mom, you collapsed at the Christmas tree lighting ceremony. That’s not nothing." But she didn’t want to embarrass her mother.
“How are you feeling?” Elena asked.
Carmen rolled her head around and took in the room. “Like I need to get out of here and get back to work.”
Elena couldn’t help but smile. “I think they’ve got things taken care of down there. You need to rest.” It was a lie, of course. Maxine had said the paper would stop publishing for the time being, that it couldn’t keep up now that Sam and Carmen were gone. Small-town papers were closing all over the country, Elena knew. Maybe it was time for this one to go, too.
