“Of course,” he said, taking her hand and threading their fingers together. He gave her a firm squeeze, and Phil nearly crumbled to the ground in gratitude.
How could she have ever compared this man to Kevin, who would change the subject whenever she mentioned her mother? Kevin didn’t even know the name of this place, nor had he ever shown any interest in joining her when she had visited. Jamal Johnson was nothing like Kevin Winters.
Studying his profile, she realized he was unlike any of the men she’d dated in the past. Phil latched on to the comfort he offered, grateful she didn’t have to go through this alone.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He glanced her way, and with a nod and an understanding smile, he simply said, “You’re welcome.”
Jamal held Phylicia’s hand while the director of Mossy Oaks explained how her mother had violently pitched a glass vase against the wall in the residents’ common area and disrupted a food cart laden with hot lunches. Dr. Beckman saw it as a sign that her dementia was worsening.
“Patients become more aggressive as the disease progresses,” he remarked.
“But this is so unlike her.” Phylicia pressed a balled fist to her lips. “My mother has the gentlest soul of anyone I know.”
“Remember we talked about this?” Dr. Beckman asked. “As the disease worsens, she will become less and less like her old self.”
“I knew it was inevitable. I’ve read every article I could find on early-onset dementia.” She shook her head. “It’s just so hard to see it happening and know there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it.”
The slight tremble in her voice hit Jamal’s chest like the sharp point of a javelin to his heart. He had to fight the urge to bring her hand to his lips and press a gentle kiss to her fingers. He settled for giving it another reassuring squeeze.
Dr. Beckman’s desk phone rang. He picked it up, listened for a moment, and said, “Thank you, Rebecca,” before hanging up. “Mrs. Phillips is back in her room. You still want to see her?”
“Of course,” Phylicia said, springing up from the chair and leading the way out of the office. Jamal had to lengthen his stride just to keep up with her.
As they approached the door to what he assumed was her mother’s room, she glanced down at their joined hands then at him.
“Do you want to stay out here?” she asked.
“Only if you want me to,” he answered.
She remained silent for several heartbeats before she said, “I’d like you to come in.”
A strange feeling blossomed in Jamal’s chest—a mixture of gladness, relief, and a hint of fear that he couldn’t fully describe. He swallowed, nodded, and gripped her hand tighter as he followed her into the room.
Phylicia gave the door two sharp raps with her knuckle before easing it open.
“Mom?” she called in a soft voice.
They entered a comfortable-sized room with a bed, television, two nightstands done in dark wood, and a small seating area set up in front of a large window.
A woman, who looked so much like Phylicia that there could be no mistaking they were mother and daughter, sat in one of the high-backed chairs.
“Agatha?” the woman asked.
“Yes, Sabina, it’s me,” Phylicia said. She let go of his hand and made it to her mother’s side in three strides.
Jamal held himself back, stopping just inside the door. The nurse who had been hovering next to Mrs. Phillips walked toward where Jamal and Dr. Beckman stood.
“Is she okay?” Jamal asked.
The nurse nodded. “Especially now that Phylicia is here. Mrs. Phillips loves it when she visits, even though she mistakes her for her baby sister.”
“Good work, Rebecca,” Dr. Beckman said, then addressed Jamal. “I’ll leave you all to visit. Use the call button next to the bed if you need anything.”
Jamal nodded his thanks and shut the door behind the two as they exited, but he didn’t move closer to Phylicia. He stood sentry at the door while she and her mother spoke in soft tones. Their closeness was evident in the way Phylicia gently caressed her mother’s hand and the older woman smoothed the stray locks of hair away from Phylicia’s face.
The ache that had pulsed in Jamal’s chest grew tighter as he observed the mother and daughter.
