“I don't know how.”
“That Ben fellow seems to have ideas.”
Kate almost smiled. “Yeah, he does.”
“Your mother liked him. Said he had honest hands.”
“Mom never met Ben.”
Pop's face clouded, confusion creeping back in. “She didn't? But she said... she told me...”
“It's okay, Pop.”
“I'm tired, Katie. So tired of fighting to remember, tired of feeling lost in my own life.”
“Then rest. Stop fighting. We'll take care of everything.”
He lay back down, closed his eyes. “Tell Elizabeth I'll be late for dinner.”
“I'll tell her.”
By six, the house stirred with people. Dani made breakfast that no one ate. Tom handled paperwork with terrible efficiency. James packed Pop's clothes, folding each item with unnecessary precision. Amy prepared his medications, typing up detailed instructions for the facility staff though they had their own protocols.
Ben arrived at seven, didn't say anything, just started helping. He carried boxes to the car, fixed a drawer that had been sticking for years, made coffee that was actually drinkable. His presence was steady, undemanding, exactly what Kate needed.
Lillian came at eight, using her walking stick more heavily than before. She sat in one of the restored chairs, watching the preparations with an expression Kate couldn't read.
“I can ride separately,” Lillian offered. “But, if my presence makes this harder, I’ll stay here”
“No,” Kate said, surprising herself. “You should come. You're family. We can meet you there.”
Something flickered across Lillian's face. Gratitude, maybe, or surprise. “Thank you.”
Pop came downstairs at nine, dressed in his good khakis and the navy sweater, the one Elizabeth had actually made despite his confused memory. He looked around at everyone gathered, his children, Amy, Ben, Lillian.
“Are we having a party?” he asked.
“We're going for a drive, Pop,” Kate said. “To a new place.”
“Oh. Will Elizabeth be there?”
“She'll visit,” Kate lied, the words like glass in her throat.
The drive to Wells was silent except for Pop occasionally commenting on things they passed. The facility was nice, Katehad to admit. More like an upscale apartment building than an institution. Gardens, walking paths, a secured perimeter that looked decorative rather than prison-like.
The director, Mrs. Libby, met them at the entrance. She was warm, professional, exactly the right balance of medical competence and human kindness.
“Mr. Perkins,” she said, offering her hand. “We're so glad you're joining us.”
Pop shook her hand politely. “Is this a hotel?”
“Something like that. Let me show you to your room.”
The room was actually a suite, private, with a view of the garden. Lillian had paid for the best they had. Kate and Dani made the bed with Pop's own sheets. James set up photos on every surface. Tom installed a digital frame with hundreds of family pictures. Pop sat in the chair by the window, watching birds at a feeder.
“This is nice,” he said. “Elizabeth will like the birds.”
A nurse came to do intake, asking Pop questions he couldn't answer. What year was it? Who was the president? What season? Pop looked to Kate for help, but she could only squeeze his hand.
