I walk around the dining hall, making sure I come at Stella instead of surprising her from behind. “Hello.” I offer her a bright smile and watch her not register knowing me. “I wonder if the glasses you want are down the hall. Should we go check? Somebody dropped the ball and I understand why you’re frustrated.”
“They’re impossible to work with here,” she tells me, waving off the poor staff who’ve been riding this wave with her for the better part of an hour.
“Sure, and you just want what you want. I get that. Let me help you out, okay?”
She thinks about this for a second and must decide I pass the test because she agrees. “I have twenty-four in a beautiful green. They’re individually wrapped in butcher paper after every washing.”
“Let’s go find them. I bet they’re lovely,” I tell her and lead her out into the hallway.
“They are, dear. Nicholas found them at Robinson’s in Los Angeles—you know, that department store, don’t you?”
I nod because that feels like the right move, since I just watched Opal give in to the reality Stella’s living in her mind.
“He did a plumbing job for them and knew I’d love them the minute he saw them. He bought every one of them in stock and brought them back to Palm Springs for me.”
“You’re very lucky. Your husband sounds like a great man.” We make our way down the hall.
Stella stops. “He isn’t great. He’s the very best. You’d be so lucky to find somebody like him.”
I think to myself, if only you knew, Stella.
Opal follows, and once we close Stella’s door, she springs to action. She guides Stella to an old leather armchair, closes the curtains, and turns on “You’ve Got It.” Roy Orbison’s voice fills the room while Stella closes her eyes, letting the song wash over her.
“Under the sink there are vases. Pull them out, please,” Opal instructs. She brings a folding table out of Stella’s room and props it up, motioning for me to set the vases on top. Going back into Stella’s room, she emerges with another table, then a few folding chairs, which she sets around the tables. The door cracks open and the activities director peeks her head in.
“We’re ready for those,” Opal says quietly, and the woman enters with an armful of fresh flowers. She leaves them next to the vases and lets herself out.
Whatever is taking place is a well-oiled machine they’ve done before. Many times. How did Max and I never talk about this? I mean, Emma had major colic as a baby and there was only one way she could be held through those screaming spells to offer her any kind of relief. I can’t imagine having left her in the care of somebody and not giving them that information. I get things had been stayingsteady for Stella before he went to spring training, but this is one of those nuggets of helpful information he should’ve passed along.
I remind myself just as fast that I’m at fault for not asking what to do and take a deep breath. He’ll be here in a few hours to teach me. It’s not worth getting upset about—it’s not like I’m failing Stella or Opal right now. I’m here and ready to help.
The song starts again as Opal guides me through separating the stems and then trimming them. Once that is done, she sits back. Stella’s swaying to the music in her chair, ribbed glass goblets no longer in the forefront of her mind.
Opal pulls her phone out of her cardigan pocket and gets busy playing a game. There’s a momentary atmosphere of normalcy, so I go with it and pull out my phone too. I’ve missed a text from my mom, letting me know she made it to my house. Emma texted me a no-context silly GIF of the guys from One Direction dancing like maniacs. Tweens are a mystery to me. I search for and send her one of somebody giggling.
There’s a message from Callie that has been left unanswered since she sent it last night. An hour ago, I would’ve felt eighty percent confident in my response, but that was before. Before I found myself huddled around crafting tables of fresh peonies and tulips, wondering if this situation will last another five minutes or five hours. I count down the minutes until Max arrives.
There’s a quiet knock at the door. I get up to find a nurse who wants to check on Stella. I let her in, and she talks to Opal for a second, then watches Stella from the small kitchenette before making a few notes on her tablet and exiting the room.
This exchange gives me an opening. “They don’t stay with her during this? You do?”
“She won’t let them.” Opal chuckles. “We’ve been friends for sixty years and she’s very prideful. When she agreed to move here to live with me, I had to agree that as long as she’s not being violent toward herself or others, there’s minimal staff interaction.”
“And Max has always been able to get here.”
“Right.”
“You acted like she wasn’t wrong to think you were setting up a dinner in Palm Springs, but I’ve seen Max correct her confusion before.”
Opal gives a sad smile. “It depends on the day and Max has taken the road of honesty, where I have learned it’s easier to lean into her narrative and stay the course. Once we get her back here, she settles and then it’s only a matter of time before the fog lifts again.”
This is hard. For the whole family. It will kill him to know he missed being available for his grandma when she needs him and their routine. The false sense of security in the arrangement we have lulled ourselves into is a joke. “And the flowers are part of it?”
“She likes gardening and misses her flowerbeds back home. This is a comforting activity for her after she gains lucidity.”
“Right.”
“What’s the matter, Nola?” Opal puts her phone down and leans her arms on the table, giving me her full attention.
