Mom
I’m weeping now. I use the hem of my shirt to dab at the spots where my tears fell onto the pages. Preserving them—my mother’s last written words—is crucial to me. Seeing her spelling mistakes, both the ones she caught and the ones she didn’t, stings. I imagine her writing this, struggling, and it makes my heart ache. Then, I think about what she’d say to me right now, and I swear I hear her voice clear as day in my head.“Focus on the good, baby girl. Focus on that I got through it so I could share my heart.”
I wipe my face. Yes, I’ll do that—focus on the fact that she could write the words, not on the difficulty she went through to do so. I stand and walk to the bathroom to blow my nose and put some water on my face. When I return, I push my chair closer to Mom’s and lean my body to the side, with my head resting on her shoulder and holding her hand. And then I close my eyes.
A while later, I startle awake from a gentle voice calling my name and touching my shoulder. When I open my eyes, Lydia is standing before me.
“Delaney, honey, it’s time for your mom to go to the dining room…”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Harrison
My hands tremble. It’s eighty-four degrees out, I’m in a suit, and they’re about to cut the ribbon on the center attached to the new memory care unit, where patients will move early next week. The facility’s administrative staff are here, and the staff who are caring for patients today will rotate through in groups, so there are still enough people to care for the residents at any given time.
My mom makes her way through the crowd and gives me a hug.
“You did such a good thing here, Harrison. You should be proud,” Mom says.
I smile at her. “You have to say that—you’re my mom.”
“It doesn’t make it any less true. What you’ve accomplished here is spectacular. Your dad would be incredibly proud of you.”
“I hope so,” I say. My voice is hushed.
Mom stands on her tiptoes and plants a kiss on my cheek. “It looks like they’re going to get started in a second, so I’ll let you go. I’ll see you after the ribbon-cutting.”
I turn my head to the left and find Delaney watching me. She gives me an awkward wave, which I return, and then she looks away.
A few administrators speak, and unexpectedly, the last of them is at the end of his speech when he says, “And even though this isn’t on the agenda, what do you all think about hearing from the man who made this all possible?” The crowd cheers. “Harrison Aron, would you please come say a few words?”
I’m going to kill the man. I planned to lie low today. Now I have to go up on stage in front of everyone. I refuse to let my emotions show on my face as I make my way to the stage. When I’m there, I straighten my posture, then move over to the microphone.
“Hello. I’m Harrison Aron, from Aron Family Builders & Restoration. I should clarify that the credit for the development of this center doesn’t belong to me. A while back, a… a friend who is passionate about dementia care told me about some research. That sparked the idea for this part of the project. I won’t say her name to avoid embarrassing her, but she deserves the credit. I hope that because of this entire center, patients with memory-related health issues in our community and nearby towns will receive top-of-the-line dementia care. Thank you for being here today, and thank you for your time.”
I step off the stage and weave my way to the back of the crowd. I find Delaney and fix my eyes on her. This is the only part I want to see—her reaction.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the state-of-the-art Hattie Larson Center for Dementia Care.”
When the cloth from the signage drops, I glance over at Bets. She stares at it with both hands over her mouth. Her eyes search the crowd for a few seconds, but a moment later, I watch as my mom ushers her inside. I hope she loves it, and it becomes a place where her professional dreams flourish.
Now it’s time for me to leave.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Delaney
I’ve spent the last hour touring the facility, and every inch of it is gorgeous, from the patient rooms to the dining area to the common area, all built to mimic a small town. There’s a theater room, an ice cream shop, and a small restaurant-style eating place. However, I’ve spent most of that hour in the dedicated activities center. This is the additional building that delayed the project—Harrison’s doing.
The center is revolutionary. I’m not even sure if there’s another like it in the country. There’s a media room, a functional but secure kitchen area where residents who enjoyed cooking before their health became an issue can work with a staff member to simulate cooking. There’s a virtual reality station and several areas using cyber tools to help stimulate and moderate the brains of our residents. It’s astonishing and a wonderful opportunity for our community.
But what stuns me is that he had the center named after my mother. I don’t even know how to process that. That he’s been working on this for so long, even back when we were stilltogether, and has continued to see it to fruition, is breathtaking. I need some air, so I head outside and stand in front of the signage, staring at the name.
Holden walks up and stands next to me. “Not too shabby, huh?”
“No, not shabby at all. Holden?” I turned my head to look at him. “Why do you think he did all this?”
A sad frown tugs at his lips. “Isn’t it obvious?”
