“Nothing concrete yet. Well, actually…” I catch myself, remembering Spider-Man. “I found Sawyer’s toy today.”
“Spider-Man?”
“The one and only.” I smile, feeling a pang of gratitude for my dad. “I think I remembered getting it for him, but I definitely remembered his laugh. It’s the first chunk of memory I’ve had so far.”
“That’s great, son.” His voice is tender and cracking around the edges. “That’s wonderful.” I can hear the anguish in his voice, the pain he must feel for his child losing half his memory. My mind travels to Easton and Sawyer and the ache that comes with the thought of anything bad ever happening to them. And I’ve only really known them for a week.
“I’m feeling hopeful, though. How’s Mom?” I ask with the sudden urge to hear her voice and realizing that she, herself, hasn’t called to check in. “Can I talk to her?”
There’s a pause.
“Dad, you there?”
He stutters on the other line at the same moment Emma walks back into the kitchen. She smiles softly then studies me when I check my screen.
“Dad?” I say again. “Is Mom there?”
Emma freezes at my words, her face draining of all color. I look at her, confused, mouthing,What’s wrong? Her eyes are wide and pitiful as tears spring forward and spill onto her cheeks so fast I don’t know what to do. Panic threads through my veins as she slowly lowers herself onto the bar stool.
“Son…” Dad finally speaks. “Has Emma told you?”
I put the phone on speaker and ask, “Has Emma told me what? Where is Mom?” Surely my mother hasn’t died and Emma just forgot to mention this.
“Tom…” Emma answers him, her voice cracking. “I haven’t told him. I’m so sorry.”
The panic has now migrated to my chest, sharp and sudden. I feel out of breath as I say, “Can someone pleasetell me what the hell is going on?”
A flash of regret moves over Emma before her eyes drop to the floor. Tears continue to fall, and her breath hitches. She shakes out her hands, muttering under her breath.
Dad sighs heavily. “Don’t be mad at her.” He says it as if this is something I do, get mad at my wife. “She was probably worried it would affect your recovery.”
“Worried aboutwhat,though?”
“Steven…” Dad says calmly, “your mother has Alzheimer’s.”
****
“I’m so sorry,” Emma whimpers. It’s her fifth apology in five minutes. She sits at the head of the table across from me, shaking in her seat.
“Em, it’s fine,” I tell her for the fifth time.
After thirty minutes of my dad telling me about Mom’s diagnosis, her recent decline, and the fact that almost two weeks ago I knew all of this, we finally sat down with the boys for dinner. Josie is curled in my arms as I push the pasta back and forth on my plate. Appetite gone.
“Do you want something else?” Emma asks quietly. Her eyes won’t meet mine as she also pokes at her food.
“Easton, sit on your bottom,” I snip as Easton leans across the table for more bread. His bottom lip juts out at my tone as he slowly descends back to the chair.
“I’m sorry.” I wince. “I’m sorry.” My eyes plead with him, but he refuses to look at me.
“May I be excused?” he asks.
“Easton…”
He ignores me and turns his entire body toward Emma. Her eyes, bloodshot and filled with so much regret it makes mine sting, flick to mine. She nods at Easton, who pushes his chair out and darts for the stairs. Sawyer watches him then eyes us. He must feel a sense of solidarity, becauseinstead of finishing his plate, which I know in my gut he always does, he looks to Emma. She waves him off to the stairs.
Guilt twists in my stomach. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“It’s fine. He just has big emotions.” She gives me a coy smile as she stands. “Like his mother.”
