CHAPTER SIXTEEN
After breakfast and a leisurely stroll around the neighborhood, I drop Kieran off at the Queen’s campus for his lecture, and promise to meet him back at the house later this afternoon.
He climbs from the car slowly and hesitates with the passenger door open. I watch as he starts to close the door, pauses, then moves to close it again before pulling it back open. I’m about to ask him what’s up when he ducks his head into the car. “Do you want me to go with you?”
“To Birch Hill?” I ask, taken aback.
“Mm, yeah. I can go with you if you need me to. Or want me to. You know, emotional support.”
His earnest tone and the way his eyebrows have dipped down into a V make my heart squeeze. I want to throw off my seatbelt and lunge across the car to pull him into a kiss. I resist the urge, clutching the steering wheel instead. “I love you for offering, but I’ll be okay. I’ve met with Mr. Lattimer before, so it’s no big deal.”
“Still.” He fidgets with the strap of his messenger bag. “Being there…where your mum is…”
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. “I’ll be okay,” I repeat, trying to infuse my voice with confidence. I’m not actually feeling all that confident, but I don’t want Kieran missing his lecture. I’ve been to Birch Hill before without visiting my mom. Is it difficult knowing she’s there and I can’t see her? Hell yes; it’s excruciating. But I made her a promise. And besides, I’m doing better these last few weeks. I can handle it. “I’m good,” I say, since Kieran is still hovering in the doorway looking uncertain.
He kneels on the seat and leans in to give me another kiss. “Call me if you need me.”
Knowing Kieran is just a phone call away and we’ll be together again in a few hours gives me a boost as I drive toward the edge of the city. Birch Hill is an enormous old two-story building that was once home to the Prices, a rich family originally from England. When Mr. Price’s wife was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, he decided he wanted their home turned into a long-term care facility for people suffering from the same disease. He wanted the place to feel warm and homey, unlike the cold, stark institutions he and his wife toured when she was first diagnosed.
That was what drew Mom to Birch Hill. She said she’d be fine in a regular nursing home and joked it wasn’t like she’d know the difference anyway, but since she could afford a place like Birch Hill, she might as well be surrounded by beauty in her final years. The thought makes a lump form in my throat.
When I arrive at Birch Hill, I have some time before my meeting with Mr. Lattimer, so I park in the lot and head toward the backyard. This place really is beautiful; the property is lined with towering trees, and the expansive yard is scattered with tables and chairs, designated areas for things like lawn bowling for the residents, and a gazebo. That’s where I head now since no one is around.
I sit on one of the padded benches inside and take a deep breath. My heart is racing and my stomach feels like it’s been invaded by an army of angry wasps. I tuck my sweaty, shaky palms under my thighs and close my eyes, trying to control my breathing. I’ve only ever felt this way once before—the day Mom moved into Birch Hill—and it led to a full-blown panic attack. Thank god Hugh was with me because I thought I was having a heart attack. He was quick to pull me aside and talk me through it as my vision blurred and darkened at the edges, and my veins filled with fire, even though I was covered in cold sweat.
I hop up from the bench and pace around in a tight circle. I can’t have a panic attack. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. I was fine a few minutes ago and this came out of nowhere. Now I’m sucking in air so fast it’s making my head spin. I stop in the middle of the gazebo as Hugh’s soothing voice whispers through my mind, telling me to breathe. Clenching my fists, I try with all my might to inhale slowly and keep control of my breath on the release. I do that over and over again, shaky breath after shaky breath until I’m no longer gasping as if I just ran a mile.
My vision clears and the buzzing in my ears fades, replaced by nearby birdsong and the distant drone of a lawnmower. Now that the adrenaline has drained, my limbs feel heavy and my legs are wobbly. I sit back down, continuing to inhale and exhale slowly, focusing on the chirping birds and not on my still-racing heart.
The sound of voices draws me to my feet once more, and I peek out the doorway of the gazebo. Two women in colorful scrubs are leading a group of seniors to a circle of chairs in the shade. I scan their faces for my mom, but don’t see her. When everyone is sitting, one of the nurses starts playing upbeat music on her phone, and she walks around the circle while the other nurse leads a series of simple seated exercises.
The sight of half a dozen elderly people following along to what looks like a game of Simon Says finally makes me smile. I slip from the gazebo and make my way toward the front of the building. Inside the cool, brightly-lit entrance hall, I pause again, allowing my eyes to adjust as I take a few more deep breaths. I’m still a bit jittery from the after-effects of the adrenaline rush, but my meeting is in less than five minutes so I don’t have time to collect myself further.
I make my way to the back section of the first floor where the administrative offices are. The entire upstairs is patient rooms, while the first level has only one wing of patient rooms, along with a kitchen, a massive dining room, and various smaller rooms for activities.
I wave hello to Mr. Lattimer’s assistant, who’s talking on the phone while typing furiously on his computer. I’m only sitting for a minute before he tells me Mr. Lattimer will see me now, and walks with me to his office door.
“Miss Cormier, how nice to see you again,” Mr. Lattimer says, rising from his chair and coming around his desk to shake my hand. My nerves ebb as his large, warm hand wraps around mine; I’d almost forgotten what a genial teddy bear of a man he is and how that was another part of what made Mom decide this was the place for her.
“Nice to see you too, Mr. Lattimer.” I take the seat he indicates and we exchange a few moments of chitchat about the weather, my life in Bellevue, and my drive to Kingston. The small talk continues to put me at ease, but I’m grateful and relieved when we finally get to my reason for being here.
“Now. Meredith.” Mr. Lattimer leans forward in his seat, pulling a file folder toward him. “I know you call regularly to check in on your mother, but I want to assure you she’s doing well here. She seems comfortable and settled, and physically she’s in good health. As you know, we have a team of dedicated and well-trained staff who are continually assessing our patients’ needs and curating their care based on their personal needs.”
I nod. That was another reason Mom chose this place. It’s not the typical institution where everyone is treated the same, regardless of how advanced their Alzheimer’s is. Birch Hill provides innovative patient-based care that’s almost unheard of elsewhere. It’s what sets this place apart. It’s also what makes it so damn expensive.
“I’m glad to hear she’s doing so well,” I tell him. “Knowing she’s being looked after by people who really care makes it easier for me to…to…”
Sympathy flashes over Mr. Lattimer’s features. “It’s okay, Meredith. Your mother isn’t the only one who has asked family to stay away. This disease is vicious and heartless. It rips away every last shred of who a person used to be and leaves them unrecognizable. Because of that, we make it our mission to ensure our patients receive the best, most compassionate care.”
I swallow hard. “That’s the exact reason I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her here.”
He nods slowly and flips open the folder in front of him. “And we want to help with that. Believe me, I understand how upset you were when the embezzlement scandal came to light. Your mom wasn’t the only one affected, and we’ve been doing everything in our power to ensure the patients who were receiving the same funding can remain at Birch Hill.” He pulls a few sheets of paper from the folder and slides them across the desk. “I know you’ve been doing your own research these last couple of months, and so have we. A few new funding options have recently become available, one through the government, and one through a private foundation. I thought you might like to apply.”
Relief surges through me as I pluck the papers from the desk. The legal jargon and vast number of boxes to be filled out make all the words swim together on the page, but I know I can depend on Kieran and my friends to help me fill them out. These could be the answer to all my desperate prayers. “Thank you so much, Mr. Lattimer. Like I said, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep my mom here.”
He smiles, leaning in and folding his hands on the desktop. “And we’ll do whatever we can to help.” His eyes sweep over my face; his intense study makes me feel as if I’m under a microscope. “Are you doing okay, Meredith? I know how hard this already was for you, and now with the added stress of the funding…are you taking care of yourself?”
For some reason, his question makes me want to laugh. I press my lips together to hold it in because I’m afraid it would be one of those hysterical laughs that turn into an even more hysterical sob. “I’m trying to. Let’s just say it’s been a long few months.”
