Annie hadn’t had a cat in years.
Maybe she thought I was in college now, but after a series of arguments with my dad and Erica, I’d deferred Northwestern. Was I spending my gap year at a cooking school in Paris? Or hiking the Appalachian Trail? Or teaching English in Thailand? Or blowing glass in Brooklyn?
No, but I worked almost full time at Haddonfield’s bookstore. That was something.
I know we are losing her, I remembered saying.But I can’t just suddenlyloseher.
* * *
My heart warmed when Annie invited me to curl up in her armchair, big enough for the two of us. “Those look pretty,” I said once I’d gotten cozy, gesturing to the vase of pink flowers on her windowsill. Tulips were her forever favorite.
“Yes, aren’t they gorgeous?” she said in the dreamy voice she’d developed. “I found them at the market yesterday.”
No, you didn’t, I couldn’t help but think.I brought them on Monday.
But that doesn’t matter!I quickly scolded myself.Who cares how she got them? The point is they make her happy.
We admired the tulips together, and then I stretched for one of the many Shutterfly memory books arranged near the vase. They all had a theme, ranging from Annie’s childhood on the Chesapeake Bay, to my parents’ wedding, to my dad’s second wedding, to my Halloween costumes over the years. The newest book was titledBeach Days with Maisie and Bryce. (Erica had taken literally a thousand photos of the twins on vacation last summer.)
Today’s selection wasShe’s Too Young to be Seventy!Twelve years ago Pops had thrown Annie a surprise party with thirty of their closest friends. She’d thought the plan was a fancy family dinner, so she had looked stunned—blue eyes wide and hand covering her mouth—but alsostunning, in a sophisticated black dress with gold jewelry and hair in her signature blond pixie cut.
I glanced at her now, feeling a twinge at the sight of her flat gray hair. I still couldn’t get used to it. For as long as I could remember, up until Elkins had transferred her from assisted living to Finlay House six months ago, her hair had been blond and coiffed to perfection.
With each passing visit, she looked less like my grandmother.
I hadn’t realized I’d been biting my pinkie nail until Annie lightly swatted my hand. “Olivia, stop,” she said. “You need to break that habit.”
Flushing, I folded my arms across my chest. I only ever chewed my pinkie nail, and it was only when I was lost in thought or a little anxious, but she was right. Plus, I’d just treated myself to my monthly manicure, keeping Annie’s and my tradition alive. I didn’t want to ruin it.
“Chris’s nails were nothing more than nubs,” she continued. “I couldn’t stand it.”
Chris.I hadn’t heard her say his name in a while. Whenever we were together, Annie never referred to my dad as “Chris,” or even Christopher. It was always “your father.” Or, if she thought I was an Elkins aide or nurse or long-lost family friend, “my son.”
“I didn’t know he bit his nails,” I said.
“Oh, yes, he most certainly did.” Annie let out a deep sigh. “Sometimes I wonder where he is…”
It was silent for a beat, save for the pouring rain outside. I understood why she was disappointed. My pilot dad didn’t visit Elkins as often as I did; American Airlines kept his schedule pretty tight.
“He had an exasperating flight to O’Hare today,” I offered, smiling to myself. Every single time he flew to Chicago, my dad found its airport a hot mess. “One of his college roommates lives right on Lake Michigan, so they’re getting drinks tonight.”
“That’s nice…” Annie said, but in her faraway voice again. She caught my gaze, and I tried not to let my heart sink at her distant smile, at her glazed-over eyes. Two tells that her thoughts had drifted to a mysterious elsewhere…
Before suddenly returning to the room.
“Look at my tulips!” she said delightedly, pointing to her vase. “Aren’t they just lovely?”
“Yes.” I swallowed the rising lump in my throat. “They’re beautiful.”
But dementia was not.
Two
My exit from Elkins was five o’clock sharp, right when an aide came to escort Annie to dinner. I walked to the dining hall with them, holding my grandmother’s hand, but then I gracefully fled. It was a strategic decision; Annie never liked when I left, especially when she knew I was her granddaughter. “Why don’t you stay and eat with me?” she’d ask. “The food is probably better than whatever that woman is making…”
I smiled weakly, too tired to defend Erica’s cooking skills. And honestly, what was the point? “I can’t tonight,” I said. “But I’ll be back soon.”
“When?”
