Ellen stopped dancing and looked at Harper and Tariq. “Hello, my dears. My, you must be cold. Don’t you realize it’s snowing? And Oliver! So good of you to come by. It’s been years.”
“Oliver who?” Harper asked.
“I think she means me,” Tariq said. “I don’t think she’s sleepwalking, Harp.”
Ellen started reaching out as if grabbing at something floating in the air, then began singing. “Things go better with Coca-Cola! Things go better with Coke!”
“Ellen? Why don’t we all get inside, out of the rain,” Harper suggested gently.
Ellen laughed. “Rice-A-Roni, the San Francisco treat!” She made a gesture as if pulling a bell. “Ding! Ding!”
“What’s wrong with her?” Harper asked quietly as much to herself as to Tariq. “Ellen?”
“Let’s get her to the hospital,” said Tariq.
Harper and Tariq sat in the ER at the Community Hospital of the Monterey Peninsula, waiting for word on Ellen’s condition.
“What were those songs she was singing?” Tariq asked.
“Commercial jingles,” Harper said. “The first was obviously for Coca-Cola, and the second was for Rice-A-Roni.”
“She a big cola drinker?” Tariq asked.
“No. But those jingles were popular in the 1960s, when she was a young woman, so maybe that’s why. I’m just glad she wasn’t singing the old Band-Aid jingle, or it would be stuck in my head for weeks. I’ve still got the earworm ofWhy, why, why, Delilah…” Except when it was drowned out by the requiem that repeated, incessantly, in her head.
“Do you think Ellen might be suffering from dementia?”
“No,” Harper said, surprising herself with her ferocity. “Not unless it developed overnight.”
“It could be an undiagnosed UTI. That happened once with my grandmother, and she started talking about the mob putting a hit out on her.”
“Maybe, but I doubt it. Ellen’s pretty careful with her health,” said Harper. “I spent the whole day with her the other day, and she was totally fine. She would have told me if she wasn’t feeling well. Something weird has happened.”
Tariq remained silent for a moment. “I know you care for her, Harp. But dementia and other possible health conditions will need to be ruled out, given her age.”
“Fine. Then the doctors will rule them out,” Harper said flatly. She got up and moved to another chair. “Excuse me. I need to call Jonathan.”
Jonathan Sundvold sounded shocked when Harper told him what had happened to his mother. He thanked her for calling, and said he’d drive down first thing in the morning.
Harper hung up and realized Tariq was no longer in the waiting room.Fair-weather friend, she thought. She had just fired off a text telling him what she thought of people who abandoned other people in ER waiting rooms, when Tariq walked up carrying two cups of coffee.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” he said, handing her one. “It’s from the vending machine.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
“That’s all right. We’re all a bit tired and stressed out.”
“And don’t read the text I just sent you. I plead temporary insanity.”
Tariq handed her his phone. “Delete it. Otherwise, I’ll read it, and it sounds like no good can come of that.”
“You’re a peach,” said Harper as she took his phone and hitdelete. “Which reminds me, I saw something on your phone earlier—”
“Family of Ellen Sundvold?” someone called out.
Tariq and Harper stood up, and a doctor approached them.
“Good thing you brought her in when you did,” he said. “She’s responding well to the treatment.”
