A Month of Summer (34 page)

“Yes,” I said, in the kindest way I could.

“I tell you the story about them white mules?”

“Yes.”

Claude laughed. “Well, hang. You done heard all my tales. I guess we been spendin’ too much time together.”

I laughed along with him. “No.”

We sat silent for a few minutes until Dr. Barnhill came in the door. “Heard you were up and around this morning, Miss Hanna Beth,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Hi-a, Doc.” Claude about-faced his wheelchair and started toward the door. “I’ll get out of your way. I want to put a call in to my niece and tell her about maybe rentin’ out the house. Now, don’t worry about it, though. Anything I want to do will be fine with her. She knows I can still decide for myself.”

As usual, Dr. Barnhill seemed in a hurry to accomplish one task and move on to the next. Claude had probably bent his ear about the house enough at breakfast. “We can talk more about it this evening, after we’ve seen the place. If things work out, there’s no big rush. My grandmother is still adjusting to the idea of not moving back to her own place.” He winced, giving an apologetic smile. “Don’t tell her I said that, though.”

Claude locked his lips and threw away the key, then disappeared into the hallway.

Dr. Barnhill proceeded to ask me a series of questions about how I was feeling, whether I had any dizziness, how the chair was working out. He complimented my recent performance in therapy. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were in a hurry to leave us,” he joked.

“Yes. A lit . . . a lit-ul.”

Tapping his fingers on the bed railing, he frowned. “Well, let’s see what we can do about that. I’m going to recommend you be scheduled for a few tests, and an ADL—Activities of Daily Living—study. Then we’ll see where we’re at. If things look good, and provided there’s adequate home and outpatient care arranged, we may be able to set up a Care Plan Meeting and begin working toward transitioning you to an outpatient regimen.”

Gratitude welled in my throat, and I swallowed hard. I didn’t want Dr. Barnhill to think I was the least bit fragile. I nodded, because I didn’t trust myself to speak.

He probably thought I couldn’t form the words. “Be patient, now. We’re not talking about tomorrow or the next day. It’s a lengthy process. We’ll start with a home study visit to look at alterations that would be needed in your house. Then, when the physical things are in place, we’ll arrange your first home visit, and see how things go.”

I nodded a second time.

“All right, then.” Dr. Barnhill moved toward the exit. “We’ll talk again.” He stopped in the alcove, focusing on someone in the hall. “Well, hello there.” Leaning against the doorway, he indicated that his rush to be on about his work had suddenly dissipated. I craned against my chair, trying to see who was outside.

“Is she awake?” The voice was Rebecca’s. She must have come alone, because there was no sign of Teddy bolting through the door.

“Absolutely,” Dr. Barnhill answered. “She’s not only awake, she’s up in the chair and looking for clearance to go home.”

“Really?” Rebecca’s uncertainty was obvious. “I mean . . . I didn’t think . . . today?”

“No, no. But we’re working toward it. We’re scheduling some studies, and we’ll know more in a few days. The staff here will need to talk with you about a home study visit and her eventual care plan.”

“Oh.” Rebecca was clearly relieved that I wasn’t on my way back to Blue Sky Hill right now. “Well . . . we’ve brought her a surprise.”

Outside, I heard Teddy say, “Ssshhhh.”

Dr. Barnhill nodded and stepped aside. “It looks like I’d better move before she falls out of that chair trying to see what’s happening.” Ushering a hand in my direction, he winked at me, then left.

As I watched, a shadow fell over the doorway, curled and stretched into the room, and then I saw Teddy, his sneaker first as he moved sideways into the opening. Another step, and I could see all of him. Pressing a finger to his lips, he whispered, “Ssshhh,” as if he’d momentarily forgotten I was the one the surprise was for. A raspy giggle convulsed from his throat, and he put a hand over his mouth, but his happiness, as always, was not to be contained. Taking another step, he moved to the right side of the doorway, and there on his arm, standing at the threshold, was Edward. The vision of him was like something from a midday dream when the sleep is not quite deep enough to sustain an illusion. I held my breath, afraid that if I moved this reality would shift like a cloud shadow, skitter across the floor and be gone.

“Edward?” My voice trembled into the air, stretching forward like a hand in the darkness. Could it really be him? He didn’t look well. He’d lost so much weight. He hung stooped over Teddy’s arm like a scarecrow that needed more stuffing.

Yet, the presence in the doorway couldn’t be anyone but my Edward, the man I’d loved all my life, finally here.

Tears filled my eyes, and I lifted my hand, beckoned him with a twisted wrist and thin, curled fingers I had no time to be ashamed of now. I only wanted Edward to close the space between us, to touch me, to be beside me as we had always been, as we were meant to be.

“Bethie?” he whispered, and my heart sang. Edward had always called me Bethie, a pet name the children at school teased me with when he was a strapping teenager and I just a knobby-legged tomboy who adored him from an impossible distance.

“Yes.” Tears welled in my eyes, spilled over, blurred the vision of him, and I wiped them impatiently, beckoning him with my hand again. “Yes.”

Pulling away from Teddy’s arm, he stepped over the threshold and moved across the room in a slow shuffle, the careful steps of an old man, but in my eyes the confident strides of youth. In my mind, he was always that boy whose every move I worshipped. The reflection of that beautiful young man would be forever cast over him.

How can it take an eternity to cross such a small room? Finally Edward was there, his hand first, slipping into my hand, his fingers closing, glorious and warm and strong. He moved around the chair, touched my face, gazed into my eyes with uncertainty. Perhaps he didn’t know me at first, perhaps he was searching the scattered strands of his memory, trying to gather the bits and pieces that formed the tapestry of our lives.

“All-rye-t,” I whispered, taking his other hand, laying my cheek against it. “Ssshhh.”

His gaze met mine, his face filled with love, filled with all that we had shared over a lifetime together, memories he couldn’t always put in order—shared years, weeks, days, moments, moving past his mind’s eye like scenes on the opposite side of a window, misted with the dew of a winter night.

Softly, he began to sing the first lines of “Let Me Call You Sweetheart.”

From somewhere that seemed far away, Teddy hummed along, occasionally echoing the words. Rebecca sniffled, and dimly, I heard Teddy move forward, and Rebecca gasp as Edward began to sink, collapsing toward the floor like a blow-up decoration slowly losing air, until he was folded beside my chair, his head resting in my lap, our joined hands beneath his cheek as he sang.

“Ssshhh,” I said, stroking his hair as his tears soaked my dressing gown. I felt his joy, his relief, warm and damp against my skin. Where only weeks ago there had been no life, no sensation, now I could feel him.

I wasn’t certain how long we sat that way. Rebecca gathered Teddy and left us alone together. Mary came in the door, making her rounds, then stopped abruptly in the alcove, her shoes squeaking on the tile.

“Oh,” she whispered, studying us for a moment, perhaps wondering if Edward needed help. Finally, she turned and quietly left the room.

By the time Rebecca came back with Teddy and Mary, I knew Edward was drifting to sleep, exhausted by so much activity, by the rise and fall of emotion. Still, I didn’t want him to leave. I wasn’t ready to let go.

“We need to take him home now, Hanna Beth.” Rebecca was apologetic, kind. “It’s been a long morning.”

I nodded, determined that I wouldn’t cry or cause a scene.

“We’ll try to bring him back tomorrow, if he’s having a good day,” Rebecca promised as Mary roused Edward and Teddy moved into position to help him up. Teddy, being the big, strong boy that he was, lifted his father with no trouble, then dusted him off tenderly. “There go, Daddy Ed,” he said, and Edward smiled at him.

Rebecca reached into her purse and fished out some money, then put it in Teddy’s hand. “Teddy, do you think you could take Daddy Ed down and get a soda in the cafeteria? Just put your dollar in the machine like I showed you, remember? If it spits your money out, turn it around and try again.”

“Ho-kay.” Teddy brightened at the idea of a sugary treat, or using the soda machine, or both.

“I’ll go with them,” Mary offered, taking Edward’s other arm. “I’m on break for a few more minutes.”

“Thanks, Mary.” Rebecca gave her a private look of gratitude.

After it was just the two of us, Rebecca couldn’t seem to decide what to say.

“Uhhht?” I asked finally, then tried again. I’d practiced question words and
W
sounds with the speech therapist yesterday. “Whhh-at’s rrrr-ong?”

Rebecca pushed a ribbon of dark hair away from her face, seeming to carefully decide what to say. “We went to the bank this morning to sign some signature cards to add my name to the account,” she revealed finally. “He was having a really good day, and I thought we should do it while we could. I need access to the accounts to . . .” She paused, chose her next words carefully. “. . . set up some autopayments for the bills and so forth. Do you know anything about some kind of an investment with a company called LMK Limited?”

“No,” I admitted. The truth was that, beyond the normal day-today operations of the household funds, I knew far less than I probably should have. Edward had always been good with money, spending hours on the computer, carefully managing investments. When he became aware that his memory was slipping, he had moved the money to some safe investments, arranged for everything to be taken care of automatically. He’d documented the changes in his files, in case there came a day when I needed the information.

“Hizzz files,” I said.

Frowning, Rebecca sat on the edge of the bed, folded her hands in her lap. “His files are all over the house. He has them hidden everywhere.”

"P-leater.”
Computer, computer.
I tried to think the word to my lips. “Com-peater. Com-poot . . . terrr.”

Rebecca shook her head. “There’s no computer in the house, Hanna Beth.”

“Izzz,” I insisted. Of course there was a computer in the house. Edward would never have allowed anything to happen to his computer. Even after he couldn’t remember how to do much with it, he still took comfort in watching the slideshows on his screen saver.

Rebecca shook her head. “There’s no computer. I’ve been all through the house.”

I searched my mind. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps, because of the stroke, I wasn’t remembering correctly. Had Edward gotten rid of the computer, after all? Why couldn’t I be sure? My heart raced, and blood burned hot in my cheeks, making my head pound and my body tense up until it was painful. I felt myself floating in the chair, reeling sideways.

“Hanna Beth . . .” Rebecca’s voice seemed far away. “Hanna Beth?” Through the haze, I saw her press the nurse’s call button, felt her patting my hand as the dizzy spell slowly passed.

“No,” I said, because I didn’t want them to come in and put me back to bed. “I donnn’t . . .”

Rebecca rubbed my hand between hers. “Don’t worry,” she said, then assured me that everything would be all right.

But her face said otherwise, making the promise feel hollow.

CHAPTER 21

It seemed strange to be making plans for Hanna Beth’s eventual homecoming. Considering how I’d always felt about her presence in the house, I’d never imagined calmly meeting with nursing center committees, arranging for a special bed, a bathing chair, grab bars, and wheelchair ramps. I’d never guessed that I would watch delivery trucks and workmen move in and out, and be filled with a sense of anticipation. At some point during my time on Blue Sky Hill, I had ceased to see my own mother, my own childhood, here. I no longer rounded corners and caught shreds of memory floating like dust motes in the air.

The house had become Hanna Beth’s house, Teddy’s house, my father’s house. It took on a new life, a life of its own, with my father in a more stable mental state, Teddy coming and going from his flowers, Mary and her boys spending evenings in the yard or the living room, and Ifeoma sitting with my father during the day, telling stories about Ghana. Ifeoma’s strong, confident presence captured my father’s attention, helped him pass the long afternoons peacefully. Now that he no longer saw
those people
, he was tolerant even of the construction work and deliverymen passing through.

With new help in the house, I was able to develop a daily routine that included minimal direct contact with my father. Despite long medical dialogues with Dr. Amadi, information from Internet pages on Alzheimer’s disease, and input from Mary and Ifeoma—despite the fact that my father’s behavior and lapses were typical of an Alzheimer’s patient, particularly considering his recent medical trauma—it hurt that, so often, I was one of his lapses. Much of the time, I was still Marilyn. On good mornings he knew me, at least after some prompting. “Oh, yes, Rebecca,” he’d say, blinking slowly, his eyes turning upward and to the left, as if he were trying to draw the tattered information from his memory banks. “Have you been away?”

“A while,” I’d tell him. It comforted him to believe he didn’t recognize me at first because I’d been gone on some sort of vacation.

“I thought so,” he’d answer. “Did you have a good trip?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Wonderful. Have you seen Hanna Beth today? I was looking for her this morning.”