Читать книгу Unforgettable - Линда Гуднайт - Страница 9

“It’s probably one of those mini strokes,” Carrie said for the tenth time. She sat in the waiting room outside the Emergency Room, shivering from nerves and the overhead air-conditioning vent. Her fingers twisted the handle of her purse into a knot. “I’ve heard of those. A person has a tiny lapse in memory. It’s not all that uncommon or even serious. Mother will be fine. I’m sure.”

Dan, his wide shoulders uncomfortably crammed onto a too-small swoop of green plastic the hospital considered seating, patted her knee. From the time they’d arrived, she’d prattled on like a magpie. He was probably sick of listening, but she couldn’t help it. Nothing could be wrong with Mother. She was invincible.

Carrie pulled air into her lungs, the clean, antiseptic smell reassuring in some bizarre way. Cleanliness was next to godliness. If she was clean, she was godly and nothing bad could happen.

Tempted to laugh aloud at the race of silly thoughts, Carrie wondered if she was getting hysterical. Heaven forbid.

“The doctor will write her one of those new prescriptions for cholesterol or blood thinners or whatever they are,” she went on, unable to stop the flow of words. “You see them advertised on TV all the time. A prescription and she’ll be fine.”

“We don’t even know if it is a stroke yet, Carrie.” Dan reminded her, his tone gentle. Maybe too gentle. It made her even more nervous. Her throat went as dry as a saltine.

“Of course it’s a stroke. What else could cause her to forget where she was?”

Shane, the police officer who’d called, had stayed around only long enough to be respectful and then he’d left. Business at the small town E.R. was surprisingly fast paced. Carrie couldn’t remember the last time she’d been here. Maybe when Lexi wrecked her bike and needed stitches, but that had been five years ago.

Times changed.

The thought frightened her. If times changed, people changed. They got sick. They died. She closed her eyes momentarily against the inevitable decline of human beings. Morbid thoughts. An overreaction, surely, to being in an emergency room. She hated hospitals.

Two nurses swished by in a rush, stethoscopes swaying. Croc shoes instead of white orthopedics squished softly on white tile that had been polished to a mirror finish. The intercom beeped for some doctor she’d never heard of. When had Riverbend grown large enough for strange doctors?

She angled toward her husband, deeply relieved that he’d come with her. “Do you think we should call Lexi?”

Dan swiveled his head in her direction, his eyes as calm and gray-blue as Lake Placid. “And tell her what?”

That was Dan. Solid. Quiet. Irritatingly calm. He hadn’t even gotten excited the day a tornado ripped the roof off their storage building.

“I don’t know. She must be worried.”

Though fifteen and well able to remain home alone, as the only grandchild living in the same state, Lexi was very close to her beloved “Grannie Frannie” and would be waiting by the telephone.

Without further comment, Dan took their shared cell phone from her purse and punched in numbers. They’d never seen any reason to own two. It seemed extravagant, as did the notion of using a cell phone to take camera photos or for text messaging. She’d learned from Frannie the importance of frugality, though as a teenager she had been humiliated by their tiny family’s poverty.

The three of them, including her younger brother, Robby, had struggled by on the minimum wages paid to a widow without a high school diploma. A few times, when things had gotten particularly difficult, Carrie suspected Mother had taken public assistance in order to provide for them, though she’d never admitted as much to her children. Carrie was humiliated just thinking about it, and had vowed never to let that happen to her.

The tightness in Carrie’s chest increased. Mother’s life had not been easy.

Dear God, let her be all right. Like all her thoughts today, the prayer was half-baked. If you’ll let her be all right, I promise to work harder at getting Dan into church. I promise—

An exam door opened. “Mr. and Mrs. Martin?” A smiling nurse looked in their direction and motioned them inside. “You can come in now. The doctor will be with you as soon as he can.”

Dan poked one thick finger at the phone, discontinuing the call to Lexi. “I’ll call her after we see Fran.”

Clutching her purse against her waist, Carrie jerked upright. With dismay, she realized she still wore the white camp blouse, complete with peeling shamrock and smudges of dirt. The knees of her old cotton gardening slacks were grass stained. Fervently, she hoped no one from work or church saw her here.

Dan touched her elbow. “Carrie?”

She nodded, swallowing. “She must be fine. The nurse is smiling.”

With Dan at her side, she rushed into the exam room. Frannie sat on the side of a paper-covered table humming, high-heeled feet swinging as if she had not a care in the world.

Carrie stopped short. “Mother, are you all right? What in the world happened? You scared us half to death. Shane said you were confused, didn’t know where you were or how you got there.”

Her mother stopped humming. Head tilted to one side, a tiny frown puckered between well-penciled eyebrows, she asked, “Shane? Was that who that was? Shane Wallace? I thought he looked familiar but I couldn’t place him. Such a nice young man.”

“You’ve known Shane since he was born, Mother.”

“Hand me my hat. I feel naked.” Frannie’s green, broad-brimmed hat occupied the only chair in the room. Carrie took up the monstrosity and handed it over. “I had a senior moment, that’s all. I’m fine and dandy now.” She perched the wide felt atop her fluffed hair and gave it a pat for emphasis. “Let’s go home.”

“Not until we talk to the doctor.”

“I talked to him. No need for you to bother.” Frannie hopped down from the table and glanced at her watch. “Fiddle. I’ve missed the skydiving. Alice will be disappointed. She’s sweet on Rick Chambers, you know, and he looks really cute in his jumpsuit.” She pumped her eyebrows up and down.

“Mother, for goodness’ sake. Something happened to you today and we are not going to sweep it under the rug.” But as she spoke, her anxiety eased toward relief. Maybe nothing had happened. Maybe the episode really was just a senior moment. Sometimes she jumped to conclusions. She had a tendency to expect the worst because she’d learned the hard way that life usually handed out lemons and no one she knew had a lemonade stand. “Tell me what the doctor said?”

“He said I’m a hoot and he liked my hat. I gave him a shamrock. All that white-coat business hurt my eyes.”

“Mother! I am not leaving here until I talk to him.” Carrie spun toward the door, willing and able to block the entrance if her mother tried to leave before that doctor arrived. “Where is he anyway?”

“Carrie.” Dan’s voice held a note of warning. He was always like that, reminding his impatient wife to wait and see. Sometimes, like today, his accepting attitude was downright annoying.

A rebuke boiled up on her tongue but died away when the physician, looking young enough to be in high school, sailed into the room. In a crisp white lab coat and a blue tie, he carried a large brown envelope tucked beneath one arm. Frannie’s shamrock was squarely in place over his heart.

“Where’s Dr. Morrison?” Carrie asked, caught off guard and not at all comfortable with a green-behind-the-ears college boy. Dr. Morrison had cared for her family for fifteen years. He knew Frannie and all her idiosyncrasies. He would know if something was seriously wrong.

“Taking some time off. I’m Dr. Wilson.” He extended his hand, first to her and then to Dan. “And yes, I graduated from medical school. I’m not as young as I look.”

Mollified but a bit embarrassed, Carrie nodded stiffly.

“What’s wrong with my mother? Did she have a stroke?” Her stomach rumbled in memory of the half-eaten hamburger. Carrie pressed a hand to her midsection.

Dr. Wilson hitched the leg of his expertly creased slacks and perched on the edge of the gurney. The doctor gazed at Frannie standing next to him like a chubby green bird about to take flight. She winked at him. He smiled and turned his attention to Carrie. “I’ve already discussed my concerns with Ms. Adler—”

“Mother, why didn’t you just tell us?”

“Tell you what, honey?”

With a heavy, exasperated sigh to let Fran know she was annoyed, Carrie looked to the doctor for clarity. “What is it, Doctor?”

“I want to run some further tests and consult with a neurologist.”

Prickles rose on the back of Carrie’s neck. “A neurologist? For what?”

Frannie answered for him. “Alzheimer’s, honey. The doctor thinks I’m losing my mind.”

* * *

Three weeks and many clinic visits later Fran sat across the desk from a neurologist who looked as if he’d flavored his coffee with pickle juice.

Carrie sat next to her, face stony and pale as the doctor confirmed the diagnosis. She’d known he would. That’s why she hadn’t wanted Carrie to come, but here she was, shaking like a leaf and looking the way she had when she was ten and ate too many green blackberries. Sick and hollow-eyed.

Fran understood the feeling. She was feeling a little sick herself. Jittery, too. No one wanted to be told that she would eventually disappear into a fog and break her family’s hearts.

“Isn’t there a medicine for it?” Carrie’s fingers trembled as she pushed her hair behind one ear.

Of all the things Fran had dreaded about today, this was the worst, to know her family would suffer because of her, and there was so little she could do about it.

Dr. Pickle Juice made a few more comments, then excused himself and left. A nurse came in, smiling more than the doctor, and handed them both a card about the Alzheimer’s Association. Frannie gave her a Jesus Loves You smiley sticker, and slid the card into her I Love NY purse. She’d never been to New York, but she’d always wanted to go. Maybe she would do that now. Someday was no longer an option.

“I don’t know what to do,” Carrie said when they were alone.

Fran placed a hand on her daughter’s arm. “We do what we’ve always done. We put it in the Lord’s hands and trust Him.”

The look Carrie gave her said she didn’t buy that answer in the least.

* * *

The ugly diagnosis haunted Carrie day and night. She could think of little else. Mother’s casual attitude didn’t help, either. Carrie wondered if denial, nonchalance and a foolish determination to put a happy face on a devastating diagnosis were symptoms of the disease. An hour after they’d arrived home from the clinic Mother changed into a rhinestone cowboy hat and red boots and went to her weekly guitar lesson. How foolish was that?

Robby, Carrie’s brother, was no help. Though concerned, he lived in Michigan and couldn’t grasp the seriousness of the situation. He’d said Mom sounded fine to him when they’d spoken on the phone. She knew how he felt. Denial was easier than reality.

“Until now, I never even realized anything was wrong,” Carrie told Dan one night as they sat on the patio staring up at an April moon. The evening air was chilly so they huddled under a fleece throw. Instead of the usual romantic snuggle, the air hung heavy with Carrie’s worry. “She’s always been outrageous and silly. Who would notice if she forgot an appointment or repeated herself? I forgot to call the insurance company about that wind damage to the roof and there’s nothing wrong with me.”

She said the last as if it worried her, because it did.

“Everyone forgets things,” Dan agreed, his thick, calloused fingertips making lazy circles on her shoulder.

“The neurologist says she may not get bad for a long time. No one can really predict. In fact, he can’t even be one hundred percent sure she has Alzheimer’s disease. Mother keeps saying she’s fine, that she and God will beat this thing.”

“Your mom is a strong woman.”

Carrie made a little noise in the back of her throat. “You can say that again. No one ties down the irrepressible Frannie.”

No person could, but this ugly disease with a German name eventually would. Bile rose in the back of Carrie’s throat, as bitter as the feeling in her soul.

“I don’t understand God,” she muttered, gazing up at the marbled-cheese moon. She had grown up without a father, and now she was going to lose her mother in the most heinous manner. Where was God in any of that? “Old lady Smith across the street is a mean, bitter old hag who never contributes to anything and wouldn’t call 9-1-1 if you died in her living room. But she’s still sharp as a tack and making everyone miserable while a vibrant, giving woman like Mother is struck down in her prime. If there was any justice, Ms. Smith would get Alzheimer’s. Not Mother.”

Dan squeezed the side of her neck but said nothing. That was Dan. Sometimes she longed for him to hash things out with her, to argue or debate or just talk something into the ground, but he never did. No matter how big the problem, Dan kept his thoughts to himself. It was a wonder the man didn’t explode. She would have.

Especially now when she was angry and confused and depressed.

Mother’s life had never been easy. Only in the last few years had everything settled into a pleasant rhythm. Mother loved her job as church secretary. Her house, though only a small frame structure with two bedrooms, was paid for and she’d been saving money for another missions adventure, as she called them. This time to help with a Bible camp for orphans.

Yes, after all Mother had done for the Lord, Alzheimer’s disease was a lousy method of repayment.