It's You (9 page)

Everyone that met him wanted to know him. They wanted to be part of his circle. His
friend
. So did I.

And now, with him gone, I don’t know what it means.

Does it take away from who he was? Does it negate everything he thought, felt, dreamed, believed?

Sometimes at night I lie on my side and hold the pillow against my chest and I pretend Andrew’s behind me, holding me, and I talk to him about my day—not out loud, of course—but in my head, I tell him about the patients I saw, the work I did. I tell him about going to his parents for dinner and how different it is without him. His parents have his sisters but his sisters can’t fill the hole he left.

I want him to know that we’re not able to move on, not with the way things were left.

Not without understanding.

He should have talked to us. Had a conversation. That would have been the right thing to do, the fair thing, because you don’t come into the world without help. You don’t just belong to yourself. You have others. You have ties. Family. Community—

“Dr. McAdams.”

I jerk my head up. It takes me a moment to focus. It’s Craig Hallahan. “Hi. Hello.”

“My aunt asked me to bring you a water. She thought you might need it during your presentation.” He hands me a plastic tumbler of water. “There’s a table with pitchers at the back.”

“Thank you.”

He exhales slowly, and it sounds suspiciously like a sigh.

I look up at him, frowning faintly. He’s not my type. He’s far too handsome. He’s almost ten years older than me, as well as wealthy and adored by women everywhere.

Not my type.

No, my type is quirky and creative, like my Andrew.

“My aunt requests the pleasure of your company,” Craig says with a hint of amusement, and maybe even pain, in his voice. “But not for her. For Ruth. It seems that Ruth thinks you are her . . . granddaughter.”

“Her
granddaughter
?”

“Mmm.”

“Did someone tell her I’m not?”

“Yes.”

“And she still thinks I am?”

“Yes.”

I glance over to Edie and Ruth where they sit in the folding chairs, and Edie is staring at me intently. It’s not a friendly look. She has a piercing stare. “Draconian” might be the word.

“So what am I to do?” I ask Craig. “Go tell Ruth I’m not her granddaughter?”

He grimaces. “I’m not sure. My aunt sent me to you. I wasn’t in the mood to argue.”

I understand. Seniors have spent their lives perfecting tenacity. Which is just one reason why I don’t want to go over. And then there’s the fact that I’m nervous about speaking and would really like to review my notes.

But she’s still staring at me. She fully expects to be obeyed. Dammit.

I shoot Craig a dark look and head towards her, walking briskly, summoning authority as I form my thoughts. I will be professional, polite, brief—

Ruth’s hand darts out, wraps around my wrist. “Sit down,” she says, tugging me towards her. “Come sit down with Grandma Ruthie.”

I stiffen and pull back. “Ruth, I’m Alison. Alison McAdams—”

“Come sit, and tell me about your day. How was your day?” She gives another tug on my wrist, drawing me even closer.

Her fingers are wrapped tightly around my wrist and she has a surprisingly firm grip. I could break free but I don’t want to hurt her. There’s no reason to hurt her. “Ruth, it’s Alison. Alison McAdams. I’m the daughter of Bill McAdams who lives here, and I’m a dentist—”

“Why don’t you sit down? I want you to sit down.”

“There’s nowhere to sit.”

“Sit on my lap. Come on. There’s a good girl.”

“Ruth—” I break off as she jerks me onto her lap. I practically crash into her, and I cringe, feeling huge and heavy, but her arms are around me, hugging me, holding me. “My pretty girl,” she croons, rocking me. “I’ve missed you. Your parents don’t bring you to see me enough.”

And suddenly the fight leaves me.

My tension and resistance deflate and I feel foolish and exposed, but I give Ruth a hug. I hug her carefully, gently. She’s tiny. She feels lost in my arms but I feel her relax. She sighs, happy.

My eyes burn and I’m able to extricate myself so that I’m now standing.

Edie looks at me, one of her brows lifting.

I don’t know what the look means. I just know that I feel raw and tender on the inside.

Bereft.

None of us are immortal, and only those that die young, stay young.

• • •

B
ack at the podium, I end up going with my first introduction, the one I’d scribbled while still at the breakfast table, and then ad lib, mentioning my father and how he’s been here about a year now and what a wonderful place Napa Estates is.

From there it’s an easy segue into discussing dental care.
“Brushing and flossing daily is essential. You want to keep your own teeth, especially if you’ve kept them this long.” I look up, smile brightly, the confident professional smile bestowed on my patients in the office. “And the best way to do that is by using a fluoride based toothpaste. Kids aren’t the only ones who need fluoride. Seniors do, too. The brushing and flossing will help fight plaque, which if left untreated, leads to tooth decay and gum disease.”

The plaintive voice from the audience drowns me out. I am pretty sure it is Ruth. “What is she saying? Why is she talking?”

Someone—I think it’s Edie—hushes her.

“But when is the movie going to start?”

I glance up from my notes, forehead furrowing, distracted, but also sympathetic. Poor Ruth.

I don’t want to develop dementia.

I don’t want Alzheimer’s.

I don’t want to lose my memory, or my mind. I love my brain. It’s a good brain. It’s served me well so far. I was always good in school. Always academic. And I knew early that I wanted to go into some field of medicine. But it wasn’t until I was thirteen that I realized dentistry was the direction I should go. My parents have no idea that I chose dentistry because of my orthodontist, Dr. Clevenger.

I had such a crush on him.

He was young, early thirties, and single. He drove the coolest red convertible. I still don’t know what year the car was, or if it was a Fiat or a Triumph, but it had cream leather seats and a cream dash and with his dark glossy curls and aviator glasses he looked like the ultimate of cool and sexy as he drove into work. I know, because I always had an early-morning appointment before school and I was the first patient he saw those days and Mom inevitably had me there before Dr. Clevenger arrived.

I loved him. (He didn’t know it.) I loved his style, his confidence, his success, his personality. He had energy. And he had his own office.

He was the man who had everything and I was going to marry him.

My best friend, Kelly, set me straight, helping me with the math.

“You’re thirteen, Ali, and he’s thirty-two. By the time you’re out of college, you’ll be twenty or twenty-one, and he’s going to be . . . oh God,
ancient
.”

I didn’t mind ancient. Not if he had dimples and blue eyes. And drove me around in his gleaming red convertible.

He got married when I was a freshman. I was so glad when my braces came off at the end of the year. I vowed then to never become an orthodontist. I’d be a dentist instead.

I’m suddenly aware of the faces in front of me. Everyone is waiting for my next words of wisdom. I stand taller and force myself to concentrate. “Be sure to continue seeing your dental professional once a year—”

“When is she going to stop talking?” Ruth’s voice is even louder now. “I want to see the movie.”

Edie is trying hard to quiet her, but Ruth doesn’t want to be shushed.

“This is the movie theater.” Ruth jabs her finger at the rows of empty chairs. “We’re supposed to be watching a movie.”

I pause, and wait. There is no point going on. No one can hear me, not at the moment anyway.

“Not today, Ruthie. Today we have a program. A guest speaker.”

“What is she talking about?”

“Teeth,” Edie says, patiently.

“But why teeth? She doesn’t know anything about teeth.”

“She’s a dentist.”

“My granddaughter is a dentist?”

Edie gives up. “Yes.”

Ruth looks at me, puzzled, and then disappointed. “Ew.”

Ew.

I go cold all over. It’s not the first time I’ve heard that about my calling, and I know it won’t be the last, but I freeze as my gaze drops to my notes, and the list of issues seniors face—tooth loss, thrush, root decay, stomatitis, darkened teeth, gum disease . . .

Do they want to know that their dry mouth is caused by reduced saliva flow, which is normal with aging, but that it could also be a side effect from cancer treatments?

Do I need to explain that their darkened teeth are due to natural changes in dentin, the tissue beneath one’s tooth enamel?

That stomatitis is usually caused from bad oral hygiene, bad fitting dentures, or the buildup of candida?

Ew, is right.

For a moment I want to be anybody but Dr. Alison McAdams, but then I look up and out, and my gaze meets Edie’s and she gives me a quick nod, as if to say,
Continue
.

And then I see Craig Hallahan next to her and he’s smiling. At least his eyes are smiling and I feel some of the ice inside my chest ease.

I gulp a breath, and exhale.

It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.

I give my cards a little tap, and with another breath, I dive back in.

“There will be questions about the date of the last exam and why the patient is being seen now. The dentist will ask if you’ve noticed any recent changes, like sensitive teeth, loose teeth, or pain anywhere. The dentist will want to know if the patient is experiencing difficulty chewing, tasting, or swallowing.”

Ruth continues to talk throughout the rest of my presentation but it no longer rattles me. Of course she doesn’t understand why
there is no movie. This is the movie theater, after all, and no, she doesn’t understand why I’m talking about teeth. I am, in her mind, her granddaughter so that’s how things stand.

Fortunately, the interruptions don’t seem to surprise anyone. Everyone in the audience but Craig is a senior and they all know Ruth, and if they don’t know Ruth, they’ve encountered memory issues before now.

I finish my speech and take questions. There are lots of questions. Well, comments and conversation. Everyone seems to have a story to share. The abscessed tooth. Adventures with dentures. Problematic bridges.

But I’m amused, and enjoying myself. And it’s not because Craig Hallahan is in the audience, smiling that faint, warm, somewhat crooked smile at me.

But I suppose that faint, warm, somewhat crooked smile doesn’t hurt.

Edie

A
fter Alison’s presentation, a nurse’s aide helps Ruth into a wheelchair so she can swiftly push Ruth back to Memory Care.

Ruth looks so small as she’s wheeled away.

I hate it when they take her, but I can’t keep her with me. I know my limits. I’m exhausted as it is. After the weekends I am always tired and spend most of Mondays in my room, recuperating.

Craig offers me his arm. I take it gratefully.

“You have an hour before dinner in the dining room,” he says. “Would you like me to walk you to your room so you can rest?”

“Yes, please.”

We slowly make our way down the corridor to the elevators. I’m on the second floor, in the middle of the hall. It’s not that far, but suddenly I’m not sure I have the energy.

Craig squeezes my hand. “You doing okay, Aunt Edie?”

“Just a little out of breath.”

“Want to rest?”

“No. I’ll rest when I’m dead.”

His hand squeezes mine again. “No talk like that. I’m planning a big party for you on your centennial.”

“I don’t think I have six more years.”

“Good, because you don’t even need five and a half.”

I laugh shortly, shake my head. Everyone thinks Chad is the charmer but I have a soft spot for Craig. He’s a dear, sweet boy, and I don’t have a favorite great-nephew. They are as different as night and day, but I do enjoy them both. I don’t see Chad as often. He’s the social one, and always on the go, attending wine conferences and events, which is where he is now.

Craig likes traveling but he’s not as fond of all the conferences. He’s an introvert, and introspective. He likes his alone time. He makes the business decisions for the winery and Chad is the face of Dark Horse. People gravitate to Chad. But then, they always have.

I’ve always wondered why the boys chose wine making. It’s not as if it runs in the family. Farming and ranching does, not on their mother’s side, but their father’s. They turned their father’s ranch land into grapes and have done quite well for themselves.

Chad lives in the original farmhouse on the property. He fixed it up, a couple of years back, spending a small fortune on the remodel, but that’s where he entertains, so it needs to be nice.

Craig also has an old house, but his is on a separate property, a couple of miles from the winery. It’s an old house, a big Queen Anne with an equally large porch. It was falling down when he bought it. Everyone thought it should come down. But Craig had to restore it, and we’re not talking a fashionable remodel like Chad did on his farmhouse, but a serious restoration, making it period authentic.

It’s what he does on weekends. It’s how he fills his free time. Every now and then he takes me there to show me what he’s accomplished since my last visit. Victorian inspired wallpaper, brass kick plates and fixtures, and dark stain paneling and refinished wood trim.

In many ways the house reminds me of the home my parents bought in New Rochelle after we returned from Morocco. High ceilings, big windows, handsome proportions.

I waited years for him to marry a girl and bring her home and fill the upstairs bedrooms with babies. But he never found the right girl. And I’m worried now he might think that the McAdams girl is the one for him.

She isn’t.

I tell him, too, once we’re in my room. I’m not as tactful as I once was. I don’t know why I should mince words when there is so little time left.

“What do you think of that McAdams girl, the dentist?” I ask him once I’m settled in my favorite armchair in the living room.

He leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “She’s quite pretty, and intelligent, and I think she did a really good job today.”

“She doesn’t strike me as a very warm person.”

“I wouldn’t say that. She’s certainly not cold. And given her profession, I imagine she’s probably very analytical.”

“She’s been through a bad breakup, you know. It left her quite scarred.”

“And you’re telling me this because . . . ?”

“I know you like brainy girls.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Which is why I wanted to speak to you about her. She’s not the girl for you. She’s got . . . issues. And you certainly don’t need that, not if you’re serious about settling down.”

He lifts a brow. “Who said I was serious about settling down?”

“You have that big house and all those bedrooms—”

“I didn’t restore the house to fill it with babies, Aunt Edie. I bought the house because it was close to the winery, dirt cheap, and had historical value.”

“You’re almost forty.”

“This is true, but as men can father children into their sixties, I feel absolutely no sense of urgency on that front.” He pushed off the wall and approached her. “Besides, you’ve said many a time you are not fond of babies. Have you changed your mind? Are you suddenly longing to have a great-great-grandniece or nephew to shower with affection?”

“No,” I answer crossly, glaring up at him. “And I’m glad you don’t feel any urgency with starting a family because I don’t think Alison is the girl you’ve been waiting for. Especially as she doesn’t even live in the area.”

The corners of his mouth tug into a smile. “Especially.”