Remember (15 page)

Without waiting another moment, Sue patted her mother’s hand and smiled through her tears. “I’ll see you again sometime, okay? I love you, Mama.”

Helen’s breathing was fast and hard, her eyes wild as they darted about the room. “Make her leave! I’m not her mother. Please . . . make her go!”

Sue wiped at her tears and nodded in Ashley’s direction. “Thank you.”

Before Ashley could think of any way to salvage the moment, Sue left through the front door and quietly shut it behind her.

“Help me!” Helen began groping for something. Ashley stared at the space in front of the old woman. There was nothing there. “Help me! Help me! Help me!”

Helen’s screams grew louder with each request for help. From the next room Irvel called out, her voice laced with panic. “Will someone help her, please. She needs help!”

Ashley was at Helen’s side just as Belinda rounded the corner. “What’s going on?” She stared at Ashley, her hands anchored on her hips.

“Helen’s dau—” There was no point upsetting Helen further. “Sue Brown came for a visit.”

“Help me! Help me! Help me!” Helen began flailing her arms over her head.

Belinda took hold of Helen’s shoulder and gave her a firm shake. “Stop screaming!”

“Help me!” Helen pummeled her fists at the place where Belinda held her.

“Fine.” Belinda stormed out of the room. The entire time she was gone, Ashley tried to think of something to do. Helen often said delusional things, but she’d never done this—never flipped into a bout of hysteria, screaming the same words over and over.

When Belinda came back she had a pill in the palm of one hand and a glass of water in the other. “Open your mouth, old girl.”

“Help me!” Helen fired a desperate look at Ashley. “Help me!”

Belinda squeezed the sides of Helen’s mouth together and forced the pill onto her tongue. Then she held the water up to her lips and tipped it until finally, mercifully, the screaming stopped and Helen drank. When she had swallowed the last mouthful, she waved her arms again. “Help me! Help me!”

“Next time her daughter comes, tell me first, will you?” Belinda shouted above the noise and glanced at her watch. “She’ll be out in a minute or so.”

Belinda turned and disappeared back down the hallway toward the office. Ashley took nervous steps toward Helen, and when she was close enough, she laid her hand on the old woman’s shoulder.

Helen’s eyes began to droop, and gradually her screaming softened and then stopped altogether as she slipped into a heavy sleep.

Ashley returned to Irvel and Edith and helped them to the bathroom and then into their recliners on either side of Helen. When they were all asleep, Ashley found her notebook and sat in the rocking chair. Poor old Helen—terrified by the sight of her own daughter!

Would she feel that way about Cole one day?

The thought sent shivers down Ashley’s spine and made her feel nauseous. If only there was something she could do, some way she could bridge the gap for the people at Sunset Hills.

A way to help them remember.

Ashley opened her notebook and stared at the pages of scribbled information inside. A week ago she’d attended a one-day seminar at the university for workers in adult care homes. The course was sponsored by a medical group, and Lu required all new Sunset Hills workers to take it.

“State-of-the-art information,” Lu had told her. “You’ll have a lot better idea of how to handle our residents after the course.”

Ashley had actually been looking forward to it. But instead of offering new information, the instructor had merely reemphasized the old. Ashley ran her eyes over her notes:

• Never argue with Alzheimer’s patients, but always remind them of the reality of their situation.

• Keep them living in the present-day world.

• Correct them gently when they speak things that don’t make sense.

Ashley understood the reasoning behind this philosophy. If the brain could be reminded of what was real and right, then perhaps the knowledge would slow the inevitable wearing away of the memory. But she’d seen firsthand how poorly those pieces of advice worked on the people at Sunset Hills. She’d watched Irvel fall apart again and again when forced to consider the idea that her beloved Hank was dead. She glanced at Helen. Reminding her of reality had nearly shot her through the roof.

Ashley stared out the front window at the trees in the yard. Maple trees, much like the big one that shaded Landon’s window. For a moment she allowed herself to drift back forty-eight hours, to the way she had felt in Landon’s arms.

She savored the wonder of the memory and the goodness of how it felt to live it again in the quiet of the afternoon. Even if she and Landon were all wrong for each other . . . even if they never again shared another moment like that, the memory would always be a good one.

How would she feel if she’d voiced her thoughts aloud and someone had yelled at her to be quiet or informed her that Landon was gone, that she was no longer in his arms but at an adult care home?

Ashley looked back at her notes, and suddenly she saw a connection. If a single memory had caused such a bright light on her day, why weren’t the people at Sunset Hills allowed the same luxury? What was wrong with living in the past, anyway? It felt good to remember, as long as the memory was a happy one. What was the harm in letting people stay there?

A loud snore sounded from Helen, and her hands shook for a moment before she settled back to sleep. Ashley tried to imagine being confined to a house like this one, locked away to bide her time until death would mercifully take her.

Of course it would be more enjoyable to live in the past!

She turned the page in her notebook and saw an Internet address. The instructor had given them several Web sites to explore, places where further research could be done on caring for Alzheimer’s patients.

Quietly, so she wouldn’t wake Helen and the others, Ashley checked on Bert and Laura Jo. Then she stationed herself at the computer. It was in a small alcove off the living room, intended for the residents’ use. Of course, not one of them had any idea how to use a computer or even that the Internet existed.

Ashley signed on and typed in the Web address. Images of elderly people began to appear on the screen.

“Caring for Alzheimer’s Patients—An Alternate View,” the home page read. She scrolled down a list of links until she saw one that caught her eye: “Past-Present—A Christian Perspective.”

She hesitated. The “past-present” idea intrigued her, but the “Christian” part made her nervous. She tended to think religious people were biased—brainwashed, really. It was hard to imagine that they might have anything worthwhile to say about something that was clearly not a matter of faith.

Still, she clicked on the link, and an article appeared on the screen. She read the opening:

If you’ve ever cared for an Alzheimer’s patient, you’ve asked, “Why can’t we let them live in the past—where they’re comfortable?” The answer is usually predictable: Doctors believe encouraging such fantasies about the past is dangerous for victims of Alzheimer’s disease. Indeed, studies have proven that Alzheimer’s patients who are allowed to live in the past die more quickly than those who are continually reminded about current-day reality.

Ashley kept reading. A pastor in Michigan was quoted as saying:

Distant memory is God’s merciful way of helping us survive a disease like Alzheimer’s. Regardless of whether living in the past speeds up the disease process, those of us who care for the elderly ought not rob them of the chance to remember.

The chance to remember.

That last line played in Ashley’s mind again. What better use of time could there possibly be for people like Irvel and Edith and Helen but to remember—their childhoods, their families, their married days? This was the time when they could remember every moment, live it again, walk through it, reread every page in the book of their lives. Even if the entire experience was a delusion—what was the harm?

Ashley scrolled down the page and was reading another section of the article when she heard footsteps. She spun around and found Belinda scowling at her, staring at the computer screen. “You’re supposed to be mopping.”

“I’m studying.” Ashley raised the notebook in her hand. “Lu had me take a course last week.”

Belinda laughed. “It never helps.”

“Of course it helps.” Anger stirred in Ashley’s gut. She pointed to the computer. “There are other ways, you know. Besides treating them like children.”

Belinda’s face hardened. “Don’t tell me about different ways.” She reached past Ashley and clicked off the monitor. “I make the decisions around here.”

“All I’m saying is that maybe there’s another—”

“Listen.” Belinda’s tone was low and threatening. “You do your job and don’t make waves. Otherwise, you’re gone.”

She turned and left Ashley fuming. Was it so difficult to think out of the box, to try new methods that might help the people at Sunset Hills be happy and more peaceful? She sighed. There was no reaching someone like Belinda, someone so bottled up and angry that her misery spilled over onto everyone she came in contact with.

Ashley finished cleaning and was setting out a snack when Helen approached her. Helen got around better than the others at Sunset Hills, but each step was still slow, deliberate.

She was clutching something to her chest, and as she came closer, Ashley saw it was a picture frame.

“Hi, Helen. What do you have?”

“You’ve been checked, right?” Helen’s voice sounded scratchy, no doubt because of her earlier screaming episode.

“Yes, Helen. I’ve been checked.”

Helen nodded, satisfied. “I want to show you something.” Moving with the greatest care, Helen lowered the picture frame so Ashley could see a colored photograph of a striking teenage girl. Even with the sixties-style hair and the fading colors, there was no question that the girl in the photo was a younger version of Sue Brown, the woman who had been by to visit earlier. “Oh, Helen, she’s beautiful.”

“That’s Sue.” The lines eased around Helen’s mouth. “My daughter.”

The pastor’s words from the Internet article came back:
Those of us who care for the elderly ought not rob them of the chance to remember.
Ashley cleared her throat. “You must be very proud of her.”

“I am.” Helen angled her head and stared longingly at the girl in the photo. The corners of her mouth found a way up through the folds of facial skin. It was the first time Ashley had seen Helen smile.

“Do you have other children, Helen?” Ashley wasn’t sure whether this was the time to ask—or even whether Helen would remember other children if she had them. But she wanted to make the moment last as long as possible.

“No.” Helen furrowed her brow and thought for several seconds. “I don’t think so.” She looked at the photo again and touched the image of Sue’s face with her fingertips. “Just Sue.”

“Well, she’s very pretty.”

Helen’s eyes lifted to Ashley’s. “Have you seen her?”

“Not lately.” Ashley thought quickly. “Have you?”

Tears pooled in Helen’s tired eyes, and she cradled the photograph close to her heart. “Sue’s missing. Someone took her from me.”

“I’m sorry, Helen.” Ashley felt her throat grow thick. “I didn’t know.”

Helen nodded, tightening her grip on the photo frame until her knuckles were white. Tears spilled down her face and trickled to the floor. “I . . . I don’t think she’s ever coming back.”

Ashley remembered Sue Brown’s tormented face.
She probably feels the same way about her mother.
Carefully, Ashley put an arm around Helen’s shoulders. “If there’s anything I can do to help you find Sue, I’ll do it.” Ashley blinked back tears. “I promise you that, Helen.”

“Thank you. No one’s ever wanted to help me find her before. And . . . I miss her so much.” With that, Helen’s shoulders hunched forward, and she began to weep. Desperate sobs shook her body, and she fell against Ashley, too broken to move. Gone were the loud screams from earlier that afternoon. In their place were the soft, quiet sobs of a mother aching for her only child, a child who would never, ever be found again.

Holding Helen, Ashley suddenly found herself desperate to soak up everything she could from her life. These, after all, were the days she would remember when she was old, and what did she have to show for them? Cole, yes—certainly him. But the boy was closer to her parents than to her.

Her relationship with Cole had never been ideal, not for either of them. And the reason was obvious. After her year in Paris, Ashley’s heart had all but died to love. Certainly, to the love of a man who had shown her nothing but respect and compassion every time they were together. And even to the love of her only child. No matter what either of them did, she couldn’t respond freely. She would always, eventually, pull away.

Now, with Helen crying on her shoulder, Ashley knew only one way to move beyond the terrible secrets that had held her captive these past four years. She needed to take Landon at his word and trust him, tell him the things she was terrified to say, the things that would stand between them until she found the courage to lay them out in the open.

Ashley drew a slow breath.

Then and there she made up her mind. The next time she was alone with Landon, she would tell him the truth. Whatever happened after that, at least she wouldn’t spend the best years of her life keeping her heart hidden behind walls of fear.

Only then, Ashley thought, could she have what Helen had. Something to remember. Something worth remembering.

Something so beautiful and real that one day, if she was very lucky, it might even make her weep.

Chapter Fifteen

The picnic took place on one of those beautiful days, the kind whose memory would warm a winter morning years from now.

John Baxter took his wife’s hand and stared out across Lake Monroe. Sunshine glistened off the water and bathed the shoreline where John and Elizabeth’s entire family was gathered.