“We’re her grandniece and nephew,” I said.
The nurse looked suspicious. Or maybe I only thought she did.
“Is Mrs. Davis expecting you?”
“No,” I said. “She definitely is not expecting us. We’re in town from Nebraska. We promised our mom we’d visit.”
“You’ll need to sign in and print your license plate number here.” She pushed a clipboard with a sign--in sheet on it toward us.
“We took the bus,” I said.
But she’d already turned away to attend to other business.
I wrote on the sign--in sheet: Bill and Melinda Gates.
“Where can we find Mrs.—-Aunt Jeannie?” I asked the back of the nurse’s head.
“She’s in room 3B.”
I led the way down the hall. Petty avoided eye contact with the old -people. Most of them were like droopy statues, and the rest moved with painful slowness. Petty probably didn’t have any experience with old -people, where I’d had a lifetime of it. After I went to live with Oma, I accompanied her Meals on Wheels runs and her weekly visits to the Sunset Nursing Home in Niobe. Every Thursday, Oma baked cookies and other goodies for the old folks.
“Here it is,” I said, pointing to an open door. Many televisions up and down the hall competed with each other, most of them death--metal loud, and one of them was in the room we were about to enter. “I’ll go in first, okay?”
Petty nodded, her face ashen
Inside were two old ladies. One sat up in bed, the other in a chair. Only the lady in the chair turned when Petty and I entered.
“Hello,” I said.
“Good morning!” the lady in the chair said cheerfully. “Are you here for my bath?”
“No, we’re here to visit. Are you Mrs. Jeannie Davis?”
“Oh, no, honey. I’m Zelda Krantz. I’m her new roommate.” She whispered, “Her last one passed away.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.
I glanced at Petty, who couldn’t take her eyes off the lady in the bed, her possible grandma, who hadn’t taken her eyes off the TV.
“We’re some relatives in from Nebraska,” I said. Then I said to Jeannie, “Hello, Mrs. Davis.”
Her head turned slowly, and her eyes traveled from my belt buckle to my face before her eyes narrowed in what might have been confusion or suspicion. She didn’t answer.
“How are you today?”
She kept staring at me.
“She’s having an off day, I think,” Mrs. Krantz whispered. “She has the Alzheimer’s, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know,” I said, deflated. This was a major setback. Would Mrs. Davis be able to provide any information? Would she even be able to talk to us?
Petty backed up against the wall.
“She was very lively this morning,” Mrs. Krantz said, looking at the TV. “Very talkative.”
“What did she talk about?” I asked Mrs. Krantz.
“About when her children were little, mostly,” she said. “She has her good days and her bad days. You should go ahead and talk to her anyway. Even if she doesn’t answer, you can talk to her.”
I tried to catch Petty’s eye, but she was frozen in place. I imagined she’d even stopped breathing. I got as close to her as I dared and whispered, “Talk to your grandma, Petty.”
“What do I say?”
“Just . . . say hello.” I thought I could see some resemblance to the lady in the photo album, but maybe I just hoped I could. I turned back to Petty. “Don’t make her strain to see you,” I whispered. “Go over by the bed, look her in the eye and talk to her.”
Petty detached herself from the wall with some effort and walked to the bed. Mrs. Davis’s eyes were still on me. Petty cleared her throat, and the old lady’s watery eyes slowly tracked over to Petty’s face.
“Hello,” Petty said.
Mrs. Davis’s cloudy old eyes gazed into Petty’s, and I could actually see her pupils dilate. She must recognize Petty! A low growly noise came out of Mrs. Davis’s mouth. “Ma. Ma. Ma. Ma. Ma. Ma.”
“Is she saying ‘Mama’?” I said.
Mrs. Davis’s veiny old hand came up off the blankets and wavered, but it looked like a shooing motion to me. She kept her eyes on Petty’s face, her eyebrows drawn together. “Ma. Ma. Ma.” It was creepy, the way she drew the syllables out, how her voice was pitched so low. I knew this voice would haunt my dreams.
“She must be way back in her childhood now,” Mrs. Krantz said. “I feel for her, I do. I hope it’s not contagious. Not a thing wrong with my mind, not a thing. Sharp as a razor!”
Petty shocked me by reaching out and taking Mrs. Davis’s hand. Once contact was made, Mrs. Davis stopped making any noise at all. She continued staring at Petty until her eyelids got heavy. Then they closed and she snored softly. Petty set her hand back on the blanket.
“Does she ever have any visitors?” I asked Mrs. Krantz.
“I’ve only been her roommate for about a week now, and she hasn’t had any in that time. I’ve had two, though.”
“That’s great,” I said.
“Do you want to try again tomorrow?” Mrs. Krantz asked. “She might be a little clearer. Then again, she might not.”