Head down, Peri took the clipboard hanging on the door, hiding her face from a passing orderly. There was a current picture of her mother, and Peri’s heart clenched at the fading hint of the strong woman Peri had once railed against, the strength and determination hidden under the wrinkles and indistinct focus. Beneath it was a brief description of her life, the highlights and accomplishments: marriages, siblings, divorces. Peri wasn’t on it.
The orderly turned the corner. Steeling herself, she knocked. The door was hard against her hand, and it made hardly any noise.
“Yes. Come in!” a strong but quavering voice called.
Peri unclenched her jaw, forcing a smile on her face as she pushed the door open. “Hello,” she said, shutting the door carefully behind her.
“Finally!” her mother said, sitting in a chair all alone in her robe, looking out the window to an empty bird feeder. “Just how long were you going to let me sit here? I’ve got things to do today other than wait for my stylist. New girl, eh?”
She swallowed, blinking fast. She doesn’t know me. “I’m sorry I’m running late,” she said, glancing at her clipboard like it meant something. “What can we do for you today?”
“The usual.”
How many times, Peri wondered, have I said the same thing to hide the embarrassment of not knowing what’s going on?
Heart aching, Peri helped her mother sit up straight, trying not to notice how light she was as she turned her to the huge mirror that was there to try to make the small room look larger. Her mother’s chin was high, her anger that she didn’t know what her usual was obvious.
“A style it is,” Peri said, reaching for the soft brush beside the bed. “We can skip the wash if you like. Your hair is in wonderful condition. You take very good care of it. Is it getting too long? Would you like me to schedule a cut next week?”
“If you would,” her mother said, her thin, age-spotted fingers coming up to play with the ends. Peri remembered it as jet-black as hers was, but now it was pale, a hint of the original, a whisper, like her mother herself. She was looking vacantly at their reflection, seeing something other than what was there.
Peri slowly brushed her mother’s hair, taking what she had today and not letting regret color it. “Has it been a busy week?” she asked, focusing on how the hair felt slipping through her hands as she cared for her mother.
“About the same,” she answered, voice distant.
She doesn’t know, doesn’t remember.
“Family?” Peri prompted, hoping for something. A story. A recollection. Anything.
“Oh, yes,” her mother said, brightening. “Did you know my daughter is studying to be a dancer at the Met?”
“Is that so?” Peri’s chin trembled, but she smiled as she ran a lock of hair around her finger, trying to get it to stay. “That’s wonderful. I always wanted to be a dancer.”
“She’s very good. Very graceful.” Her mother smiled, pride lighting her face. “So much more graceful than I am. And she’ll do it. That girl has more grit than anyone I know. I don’t know where she gets it.”
I got it from you, Peri thought, blinking fast.
“I’m so proud of her,” her mother said wistfully. “I wish I could have told her.”
“I’m sure she knows,” Peri said, finding peace in the moment because that was all she had, all any of them had. “I’m sure she knows.”