Greenfield was a ten-minute walk from the train station, and when I arrived, I’d already shaken off my misgivings from the train. I couldn’t live my life looking over my shoulder, especially when there was nothing there. Greenfield encompassed three buildings and several acres in suburban Maryland. With its bay windows, bamboo floors, and abundance of greenery, it resembled a high-end boutique hotel more than it did a senior community, so I wasn’t surprised it was rated one of the best luxury assisted living facilities in the country. It also looked different during the day, and not just because of the light. The air was calmer, and the scents were sweeter even in the dregs of winter. It was a brand-new day, and with every brand-new day came hope. Optimism inflated in my chest when I stopped outside Maura’s room and knocked on the door. Today, she would remember me. I was sure of it. I knocked again. No answer. I hadn’t expected one, but I always knocked twice just in case. She may live in a care facility, but her room was her room. She deserved some say over who entered her personal space. I waited an extra beat before I twisted the knob and stepped inside. Maura sat in a chair by the window,
staring out at the pond in the back of the facility. The water was frozen, and the trees and flowers which flourished during summer were nothing more than bare branches and withered petals during winter, but she didn’t seem to mind. She wore a small smile as she hummed a low tune. Something familiar yet indistinguishable, happy yet nostalgic. “Hi, Maura,” I said softly. The humming stopped. She turned, her face registering polite interest as her eyes swept over me. “Hello.” She tilted her head at my expectant stare. “Do I know you?” Disappointment pulled at my chest, followed by a sharp ache. Alzheimer’s varied greatly from person to person, even those in the middle stage, like Maura. Some forgot basic motor skills like how to hold a spoon but remembered their family; others forgot who their loved ones were but could function fairly normally in daily life.
Maura fell in the latter category. I should be grateful she could still communicate clearly after being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s four years ago, and I was. But it still hurt when she didn’t recognize me. She was the one who’d raised me while my parents were busy building their careers. She’d picked me up and dropped me off at school every day, attended all my school plays, and consoled me after Ricky Wheaton dumped me for Melody Renner in sixth grade.
Ricky and I had only “dated” for two weeks, but eleven-year-old me had been heartbroken. In my mind, Maura would always be vibrant and full of life. But the years and disease had taken their toll, and seeing her so frail made tears thicken in my throat. “I’m a new volunteer.” I cleared my throat and pasted on a smile, not wanting to cloud our visit with melancholy. “I brought you some tembleque. A little birdie told me it’s your favorite.” I reached into my bag and pulled out the chilled coconut pudding. It was a traditional Puerto Rican dessert Maura and I used to make together during our “experimentation” nights. Every week, we’d try a new recipe.
Some of them came out amazing, others not so much. The tembleque was one of our favorites, though, and we justified making it more than once by dressing it up with different flavors each time. Cinnamon one week, orange the next, followed by lime. Voila! A new recipe. In my eight-year-old mind, it made sense. Maura’s eyes lit up. “Trying to butter me up with sweets on your first day.” She clucked. “It’s working. I like you already.” I laughed. “I’m glad to hear that.” I handed her the dessert I’d made last night and waited until she had a firm grasp on it before I took the seat opposite hers. “What’s your name?” She spooned some pudding in her mouth, and I tried not to notice how slow the movement was or how hard her hand shook. “Stella.”
What looked like recognition glinted in her eyes. Hope ballooned again, only to deflate when murkiness snuffed out the glint a second later. “Pretty name, Stella.” Maura chewed with a thoughtful expression. “I have a daughter, Phoebe. She’s around your age, but I haven’t seen her in a while…” Because she died.
The ache in my chest returned with a vengeance. Six years ago, Phoebe and Maura’s husband had been on their way home from the grocery store when a truck T-boned their car. Both died on impact. Maura sank into a deep depression after, especially since she had no living relatives to lean on. As much as I hated Alzheimer’s for robbing her of the life she’d lived, sometimes I was grateful for it. Because the absence of good memories also meant the absence of bad ones, and at least she could forget the pain of losing her loved ones. No parent should ever have to bury their child. Maura’s chewing slowed. Her brows drew together, and I could see her struggling to remember why, exactly, she hadn’t seen Phoebe in a while. Her breathing
quickened the way it always did before agitation set in. The last time she’d remembered what happened to Phoebe, she’d gotten so aggressive the nurses had to sedate her. I blinked back the sting in my eyes and upped the wattage of my smile. “So, I hear tonight’s bingo night,” I said quickly. “Are you excited?” The distraction worked. Maura relaxed again, and eventually, our conversation meandered from bingo to poodles to The Days of Our Lives. Her memories were patchy and varied from day to day, but today was one of the better ones. She used to own a pet poodle and she’d loved watching The Days of Our Lives. I wasn’t sure she understood the significance of those topics, but at least she knew they were important on a subconscious level.
“I have bingo tonight. What do you have?” She abruptly switched topics after a ten-minute monologue on hand washing laundry. “A beautiful girl like you must have fun plans for Friday night.” It was Saturday, but I didn’t correct her. “I have a big party,” I said. “At the Smithsonian.”
Though fun wasn’t the adjective I’d use. Nerves sloshed through my stomach, making me queasy. Signing a contract was one thing; carrying it out was another.
What if I bombed at the event? What if I tripped or said something stupid? What if he realized I wasn’t the companion he’d hoped for after all and terminated our agreement? I instinctively reached for my crystal pendant. I’d chosen an unakite jasper today for healing, and I clutched it for dear life until the cool stone warmed and settled my nerves. It’s fine. Everything will be fine.
Maura, oblivious to my inner turmoil, brightened and leaned forward at the mention of a party.
“Ooh, fancy. What are you wearing?” In that moment, she sounded so like her old self my chest squeezed. She used to tease me all the time about boys. Preteen me would huff and complain, but I spilled all my secret crushes to her anyway. “I haven’t decided, but I’m sure I’ll find something. The real question is, what should I do with my hair?” I gestured to my curls. “Put it up or leave it down?” Nothing animated her like the topic of hair. Hers was pin straight, but she’d had to learn how to care for my specific hair texture when I was young, and she’d become an unofficial expert over the years. I still used the post-shower hair routine she put together for me when I was thirteen: apply curl cream, detangle with a wide-tooth comb, squeeze out excess moisture, apply argan oil, and scrunch hair upwards for definition. It worked like a charm. A smile curved my lips at Maura’s indignant harrumph. “It’s a party at the Smithsonian. You must put it up. Come here.” She beckoned me over. “Have to do everything myself,” she muttered. I stifled a laugh and moved my chair next to hers while she took the pins out of her bun so she could work her magic. I closed my eyes, letting the peaceful silence and the familiar, soothing tug and pull of her fingers wash over me. Her movements were slow and hesitant. What took her minutes to do when I was a kid took her triple the time now. But I didn’t care how long it took her or what the result looked like; I only cared about spending time with her when I still could.
“There.” Satisfaction filled Maura’s voice. “All done.” I opened my eyes and caught our reflections in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. She’d twisted my hair into a high, lopsided updo. Half the curls were already falling out, and the rest would probably follow as soon as I moved.