Angus puts down the flowers and goes to help. The dog seems to think it’s a game. It bounds this way and that, like a toy attached to a spring. Luke, who’d been sitting on one edge of the garden bed near Anna, stands, while Anna shrinks behind her hands. That’s when I remember: Anna is afraid of dogs.
Angus has herded the dog toward the gate, but just as the owner is about to grab its collar, it bounds away, across the lawn. Anna lets out a shriek. The dog heads toward her but before it gets there, I leap, catching the dog around its waist. I roll to the ground. I might as well have tackled Angus. It’s heavy—really heavy—and wriggling. I pull tight around its belly. My breathing is ragged, and something doesn’t feel quite right in my elbow, but I’m not letting go.
A moment later, Angus grabs the collar and passes it to the owner.
“Sorry,” the man says. “So sorry.”
Angus helps me to my feet. I glance over toward the vegetable patch to see how Anna is faring and my breath catches.
“Angus,” I say. “Remember when you told me that Luke used to protect Anna from the dogs when the pet therapy people came to visit?”
“Yeah.”
“You also said you weren’t sure if people with dementia were capable of having real feelings for others.”
He cocks his head, panting. “Yeah, I think I said that.”
I point at the vegetable patch, where Luke is crouching in front of Anna. His arms are outstretched and she is tucked in, safely, behind him.
“What do you think now?”
*
After the dog commotion, Clem asks if she can head inside and watch some TV. Once she is settled, I get out the cleaning cart and get busy. I spritz, wipe, dust, and vacuum until my arms feel like a pair of noodles. And the whole time, I’m thinking about Luke and Anna.
What I would give to know what was going on inside their brains! Eric said “Falling in love requires memory, communication, reason, decision making,” but did it, really? After seeing Luke today, I can’t help but think that love is more like a river—it wants to flow. And if one path is blocked off, it simply finds another.
By the time I get to Anna’s room, I’m exhausted. I get out the duster and idly wander around, pushing dust this way and that. It’s on the lower shelf of her dresser, under a carpet of dust, that I find her notebook. I recognize it—it’s the one Anna had stuck my photo in on my first day. My instinct is to open it, but with my fingers on the inside of the cover, I hesitate. I ought to respect her privacy. I return the newly dusted notebook to the shelf.
And immediately snatch it back.
Maybe I’ll just read the first page and see what it says? Then, before I can change my mind, I toss it open.
November 1, 2013
Dear Anna,
Today you made a promise. You promised the young guy with the tea-colored eyes that you would stay with him until the end. No cutting out early, no taking the fast exit. It’s hard to believe you agreed to that, right? I can hardly believe it as I write this.
So why did you agree?
You agreed because this guy is the one you didn’t know you were waiting for. You agreed because, as it is, you’re not going to have long enough together. And you agreed because this guy is a pretty good reason to hang around.
Soon you won’t remember this promise—that’s why I’m writing this down. And if you are reading this now, there’s something else you should know: Anna Forster never breaks a promise.
Anna
There’s a tap at the door and I jump.
“Just me.”
It’s Angus, holding up my basket, which contains precisely one carrot. “I thought you might be needing this. Sorry, did I scare you?”
I point at the notebook. “Look at this.”
Angus comes closer. I give him a minute to read.
“See!” I say. “She does love him. And he loves her, that’s obvious after today.”
Angus frowns. “You know … I did read once about a woman with dementia who didn’t remember that she’d ever been married, but when someone showed her her wedding dress, she burst into tears. The article said that the memory center of the brain is right next to the emotion center, so the emotional power of the dress was still there, even though the memory was gone.”
“So maybe Luke knew he had to protect Anna from the dog, even though he didn’t remember why.…”
“Blows your mind, doesn’t it? The way it all works—the heart, the brain.”
“It does,” I say. “It really truly does.”
Angus’s gaze floats over my face, and the twinkle is replaced by something … more intense. A frisson of energy runs through me. “Angus—”
“Shh,” he says, and then Angus’s arms circle my waist and we are kissing. He smells of the grass. His arms hold me upright, and it’s a good thing because I’m a feather in a cyclone—powerless, light, swept away. It feels so strange, and so, so right.
“Mom?”
I stumble backwards. Clem is in the doorway. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” I push back my hair, straighten my ponytail. “Angus was just … returning my basket.” My head is spinning, and the proximity of Angus isn’t helping. “Are you hungry, honey? I was about to go make a snack, would you like to—?”
“Were you kissing?” Clem asks.
I flick a glance at Angus. He looks apologetic, and also a little dazed. Like I feel.
“Why don’t we go into the kitchen?” I say to Clem.