Eric isn’t quite meeting my eye. I get a funny feeling.
“Why are we cutting costs?” I ask. “I’d have thought that with the amount that the residents pay, there would be a good profit to be made here. I mean, the food budget is already tiny—”
“The decision has come from above,” he says. His tone is sharp and final. “If you’re not up for it, I’ll find someone else.”
“I … I didn’t say I wasn’t up for it.”
But that’s exactly what I want to say. I want to tell Eric to stick his cleaning job. I want to literally throw in the (dish) towel. But without this job I have no address in Clem’s school district, and the last thing she needs, especially now, when she is having trouble, is to be moved to another school.
“So,” he says expectantly. “What do you say?”
“It’s fine, Eric. I’ll do the cleaning permanently,” I say through my teeth.
“Glad to hear it.” Eric finally picks up a muffin and takes a bite. “It’s very good,” he says on his way out the door. As he walks away I notice his smile, the one he was curiously missing a few moments ago, is back.
*
My visits to Anna become a nightly occurrence. The routine is pretty simple: Every night after dinner, I go into her room and take her for a little walk. Rosie is busy at that time of night, and Trish and Carole have left for the day, so it’s surprisingly easy. Once Anna is in Luke’s room, I clean up the kitchen or watch a little TV with Clem, and ten or fifteen minutes later, I wheel her back again.
It’s not an ideal scenario. I worry that Clem will come looking for me, or that Luke or Anna will become agitated, or that Rosie could go into Anna’s room and find her missing. But it’s only a few minutes, I tell myself. And a few minutes can mean the difference between life and death.
The first few nights go smoothly, and during the daytime, Anna has seemed more cheerful. Luke has been more engaged, too. But each night I have to start from scratch, introducing myself to Anna, asking her if she’d like to see Luke.
“I wondered if you’d … like to see Luke,” I say when I arrive in her room tonight. “Luke is the young guy. Dark hair, brown eyes—”
“Cute?” she says.
I grin. “Very cute.”
I’ve come to enjoy the repetition of our nightly exchange. Night after night, Anna reacts to the same situation exactly the same way. There’s something wonderful about it. What else is wonderful is that she’s never resistant to visiting Luke. As soon as I mention him and give a few details, her whole demeanor lifts. How, I wonder, if she doesn’t remember him? With no logical explanation, I’m forced to conclude that some part of her remembers. The heart, perhaps.
My least favorite part is getting her to leave Luke’s room again.
“We’re busy,” Anna says one night, when I try to retrieve her. “Go away.”
“I need to take you back to your room, Anna. You can come back tomorrow.”
“No,” she says a little more aggressively. “You come back tomorrow!”
I feel desperately unprepared for this. On the heels of panic, I remember Rosie’s words. “We can make each moment frightening for her with the truth. Or we can lie to her and make each moment happy.”
“Don’t you want to get a good night’s rest before your trip?” I ask.
Anna looks at me. “My motorcycle trip?”
I nod. “You leave early tomorrow.”
Anna looks momentarily annoyed, then sighs. “She’s right,” she says to Luke. “I shouldn’t ride on just a few hours’ sleep. I guess I’ll see you when I get back.”
And she leaves with me.
The fourth time I go into Anna’s room, she’s agitated. The lighting in her room is low, and she keeps looking over her shoulder. I introduce myself as loudly as I can without waking the other residents, then stand in her line of sight. She ignores me, glancing over her shoulder again. It takes me a moment to realize it is her shadow she’s worried about.
“Don’t worry about her,” I say, jabbing my thumb at the shadow. “She’s not coming.”
Anna looks at me and sags, clearly relieved. “Phew,” she says.
Our visits become the highlight of my day. Perhaps it’s because of the quiet or because it’s just the two of us, but conversation is easy. Sometimes we chat for a while before I take her to Luke’s room. I tell her about Clem and about Richard. About what a terrible cleaner I am. Sometimes Anna just listens; sometimes she talks. Anna’s memory isn’t there, and some of her judgments are a little off … but more and more, I’m hit by a feeling that Anna and I are becoming friends.
The next night, when I go to Anna’s room, it’s as if she’s been waiting for me. She’s in her wheelchair by the door, looking expectant. “I’m ready,” she says before I say anything.
I approach slowly. There’s a clarity to her that I haven’t seen before. Rosie told me this could happen—that sometimes, for a short time, people come back. She never did tell me for how long.
I kneel in front of her. “Do you know where we’re going, Anna?”