Every time the song came to an end, we’d pause, holding our breath, and every time her little eyelids fluttered, we broke back into song. In the end, I took off my pajamas and got into the bath, too. After about an hour of it, Clem fell asleep.
Another memory comes at me after this one. Then another. The way Richard used to bring home recipe books when I was ill. The time we were on holiday in Vietnam and he tried to get me tampons from three different pharmacies that didn’t understand a word he was saying. The night he waited up to show me the lipstick that Clem had put on him—because he’d promised her he would.
After all was said and done with Richard, I couldn’t regret my life with him. There were moments of joy. There was Clem.
I finish arranging the pillows on Bert’s bed and then fall into the armchair by Bert’s window. And for the first time since Richard died, I cry for him.
41
Anna
Eight months ago …
One day Jack arrives to take me somewhere. I don’t care to venture what day it is, since even if I did have the capacity to figure it out, who really cared? We go to a room with chairs around the edges, and I pick up one of the thin books to avoid speaking to Jack. I don’t like talking to Jack. I’d never tell him that, because I know he’s trying. He keeps the conversations simple and slow, the topics basic. But it’s impossible not to feel his scrutinizing, like I’m taking an exam. I concentrate so hard on not saying something stupid that I become stuck in my head and completely forget what he asked in the first place. And I fail.
With the thin book in my lap, my first thought is … all the writing. Even on the cover, bright pink and orange headlines slash the page. There are several pictures, too, of famous people I don’t recognize. How do people make sense of this? Did I used to read these? I put it back on the glass tabletop and instead stare at the television, muted, in the corner. That’s when I feel a kick in my belly. Latina Cook-Lady must have served one of her spicy dishes today, judging by the way my belly is moving.
“Anna Forster.” A woman stands in the doorway, her thick black hair streaming over one shoulder. I recognize her. It’s my family doctor—Dr. Li.
I feel a genuine smile as I stand. I am going to greet this doctor by name. A small, verging-on-pathetic win, but a win for a person with Alzheimer’s. A win for me.
“Yes,” Jack says, standing also. “Nice to see you, Dr. Li.”
It really, really pisses me off that he beats me to it. I punch Jack hard, in the shoulder. I feel his head swing toward me, slack-jawed, but I don’t even look. I just walk past him and Dr. Li and into the exam room.
“So, Anna…” Inside the other room, Dr. Li, at least, addresses me. “How have things been?”
I stare at her for a long time. The last thing I want is for Jack to answer for me, but I can’t for the life of me figure out how to answer her question. How have things been?
“She does better with more specific questions,” Jack says finally. “Yes or no. One-or two-word responses.”
This is true insofar as Jack is concerned. Jack never gives me a chance to say anything more than two words. But with Young Guy, I say a lot—at least, I did. Perhaps Jack is right? Perhaps I am a little out of practice? Either way, I can’t be bothered explaining. Instead I scowl at Jack and he winces, preparing to receive a punch. I laugh out loud, which probably makes me look a bit crazy.
“I see,” Dr. Li says, and scribbles something on a white square. Then she looks back at me. “Are you feeling well today, Anna?”
“I’m very well.” I raise my eyebrows at Jack. That was definitely more than two words.
“Have you been taking all your medication?”
“Yes.”
“There’s a nurse at her facility that administers her medication,” Jack says, “so she’s definitely taking it.”
Dr. Li looks at the white square. “So … Aricept, vitamin E?”
I nod. If that’s what’s written on her square, that’s probably right.
“And Celexa,” Jack adds. “I think that’s it.”
“Any side effects? Dizziness, headache, agitation, sleeplessness?”
“Normal night-restlessness,” Jack jumps in. “Sleeps during the day, awake a lot at night.”
“Is that right, Anna?”
Dr. Li looks at me expectantly, so I nod. She consults the white square again.
“Aricept can cause sleep difficulties in some people,” she says. “I can add a sleeping tablet to your medication to help with that. Would you like that, Anna?”
“Sure.”
“Good,” she says, scribbling on a different square. Then she lifts her head. “So, how’s your mood?”
“It’s been better.”
“Any depression, anxiety, feelings of helplessness?”
“She does seem to be down lately,” Jack says. “Especially compared to a few months ago. To be honest, I’m concerned about the speed of her decline. Do you mind if I speak here, Anna? I want to make sure the doctor understands what is going on.”
I don’t know why he’s asking now since he’s done all the speaking since we arrived. But I nod.
“Anna’s made a … friend in there,” he says to Dr. Li. “A guy, also with dementia. And it turns out they’ve been sexually involved.”