“Say … it.”
I roll my eyes. “I promise. We’ll be together in the end. Batshit crazy. And together. I promise.”
I swim out of the memory, and when I do, the man—Luke—is still smiling. I remember, I want to tell him. But for how long? If the memory starts in clouds, it finishes off a precipice, gone into blackness. This is what terrifies me.
Suddenly, a woman appears in front of me, planting a colorful thing on my lap. She smells of cream and cake. “You dropped this,” she says.
I don’t think I know this woman, but she has kind eyes. She’s waiting for me to say something, but my mind is somewhere else. I need to tell someone something before the memory goes. Maybe this woman? Maybe she can help me keep my promise to Luke? But my thoughts come slowly, and before I can ask her, she is removing her hand from my lap.
I lunge forward and clasp on to it.
“Oh.” The woman pulls back, but I just hold her tighter. In a minute, the memory will be gone, and who knows when it will be back? It may never come back. “I didn’t mean to alarm you,” she says, “I … I just didn’t want you to lose your lovely scarf.”
“Please,” I say. “Help me.”
The woman’s eyes grow round. There’s something about her. Do I know this woman? Was she once my friend? She looks like a friend.
“What did you say? Anna?”
Anna. She knows my name. I must know her. She will help me. I know she will.
The woman is waiting for a reply, but suddenly, I don’t remember the question. It makes me feel nervous, and I look away from her, at the smiling man beside me. Immediately, I feel better.
The woman leaves, and I keep looking at the man. As long as I stick with him, I decide, things will be all right.
Acknowledgments
As always, thank you to my editor, Jennifer Enderlin, for knowing how to take my words and ideas and shape them into something resembling a book. Thank you also to the talented and hardworking team at St. Martin’s Press who, I suspect, love books even more than I do (and that is saying something). To my publishers around the world, particularly Haylee Nash and Alex Lloyd at Pan Macmillan Australia, thank you for all that you do. As an aspiring author I used to dream about having a team of people who believed in my book, and now it’s fair to say I have the “dream team.”
To my agent and friend Rob Weisbach, thank you for tirelessly advocating for me and, more important, for showing me where to spot celebrities in L.A. (Next time I’m not leaving until I meet Kevin Spacey.)
To those who helped with my research, especially Clare Dyer, for giving so generously of your time and resources—this book is so much richer for it. In particular, thank you for showing me the difference a good nurse can make, and how “stepping into their reality” can mean the difference between joy and terror for a person with dementia. You must have brought a lot of joy to patients and their families over your career.
To Belinda Nixon at Alzheimer’s Australia Vic, thank you for meeting with me on several occasions, and for reading this manuscript in its early form and providing feedback.
To the Hanrahan family, particularly Therese, for sharing your Alzheimer’s experiences and always answering my questions. The way you keep your grace and humor through the seemingly endless challenges of life is truly extraordinary. I suspect you get this from your mother.
To Rosie Brennan, for sharing the true story that would become the heart and soul of this book—the story of “Rodney” and “Betty,” the residents who held hands in the TV room of their nursing home every single day, not because they remembered to, but because they wanted to. Thank you also to Rosie for being my right (and left) hand when it comes to social media. If it weren’t for you I’d still think LOL stood for “Lots of Love.”
To my critique partners, Anna George and Meredith Jaeger, and my beta reader, Jacquelyn Sylvan—thank you for being the brilliant writers and astute readers that you are. Every piece of feedback is a gift, honestly. Also to my first readers, Geraldine Carrodus, Angela Langford, Dagmar Logan, Inna Spitskaia, and Jane Wharton, thank you for your insane positivity (something every insecure author needs).
To my friends Emily Makiv and Kena Roach, who proofread for me in exchange for an early look at my books—the job is yours for life, if you want it.
To my great aunty Gwen, who wanted a mention in one of my books. Here it is. Go tell your friends.
To Mum, for making me love words, and Dad, who always taught me to never let the truth get in the way of a good story.
To Oscar and Eloise—I adored creating the character of Clementine, but no one could be weirder or more wonderful than the two of you.
Finally, to Christian for being my fiercest champion, and for being man enough to admit that this book made him cry.