The Chance
Page 36
Author: Robyn Carr
“Laine,” her father said. “I need something to drink. Something like...I don’t know.”
“Orange juice,” she said. It wasn’t a question. She poured him a glass and took it to him.
He accepted the glass. “Why does he come around here all the time?” Senior asked.
“That’s Eric, Dad. You remember. He lives here.”
“Right,” he said. “Good to see you, Eric,” he said. He took a sip of orange juice and made a face. “This isn’t Coke!”
“It’s orange juice. Would you rather a Coke?”
“Yes,” he said, sliding the juice away.
She poured a Coke into a glass for him and took it to him, retrieving the orange juice.
“Yeah, I think maybe you should crush up one of those sedatives and put it in his soup....”
Laine just chuckled.
“You’re the one who’s taking this well,” he pointed out.
She leaned close to him, her voice soft. “Sometimes it makes me laugh, sometimes I just want to cry for him, and sometimes I just get the Coke. But I think the message is pretty clear—he needs me right now. He can no longer be on his own. I think he’s probably lucky he’s made it this long.”
“Laine! Get Eric something to drink. Eric, son, come here and keep me company. Tell me about that Packard you’re working on this week!”
“Punctuated by periods of acuity.”
Eric smiled and went to the table, sitting across from Senior. “Well, it’s not a Packard this week. We’ve got a mess of a ’67 Trans Am in the shop. Someone salvaged it—dynamite muscle car. I’d like to have it but it’s not for sale.”
“I remember that car,” Senior said. “Before Laine was even born. I was just married and had to have a sedate car, not some hot rod, but I did love that car. What color?”
“No color yet. It’s a rusted-out wreck—needs a total restoration.”
“Make the owner choose red. There’s no other color for that car!”
“I agree completely.”
It had only been four days since Senior landed on their doorstep but during that time Eric and Laine had done a record amount of talking. “You will be back, won’t you?” he’d asked quietly. She was leaving everything—all the furniture and her car—and had only packed two suitcases for herself. She wasn’t sure how long it would take to make sure Senior had a battery of tests, had an official diagnosis and a nursing service installed to care for him, but she intended to come back to Thunder Point. She hoped it was only two weeks.
“Of course I’m coming back here,” she had said. “How could I give you up?”
But Laine wasn’t the only one who had been reading about Alzheimer’s. Eric had studied it as well and one thing he learned—it was irreversible. From now on it would only get worse. Senior had valiantly held it back for years, even operating as recently as three months ago. How he had managed that when today he could barely remember where he was, it was a true mystery. But then he had left his patient.... It was pretty likely he had started the day on Friday and ended the day thinking it was Saturday morning.
Eric wondered if Laine, being away from him, away from this life they’d made together, would change her mind about Thunder Point. Almost daily Senior said to her, “Don’t leave me, Lainie! Don’t lock me up!” And she always said, “Of course not. Don’t be afraid. Everything’s all right.”
He should be encouraged that all the furnishings were left behind, but then she’d be staying at her father’s house, the family home as she called it. And her rent here was paid through December. Would she come back? Come back to pack? Ask him to pack her things and send them back to Boston? Send a moving company to the house to take everything?
After dinner, after a brief walk around the neighborhood to try to wear out Senior, Paxton was given a cup of hot milk. “Blasted nastiest thing I’ve ever had!” he grumbled. Laine supervised him getting to bed. Then she shared a glass of wine with Eric and they sat on one lounge on the deck even though she’d bought a second. He was behind her and she was sitting between his long legs, leaning against him, watching the sunset and then the stars.
“He asked me where we’re going to go tomorrow,” she said. “I reminded him we’re going home. Is it possible that the second it was out—that he’s been suffering from dementia—that his symptoms just got fifty times worse overnight? Because if he was this bad at the hospital or home, wouldn’t someone have noticed?”
“I don’t know,” Eric said honestly.
“I am coming back, Eric. I will. I just need a couple of weeks to settle things. Maybe three. But I’ll be back.”
“I know,” he lied. “Before you take on this adventure I want to be sure you know something. I’ve never felt this way before. No woman before you has meant this much to me. Not ever. I love you, Laine. No matter what you have to do, no matter how long it takes you, this won’t change. We’re not teenagers. We can get through this.”
“That’s what I’m counting on,” she said. “Because I love you, too.”
“Can we make love with the old man down the hall?” he asked.
She turned, looking over her shoulder at him, grinning. “It’s necessary. But you’ll have to try not to scream this time.” She grinned her teasing grin.
He tried his best not to let the slight feeling of panic show in his lips, hands, actions—he believed her, she wanted to come back to him. He made a slow study of her body, holding himself back until he’d done all her favorite things. She was the screamer, not him. But on this night she was quiet. When he’d exhausted her and finally let himself go inside her, she had tears along with her fulfillment. “I do love you so much.”
“I love you more,” he said.
In the morning Eric let Norm open the station so he could see off Laine and Paxton. He made sure they started off with a good breakfast that he cooked for them and then by 6:00 a.m. he had them in the car.
“Call me at layovers if you can. Call me when you get there for sure. Call me too much, okay?”
“You’ll hear from me so much you’ll get sick of me.”
He shook his head. “Can’t happen.”
“Keep track of local gossip,” she instructed. “Take notes if you have to. Check in with my girlfriends. Tell them to text me or call me. I want to know everything.”
“I’ll check in.”
“I’ll be back soon. Before you know it.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll keep the place tidy.”
“Oh, I know you will,” she said with a laugh.
“Laine!” Senior demanded. “Just where the hell are we going?”
She took a deep breath. “It’s going to be a very long day.”
“Sure you want to do this?” he asked.
“I’m sure I have to. I’ll call you tonight when it’s over.”
He stood in her driveway and watched them drive off in Paxton’s rental from the Portland airport. Then he went back inside and cleaned up the kitchen, put everything back in order and thought, This just isn’t a home without her here.
* * *
Senior asked Laine where they were going four thousand times as they were en route to Portland. The drive was so long—she wasn’t sure why he hadn’t chosen to fly into a closer airport, but then the whole trip was a mystery. Then the hustle and bustle of the airport riled him a little; he didn’t want to let go of his bag. She had to cajole him to give it up to be checked, but let him keep his briefcase and phone, which she had turned off. Then in security, he got a little combative and she had to rescue him. “Hey!” she said to the TSA agent. “Go easy there—he has Alzheimer’s!”
“I do not!” Senior yelled at her.
It was best to keep her arm threaded through his. She was fast catching on. Being tired, being in strange surroundings, enduring crowds of strangers—these things particularly escalated his confusion. Once they were on the plane, before takeoff, Laine texted Pax. I’ve only gotten as far as Portland and I’m wasted already. I’ll take a cab to the house but I need help tonight. Hire it if you have to, but I need some help!
Aside from the fact that she had to tell him to stay in his seat about once every fifteen minutes and through one terrifying trip to the bathroom, the plane was at least confining. Baggage claim was a little unsettling, as it was difficult to look for bags and keep an eye on Senior—if he got turned around, all his orientation was messed up and he was inclined to wander. When they finally got home it was obvious Pax was in the house because it was lit up. The driver put their bags by the door and Laine paid him. Pax opened the front door and Senior walked right inside. He looked around and said, “That’s better. I didn’t like that other place at all.”
“Hi, Dad,” Pax said.
“Hi, yourself. I need a drink.”
“Coffee?” Pax asked, then saw the shaking of Laine’s head. She didn’t want him caffeinated! “Juice?”
“You must be tired,” Laine said to her father. “It was a long day. Let’s get you some tea and get you settled in bed.”
“I’d rather have a bourbon. Neat. And stop treating me like an old man!”
“Christ,” she muttered. “It’s all right,” she said to Pax. “He hasn’t had alcohol since he came to Oregon and I took away his medication. I’d rather have his medication prescribed by a neurologist or geriatrician than an orthopedic surgeon. As long as he doesn’t get impaired.... I mean more impaired. Water it, will you.”
“And stop talking about me like I’m not in the room!”
“Sorry, Dad. But sometimes you aren’t in the room....”
They retired to the study, where Senior kept comfy chairs and a bar. Laine sank into a deep chair and sighed.
Three minutes later Senior said, “How much fucking water did you put in this?”
Laine, being exhausted, began to laugh until she thought she might pee her pants. For real. “Make me a tiny tini, will you, buddy?”
“Want me to bring your bags in first?” Pax asked.
“They can sit out there all night for all I care. Concentrate on the Grey Goose for now.”
They sipped their drinks in oddly companionable silence. Since they couldn’t talk about Senior like he wasn’t present, since there wasn’t much to say and Senior and Laine were both worn out, it was just the three of them. Quiet. When Senior had finished his drink, Pax got up. “I bet you’re ready to get to bed, Dad. I’m staying over tonight so let me get you up to your room.”
“Why?” Senior asked. “Is school out?”
Laine ignored her father; she was almost getting used to him being in other time zones. “You’re staying over?” Laine asked.
He nodded. “I can’t give you as much time as you need, but I’m staying over tonight. I have to leave for the hospital kind of early.”
“I understand,” she said. “Thanks.”
She watched as Senior headed for the stairs, Pax behind him. In this house he knew exactly where to go, what to do. She took out her phone. It was only six in Thunder Point—a busy time of day for Eric if he was still at the station. But he answered.
“Laine. How are you?”
“Well, now I know what it’s like to travel with triplets under the age of six months. It was quite an exciting trip. Although it was close, I wasn’t arrested for coming between Senior and a TSA agent.”
“God,” he said.
“We’re home now. Pax is here and is staying the night so I can close both ears and both eyes. I’m having a martini.”
“Laine,” her father said. “I need something to drink. Something like...I don’t know.”
“Orange juice,” she said. It wasn’t a question. She poured him a glass and took it to him.
He accepted the glass. “Why does he come around here all the time?” Senior asked.
“That’s Eric, Dad. You remember. He lives here.”
“Right,” he said. “Good to see you, Eric,” he said. He took a sip of orange juice and made a face. “This isn’t Coke!”
“It’s orange juice. Would you rather a Coke?”
“Yes,” he said, sliding the juice away.
She poured a Coke into a glass for him and took it to him, retrieving the orange juice.
“Yeah, I think maybe you should crush up one of those sedatives and put it in his soup....”
Laine just chuckled.
“You’re the one who’s taking this well,” he pointed out.
She leaned close to him, her voice soft. “Sometimes it makes me laugh, sometimes I just want to cry for him, and sometimes I just get the Coke. But I think the message is pretty clear—he needs me right now. He can no longer be on his own. I think he’s probably lucky he’s made it this long.”
“Laine! Get Eric something to drink. Eric, son, come here and keep me company. Tell me about that Packard you’re working on this week!”
“Punctuated by periods of acuity.”
Eric smiled and went to the table, sitting across from Senior. “Well, it’s not a Packard this week. We’ve got a mess of a ’67 Trans Am in the shop. Someone salvaged it—dynamite muscle car. I’d like to have it but it’s not for sale.”
“I remember that car,” Senior said. “Before Laine was even born. I was just married and had to have a sedate car, not some hot rod, but I did love that car. What color?”
“No color yet. It’s a rusted-out wreck—needs a total restoration.”
“Make the owner choose red. There’s no other color for that car!”
“I agree completely.”
It had only been four days since Senior landed on their doorstep but during that time Eric and Laine had done a record amount of talking. “You will be back, won’t you?” he’d asked quietly. She was leaving everything—all the furniture and her car—and had only packed two suitcases for herself. She wasn’t sure how long it would take to make sure Senior had a battery of tests, had an official diagnosis and a nursing service installed to care for him, but she intended to come back to Thunder Point. She hoped it was only two weeks.
“Of course I’m coming back here,” she had said. “How could I give you up?”
But Laine wasn’t the only one who had been reading about Alzheimer’s. Eric had studied it as well and one thing he learned—it was irreversible. From now on it would only get worse. Senior had valiantly held it back for years, even operating as recently as three months ago. How he had managed that when today he could barely remember where he was, it was a true mystery. But then he had left his patient.... It was pretty likely he had started the day on Friday and ended the day thinking it was Saturday morning.
Eric wondered if Laine, being away from him, away from this life they’d made together, would change her mind about Thunder Point. Almost daily Senior said to her, “Don’t leave me, Lainie! Don’t lock me up!” And she always said, “Of course not. Don’t be afraid. Everything’s all right.”
He should be encouraged that all the furnishings were left behind, but then she’d be staying at her father’s house, the family home as she called it. And her rent here was paid through December. Would she come back? Come back to pack? Ask him to pack her things and send them back to Boston? Send a moving company to the house to take everything?
After dinner, after a brief walk around the neighborhood to try to wear out Senior, Paxton was given a cup of hot milk. “Blasted nastiest thing I’ve ever had!” he grumbled. Laine supervised him getting to bed. Then she shared a glass of wine with Eric and they sat on one lounge on the deck even though she’d bought a second. He was behind her and she was sitting between his long legs, leaning against him, watching the sunset and then the stars.
“He asked me where we’re going to go tomorrow,” she said. “I reminded him we’re going home. Is it possible that the second it was out—that he’s been suffering from dementia—that his symptoms just got fifty times worse overnight? Because if he was this bad at the hospital or home, wouldn’t someone have noticed?”
“I don’t know,” Eric said honestly.
“I am coming back, Eric. I will. I just need a couple of weeks to settle things. Maybe three. But I’ll be back.”
“I know,” he lied. “Before you take on this adventure I want to be sure you know something. I’ve never felt this way before. No woman before you has meant this much to me. Not ever. I love you, Laine. No matter what you have to do, no matter how long it takes you, this won’t change. We’re not teenagers. We can get through this.”
“That’s what I’m counting on,” she said. “Because I love you, too.”
“Can we make love with the old man down the hall?” he asked.
She turned, looking over her shoulder at him, grinning. “It’s necessary. But you’ll have to try not to scream this time.” She grinned her teasing grin.
He tried his best not to let the slight feeling of panic show in his lips, hands, actions—he believed her, she wanted to come back to him. He made a slow study of her body, holding himself back until he’d done all her favorite things. She was the screamer, not him. But on this night she was quiet. When he’d exhausted her and finally let himself go inside her, she had tears along with her fulfillment. “I do love you so much.”
“I love you more,” he said.
In the morning Eric let Norm open the station so he could see off Laine and Paxton. He made sure they started off with a good breakfast that he cooked for them and then by 6:00 a.m. he had them in the car.
“Call me at layovers if you can. Call me when you get there for sure. Call me too much, okay?”
“You’ll hear from me so much you’ll get sick of me.”
He shook his head. “Can’t happen.”
“Keep track of local gossip,” she instructed. “Take notes if you have to. Check in with my girlfriends. Tell them to text me or call me. I want to know everything.”
“I’ll check in.”
“I’ll be back soon. Before you know it.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll keep the place tidy.”
“Oh, I know you will,” she said with a laugh.
“Laine!” Senior demanded. “Just where the hell are we going?”
She took a deep breath. “It’s going to be a very long day.”
“Sure you want to do this?” he asked.
“I’m sure I have to. I’ll call you tonight when it’s over.”
He stood in her driveway and watched them drive off in Paxton’s rental from the Portland airport. Then he went back inside and cleaned up the kitchen, put everything back in order and thought, This just isn’t a home without her here.
* * *
Senior asked Laine where they were going four thousand times as they were en route to Portland. The drive was so long—she wasn’t sure why he hadn’t chosen to fly into a closer airport, but then the whole trip was a mystery. Then the hustle and bustle of the airport riled him a little; he didn’t want to let go of his bag. She had to cajole him to give it up to be checked, but let him keep his briefcase and phone, which she had turned off. Then in security, he got a little combative and she had to rescue him. “Hey!” she said to the TSA agent. “Go easy there—he has Alzheimer’s!”
“I do not!” Senior yelled at her.
It was best to keep her arm threaded through his. She was fast catching on. Being tired, being in strange surroundings, enduring crowds of strangers—these things particularly escalated his confusion. Once they were on the plane, before takeoff, Laine texted Pax. I’ve only gotten as far as Portland and I’m wasted already. I’ll take a cab to the house but I need help tonight. Hire it if you have to, but I need some help!
Aside from the fact that she had to tell him to stay in his seat about once every fifteen minutes and through one terrifying trip to the bathroom, the plane was at least confining. Baggage claim was a little unsettling, as it was difficult to look for bags and keep an eye on Senior—if he got turned around, all his orientation was messed up and he was inclined to wander. When they finally got home it was obvious Pax was in the house because it was lit up. The driver put their bags by the door and Laine paid him. Pax opened the front door and Senior walked right inside. He looked around and said, “That’s better. I didn’t like that other place at all.”
“Hi, Dad,” Pax said.
“Hi, yourself. I need a drink.”
“Coffee?” Pax asked, then saw the shaking of Laine’s head. She didn’t want him caffeinated! “Juice?”
“You must be tired,” Laine said to her father. “It was a long day. Let’s get you some tea and get you settled in bed.”
“I’d rather have a bourbon. Neat. And stop treating me like an old man!”
“Christ,” she muttered. “It’s all right,” she said to Pax. “He hasn’t had alcohol since he came to Oregon and I took away his medication. I’d rather have his medication prescribed by a neurologist or geriatrician than an orthopedic surgeon. As long as he doesn’t get impaired.... I mean more impaired. Water it, will you.”
“And stop talking about me like I’m not in the room!”
“Sorry, Dad. But sometimes you aren’t in the room....”
They retired to the study, where Senior kept comfy chairs and a bar. Laine sank into a deep chair and sighed.
Three minutes later Senior said, “How much fucking water did you put in this?”
Laine, being exhausted, began to laugh until she thought she might pee her pants. For real. “Make me a tiny tini, will you, buddy?”
“Want me to bring your bags in first?” Pax asked.
“They can sit out there all night for all I care. Concentrate on the Grey Goose for now.”
They sipped their drinks in oddly companionable silence. Since they couldn’t talk about Senior like he wasn’t present, since there wasn’t much to say and Senior and Laine were both worn out, it was just the three of them. Quiet. When Senior had finished his drink, Pax got up. “I bet you’re ready to get to bed, Dad. I’m staying over tonight so let me get you up to your room.”
“Why?” Senior asked. “Is school out?”
Laine ignored her father; she was almost getting used to him being in other time zones. “You’re staying over?” Laine asked.
He nodded. “I can’t give you as much time as you need, but I’m staying over tonight. I have to leave for the hospital kind of early.”
“I understand,” she said. “Thanks.”
She watched as Senior headed for the stairs, Pax behind him. In this house he knew exactly where to go, what to do. She took out her phone. It was only six in Thunder Point—a busy time of day for Eric if he was still at the station. But he answered.
“Laine. How are you?”
“Well, now I know what it’s like to travel with triplets under the age of six months. It was quite an exciting trip. Although it was close, I wasn’t arrested for coming between Senior and a TSA agent.”
“God,” he said.
“We’re home now. Pax is here and is staying the night so I can close both ears and both eyes. I’m having a martini.”
