The Christmas Clock and A Song For My Mother - Kat Martin Page 0,17

Dr. Davis got next?” she asked the young blond receptionist.

The girl looked down at the name written next to the one-thirty spot. “Mrs. Sparks.”

Just then, Syl heard the buzzer over the door as it opened and Doris Culver walked in, followed by Lottie Sparks. Syl took in the older woman's slightly stooped posture, the silver hair that was a bit less neatly combed. Each week, the woman looked a little paler, a little more fragile, her eyes a little more distant. There was no cure for Alzheimer's but there were some new drugs being tested that seemed to slow the process a bit. They were called acetylcholinesterase inhibitors. Dr. Davis was considering their use in Lottie Sparks's case but he wasn't sure how much good the drugs would actually do.

Lottie walked up to the desk. “Good morning...”—she read Syl's badge—“Sylvia.” Like many Alzheimer's patients, Lottie was becoming a master of hiding her memory problems. She would wait for clues, something that might help her remember, or simply leave out the mention of a name and keep the conversation friendly but impersonal.

Syl smiled a greeting at Doris, who stood a few feet away, then returned her attention to the patient. “It's nice to see you, Lottie. Dr. Davis is ready for you.” Both of you, Syl mentally corrected. The disease had progressed to the point where Lottie needed someone with her during the appointment. Doris had become that someone.

“If you'll both just follow me ...”

Lottie frowned, obviously confused.

“It's all right, dear,” Doris said gently. “You've got an appointment with Dr. Davis, remember?”

Lottie smiled and nodded. “Oh, that's right, Dr. Davis,” she said but Syl wasn't sure she actually recalled.

Lottie and Doris followed her down the hall into one of the examining rooms. Syl left them and a few minutes later, Dr. Davis joined them in the room.

It was a brief appointment, mostly just a physical checkup. The women reappeared not long after and made their way out of the office. Sylvia thought of Lottie's grandson and wondered how much longer Teddy would be able to stay in the house with her. She wondered if he might have some family somewhere who would volunteer to take care of him but from what Doris had said, she didn't think so.

She wondered if he would wind up in the foster care system and what would become of him once they took him away.

Joe watched young Teddy Sparks push the heavy broom across the floor of the repair shop waiting room. The kid was a damned hard worker. He never complained, never once shirked a job, no matter how dirty it was. Lately, Joe had started to bring him into the shop, let him watch while he changed a tire or replaced a battery, showed him how to use the grease gun which seemed to thrill him no end.

Everything in the shop seemed to interest Teddy. Either engines were in a guy's blood or they weren't and Joe was betting they were in Teddy's. No doubt the kid was already dreaming about the hot car he was going to buy when he was old enough to drive.

“I want a car like your Mustang, Joe,” Teddy said. “It's really great.”

Joe just laughed. He remembered working with his dad in the garage behind their house, remembered how just the smell of grease and rubber made him smile. His dad was dead now, a heart attack at the age of fifty. His mom lived in a condo in L.A., something he never would have imagined. But Joe liked small-town living, liked owning his own business, liked how good he was at fixing cars.

It was fun to share a little of his knowledge with Teddy, a boy who seemed to enjoy it as much as Joe did. Last week, Teddy had started third grade but Joe had offered to let him keep working a couple of hours after school.

The boy was here today, working hard as always, but Joe had noticed the slight frown tucked between his usually warm brown eyes. Joe walked over and caught the handle of the broom.

“Nice job. You're getting real good at this sweeping stuff.”

Teddy grinned. “Does that mean I can use the grease gun again?"

“I think maybe it can be arranged." Joe leaned the broom against the wall. “You look like you were thinking pretty hard on something. You want to tell me what it is?"

Teddy's smile slid away. “I was thinking about my gramma.”

“Yeah? What about her?”

“She keeps forgetting things. Last night,

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