blinks.
I step closer. “I found the guy I could spend forever with. I really have. I think Danny would be happy with my choice.”
She smiles, but it falters. “Good, good.”
That’s it. The moment, the microscopic moment of clarity, is gone. But I take it as a victory because at least she remembered even if only for a second. It’s all I can ask knowing her condition is progressing.
“I love you,” I tell her softly, backing up.
She tilts her head. “You’re a very sweet girl to say that to an old woman like me.” I manage to smile before saying goodbye, nodding at the nurse who’s watching us letting her know I’m heading out. When I pass Douglas in the hall heading to the front doors, she brushes my arm as I pass her and gives me a warm smile.
“She’ll be okay, Piper,” she calls after me lightly. And I know she will. I trust everybody that works here who’s encouraged me throughout every visit. They let me have a birthday party for Ainsley and helped me calm down Mable when she had an episode and forgot us.
The people who work here are strong. They have to be to witness what happens to the patients. I don’t envy them, but I do respect them and what they do for families like mine.
When I make it outside, I see Easton sitting in the driver’s seat and glancing up at me from the sketchpad resting on the steering wheel. He closes it and sets it aside when I climb in and buckle. “You could have come in, you know.”
He shakes his head, leaning forward to give me a quick peck on the lips. “Another time, Piper. You needed to talk to her alone.”
He’s right. Again.
“Did it go okay?”
“She remembered me for a second.”
“That’s good.”
I lean back in the seat and study his profile as he backs out of the parking space and pulls out of the lot. “Yeah. It is.”
He glances at me for a moment before focusing back on the road. “Want to grab something to eat before we pick up Ainsley? I think I saw a diner on the way here.”
“You like diners?”
He smirks at me. “I like food.”
“A diner sounds nice.” I look out the window for a second, watching some colorful houses pass us by. “What made you start baking? Did you always like doing it? You’re a good cook too. You must practice.”
One of his shoulders lifts. “I cooked a lot for myself growing up. Sometimes I’d cook for my foster siblings if I was in a house with them. I couldn’t just feed them Ramen all the time, so I picked up a thing or two and got better at it.”
“And the baking?” I pry.
He pulls into a diner just down the road from the nursing home. It’s a cute little establishment tucked back on its own. When I look at him, I see his cheeks stained pink. “I’d watch a lot of baking shows on TV. Liked what I saw and would mess around in the kitchen once I saved up and got my own place. I never wanted to do it when I lived in a home because a lot of times the foster parents didn’t like you using their stuff or making a mess. Like I said, I was pretty lucky with who I was placed with. Didn’t mean I wanted to test them.” He doesn’t give me a chance to answer before he unbuckles and tips his chin toward the diner. “Come on, we can talk more inside. I have a feeling you have more questions.”
I grin. “You’d be right.”
He chuckles and leads us in, his hand wrapped in mine as we’re told to find a seat wherever we want. East picks a table in the back corner, away from other people. We sit across from each other and thank the waitress that comes and gives us menus and asks for our drink orders.
When we’re alone, I ignore the laminated menu in front of me. “Foster care sounds like it taught you a lot. Cooking, baking. Did you draw too? You’ve mentioned having sketchbooks filled with drawings from over the years.”
He glances up from the menu. “Yeah. My foster dad got me a sketchbook when he saw me using scrap paper from old school notebooks. He wasn’t a bad guy. Maybe a little distant but left us alone for the most part.”
“How many homes were you in?”
The waitress comes back with our drinks,