The Dream - Whitney Dineen Page 0,15
that’s not great, although it’s not uncommon either. On the upside, she’s talking and smiling, which she’s doing less often these days, so that’s an encouraging sign that this outing might go well.
“I’m Ashley Monroe and I’m going to take you home to spend the day with your family. How does that sound?”
“My family? You mean John, Caroline, and John-John? I haven’t seen them in ages.” Her eyes glow with unrestrained excitement.
Mrs. Frothingham’s dementia often has her believing she’s grand people from history. She’s been Josephine Bonaparte, Nefertiti, the first Queen Elizabeth, and the Czar of Russia’s daughter, the Grand Duchess Anastasia. It seems today she’s Jackie Kennedy.
“Well, they’re super excited to see you,” I tell her without confirming or denying her identity. “How about if I help you put your lipstick on.”
She nods her head while saying, “Lovely. But I’ll need my hat, as well.”
“Which one would you like?” I ask knowing full well that the only one she has here is a teal wool stocking cap she knit for herself in her early days at the Millersville Meadow, but I want to appear accommodating.
“I’ll take the navy pill-box with the short veil,” she informs me.
I make a show of going to her closet to search for it. After several moments, I announce, “That one must be out for cleaning.” Then I pick up her teal stocking cap and ask, “How about this?”
“Perfect!” She claps her hands together. “It’s one of my favorites because it goes with everything.” In truth, the hat would look out of place on anyone but one of Santa’s elves. Yet, she’s so clearly delighted by it that I can’t help the smile that overtakes my face.
Once she’s fully accessorized, I lead her out to the hallway. Davis’s grandmother moves with remarkable agility given her age. With one hand on my arm and the other carrying her purse, she keeps a steady pace. “Which car are we taking?” she wants to know.
“The German sedan,” I tell her.
She nods once. “I’ve always liked that one.”
I wave to Davis as we pass the family lounge and he hurries to join us. “Gran,” he declares before giving her a kiss on both cheeks.
“John-John, look at you!” She stops and drinks him in as a gleam of pure love radiates from her eyes. “How’s law school been treating you?”
Davis plays along. “Great. You know how passionate I am about the law.”
“I’m so glad you’ve finally settled down and gotten married. Your daddy and I despaired that you’d ever stop gallivanting around with all those girls.” She grabs my hand and puts it into Davis’s before moving to his other side and taking his arm.
Holy heck, my palm starts to sweat on contact. She thinks Davis and I are married. I start to pull away, but he leans in and whispers, “Would you mind if we played along? It’s making her happy.”
It’s making me pretty darn happy too, but I don’t say that. Instead, I inhale deeply to slow my rapidly beating heart. “That would be fine.”
“How’s your sister?” Davis’s grandmother asks him.
“You know Caroline. She’s working hard on every charity that crosses her path.” Then he winks at me.
“If you and your lovely wife here would just have a baby, I could die a happy woman.” Her unexpected comment causes my insides to perform a spastic leap. Not that I’m hoping to have a baby any time soon, but the reality of what one must do to make a baby, with Davis Frothingham nonetheless … well, that’s a pretty appealing thought.
Davis pulls me closer to his side and kisses me on the temple before answering, “It’s not for lack of trying, Gran.”
Mrs. Frothingham lets out a bawdy laugh and smacks his arm playfully. “That’s my boy. You know what I always say, don’t you?”
“Babies don’t make themselves?” he guesses.
“Two people in love owe it to the world to have as many babies as they can,” she corrects.
“Why’s that, Gran?”
“Because a person that’s created in love will bring love to everything they do. We need more people like that on this planet of ours.”
What a beautiful thought. My eyes start to water as I recall that my mom wasn’t conceived out of any deep and abiding devotion. Her parents divorced before my grandmother even knew she was pregnant. And mom’s high school boyfriend certainly didn’t love her. He ran off and never even tried to meet me.
The only way I can imagine bringing a child into this world is to