hop across the parking lot as best I can. Big fat drops bounce up from the ground as I pick up the pace. I’m close enough to the sidewalk that I make a daring leap at the curb. My leap is more rabbit hop than graceful gazelle, and I land in a deep puddle. Cold water fills my leather pumps, and I suck in a breath. If I were a swearing kind of girl, I’d let loose with some f-bombs right about now, but my mother raised me to be a “lady.” Instead, I say, “Crap,” which is hardly better by Mother’s standards.
I hurry up the sidewalk and pass a golden fountain shooting a ridiculous amount of water into the pouring rain. The automatic front doors open and my shoes are squishy as I approach the front desk.
“I’m Lou Ann Hunter and—”
“Over there,” the receptionist interrupts as she points to the offices down one hall. “Third door.”
Yeah, I know the drill. I pass two couples sitting in the hall; they eye me like they’re not really happy to be here either. Like parents being called to the principal’s office.
I knock twice and open the door. My gaze instantly lands on the troublemaker, swallowed up in a puffy leather La-Z-Boy. Her long dark hair is loose and pulled to one side, and the Louis Vuitton Bumbag I got her for Christmas is belted around the waist of her velour tracksuit. Mother has always been particular about her appearance, and even with stage four Alzheimer’s, she still manages to draw a perfect red lip. “Hello, Mom.” She glances at me before returning her attention to a wall clock. Mother can read the numbers but has no real concept of time. Just like she can pick out words and read short sentences, but her comprehension of what she’s read is dicey. When it comes to context and retention, she usually craps out.
“Why are you here?” she asks. No friendly hello or motherly “It’s good to see you, Lou.”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure about to find out.”
Douglas, the administrator, doesn’t offer a much friendlier greeting. “Ms. Hunter.”
I know this drill, too. I smile and dig down deep and channel my inner Patricia Lynn Jackson-Garvin-Hunter-Russo-Thompson-Doyle. Mom’s been married five times and deals in charm like Vegas deals in cards. She discards just as easily, too. “Douglas.” I step forward and shake his hand. “I’m sorry my hands are a little cold. The weather is horrible.”
He doesn’t smile, and I get a little worried.
Mother hasn’t looked at me again, making me wonder if they have drugged her up.
Douglas gestures to the chair across from his desk and says, “Please take a seat.”
“Of course.” I place my purse on the floor and slide my feet out of my shoes, kicking them upside down so the water will drain out. “So, has Mom been wandering at night again?” I glance at her, and she cuts me a look before returning her attention to the clock. She doesn’t appear to be drugged, and I can’t tell which version of her is with us today. “How’d she get out of her room this time?” Mom has what is called a passive infrared sensor, or PIR, alarm that signals the nursing station when the stream is broken. She’s had different alarm systems in the past, but she’s like Houdini and finds a way out. This one has worked the best—until now.
“The PIR alarms are only set when the resident is in his or her room for the night. During the day, we encourage socializing as a way to combat insolating and depression.”
“So, Mom was ‘socializing’ during the day?” If I’m here, it means she wasn’t chatting or playing board games.
“Yes.” He glances at the paperwork on his desk. “Patricia was discovered in the Complete Care unit at two thirty in the afternoon.”
Complete Care is in a different hub. At some point, Mother will be moved to that unit. My stomach drops. I don’t like to think about it. “Today?”
“On the tenth.”
That was three days ago.
“She was discovered in the bed of resident Walter Shone.”
This is not a surprise to me. “Yes. Mother is affectionate.”
“Walter Shone is eighty-one and suffers from end-stage dementia. He’d been comatose for several weeks.”
So if he didn’t know anything happened, what’s the big deal?
“Imagine his wife’s surprise when she discovered Patricia wrapped around her husband like an octopus.”
Again, not a surprise. Mom has always been a notorious man stealer. “I imagine that was quite shocking.” I