was fast becoming a heartbreaking chore. She had to reread pages over and over to retain the continuity of the thesis or narrative, and if she put the book down for any length of time, she had to go back sometimes a full chapter to find the thread again. Plus, she felt anxious over deciding what to read. What if she didn’t have time to read everything she’d always wanted to? Prioritizing hurt, a reminder that the clock was ticking, that some things would be left undone.
She’d just begun reading King Lear. She so loved Shakespeare’s tragedies but had never read this one. Unfortunately, as was becoming routine, she found herself stuck after only a few minutes. She reread the previous page, tracing the imaginary line below the words with her index finger. She drank the entire glass of iced tea and watched the birds in the trees.
“There you are. What are you doing, aren’t we going for a run?” John asked.
“Oh, yes, good. This book is making me crazy.”
“Let’s go then.”
“Are you going to that conference today?”
“Monday.”
“What’s today?”
“Thursday.”
“Oh. And when does Lydia get here?”
“Sunday.”
“That’s before you leave?”
“Yes. Ali, I just told you all this. You should put it in your BlackBerry, I think it’d make you feel better.”
“Okay, sorry.”
“Ready?”
“Yes. Wait, let me pee before we go.”
“All right, I’ll be out by the garage.”
She placed her empty glass on the counter next to the sink and dropped the blanket and book on the slipcovered chair-and-a-half in the living room. She stood ready to move, but her legs needed further instruction. What did she come in here for? She retraced her steps—blanket and book, glass on counter, porch with John. He was leaving soon to attend the International Conference on Alzheimer’s Disease. Sunday maybe? She’d have to ask him to be sure. They were about to go for a run. It was a little cool out. She came in for a fleece! No, that wasn’t it. She was already wearing one. To hell with it.
Just as she reached the front door, an urgent pressure in her bladder announced itself, and she remembered that she really had to pee. She hastened back down the hall and opened the door to the bathroom. Only, to her utter disbelief, it wasn’t the bathroom. A broom, mop, bucket, vacuum cleaner, stool, toolbox, lightbulbs, flashlights, bleach. The utility closet.
She looked farther down the hall. The kitchen to the left, the living room to the right, and that was it. There was a half bath on this floor, wasn’t there? There had to be. It was right here. But it wasn’t. She hurried to the kitchen but found only one door, and it led to the back porch. She raced over to the living room, but of course, there wasn’t a bathroom off the living room. She rushed back to the hallway and held the doorknob.
“Please God, please God, please God.”
She swung the door open like an illusionist revealing her most mystifying trick, but the bathroom didn’t magically reappear.
How can I be lost in my own home?
She thought about bolting upstairs to the full bath, but she was strangely stuck and dumbfounded in the Twilight Zone–like, bathroomless dimension of the first floor. She was unable to hold it in any longer. She had an ethereal sense of observing herself, this poor, unfamiliar woman crying in the hallway. It didn’t sound like the somewhat guarded cry of an adult woman. It was the scared, defeated, and unrestrained crying of a small child.
Her tears weren’t all she wasn’t able to contain any longer. John burst through the front door just in time to witness the urine streaming down her right leg, soaking her sweatpants, sock, and sneaker.
“Don’t look at me!”
“Ali, don’t cry, it’s okay.”
“I don’t know where I am.”
“It’s okay, you’re right here.”
“I’m lost.”
“You’re not lost, Ali, you’re with me.”
He held her, and rocked her slightly side to side, soothing her as she’d seen him calm their children after innumerable physical injuries and social injustices.
“I couldn’t find the bathroom.”
“It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, it’s okay. Come on, let’s get you changed. The day’s already heating up, you need something lighter anyway.”
BEFORE JOHN LEFT FOR THE conference, he gave Lydia detailed instructions concerning Alice’s medications, her running routine, her cell phone, and the Safe Return program. He also gave her the neurologist’s phone number, just in case. When Alice replayed his little speech in her head, it sounded very much like the ones they had delivered to their teenage babysitters