“I hope he hasn’t been too hard on you.”
Her lips went thin. “Have you been around an Alzheimer’s patient before?”
“I visited here last summer, but he was only forgetful then.”
“Sometimes they go downhill fast, and it’s a real shame to see. You’d best be prepared for him being a lot more than forgetful.”
Margie had only been with his dad for a few days. The General had been so alternately belligerent and obscene with every caregiver that none would stick around for longer than a few weeks.
“What kind of trouble have you had with him?”
“You just witnessed the incident with that poor cat. He’s been insisting all day that the animal doesn’t live here.”
“So that’s how he is all the time?”
“Not all the time. The thing with Alzheimer’s is, it comes in waves. For a while he’ll be living in the past, convinced it’s 1963 or he’s in the middle of the war or his wife’s been gone to the grocery store too long. Then he’ll take a nap and wake up normal.”
“What should I do when he’s confused and agitated?”
“Sometimes it’s best to play along and save yourself the battle. Other times, like if he might do something to hurt himself or someone else, you’re going to have to let him know he’s confused, and that’s where the battle begins.”
“Is there any chance I can convince you to stick around at least for another week or so? It’ll be an easier job when I’m around to act as a buffer.”
“I don’t think-”
“I’ll make sure there’s a nice holiday bonus for you.”
Anything to keep him from having to be here alone all the time with his dad. He wasn’t sure how he’d manage as it was.
Margie sighed. “I’ve got to go to a dental appointment this afternoon, but I suppose I can stick around here for another week or two if Mr. Morgan behaves himself.”
“Thank you so much.”
Whew. That bought him some time, at least.
She picked up her purse from the table, accepted the tip from West and headed for the door.
She paused in the door of the study. “Goodbye, Mr. Morgan. I’ll be going now that your son is here to look out for you this afternoon.”
“I already told you to go. Now get out of-”
“Dad!”
Margie gave West a significant look, then walked out the front door, the determined set of her shoulders speaking volumes as she let the screen door slam behind her.
West turned to his dad. “You can’t chase away every caregiver I hire, Dad.”
“I don’t need any caregiver. I’m a grown man, not a drooling baby in diapers.” He banged his cane on the floor to emphasize the point, then walked over to his desk chair and took a seat.
“Did you hit your cat with the cane?”
“That cat? I’ve never seen it before, and it sure as hell doesn’t belong in this house. Your mother’s allergic, you know.”
“But-” West was about to say that his mother didn’t live here anymore, except he wasn’t sure it would do any good to point it out right now.
Hadn’t Margie said he should choose his battles? So long as the cat was outside, they had time to see if his father would return to the present day and remember that his beloved pet for the past decade actually did belong there.
His father turned on the radio next to his desk and adjusted the volume on a talk show, then settled back in his chair to listen.
Some welcome home.
“Hey, Dad, I’m going to make a few phone calls, then maybe we can have a cup of coffee and catch up.”
“Eh? Can you be quiet? I’m listening to my show right now.”
Right.
West closed the front door and locked it, then went into the kitchen again. He put a pot of coffee on, noticing at every turn signs of decay. The house was no longer the pristine home his mother once kept, but that was nothing new.
The divorce long past, his father, in spite of his talk of high standards, had been letting things slide in his bachelor years. Two more wives had come and gone, each less patient and less forgiving than Julia Morgan had been, and with the crumbling of each marriage, the General had seemed a little less like his former stickler self.
It was as if he didn’t have the energy to be the man in command of every detail anymore, as evidenced by cobwebs in the corners and a thin coating of grime on the stove top.
“Women’s work,” his father had always said of housekeeping-far out of his element in a postfeminist world.
West, on the other hand, considered keeping a home in good order a fact of life. It was simply part of being an adult. So he grabbed the duster from the cleaning caddy that had always been stored under the sink and got rid of the cobwebs, then gave the stove top a good scrubbing. Once he’d completed those tasks, he felt a little more at ease in the room and sat at the table to call his mother.
He wanted to hear a normal voice right now, one that didn’t have any bad news to bear. Because as soon as he stopped thinking about his father, thoughts of Soleil being pregnant took over.
He was going to be a father, for better or worse. He was going to be responsible for a child in less than four months. And here was his own father, turning into a two-hundred-pound belligerent child.
Would West be able to cope? Would he be a better father than his own dad had been?
Somehow, he would have to be.
JULIA DIDN’T LIKE the look on her middle son’s face. Something was definitely wrong, to have him looking so troubled and showing up at such an odd time of year, too. Normally West arrived in town like clockwork for the holidays, the weekend before Christmas-not weeks ahead of time.
“Can I get you a glass of cabernet?” she asked as he sat at the breakfast bar across from her.
She had her hands immersed in a tossed salad, trying to coax the grape tomatoes back to the top of the pile of vegetables.
“Why don’t I get it? You’ll have one, too?” he said, standing and heading for the wine rack before she could stop him.
“Sure. There’s already a bottle breathing over by the fridge.”
Having one of her children here in her post-divorce condo always felt a little odd to her, even after all these years. Some silly part of her thought they were only supposed to be together as a family at the house she and John had bought after he’d retired from the military. They’d lived in the house as a family for maybe the last five or six years of the marriage, but in her head, she’d imagined all their family get-togethers from then on out happening at that grand old Craftsman. That was before she’d accepted that the marriage was over and somehow she couldn’t shake the image.
Here in her little condo, which had become her refuge from the ugliness of her marriage, her children felt like reminders of the ways in which she’d failed. And that was a notion she’d never, ever speak out loud.
“So what’s new with you?” he asked as he prepared the drinks.
Oh, the usual. Online dating, meeting up with strange men, et cetera.
She bit her lip to keep from grinning. Sometimes she could hardly believe her own nerve. Would she dare tell West what she’d done?
Not right now.
“I’ve been volunteering for the literacy program at the library, doing some knitting, yoga, hiking…Oh, and I’ll have to introduce you to the new rabbits I’m fostering. They’re confined to the garage until they learn better potty manners.”
West set her glass of wine beside her, and she realized she was rambling. Possibly sounding guilty.
“Keeping busy as always,” he said, lifting his glass.
She took hers and toasted. “To surprise visits from my children.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t give you more notice. This was kind of a last-minute thing.”