Ariana drew an uneven breath. "I can still remember how a chill of dread touched me, even as I reassured Natalie that this had happened because she was overworked and tired. Suddenly, little incidents over the past year I'd not remarked upon-things Natalie had forgotten to do, the times she mixed up people's names, the faint puzzled expression she sometimes wore-became terribly significant."
Ariana's expression was achingly sad. "A few days later I found Natalie crying brokenheartedly. She said that something was terribly wrong, that more and more a gray heaviness was clouding her mind." Ariana's eyes filled with tears. "Her fine, elegant mind."
I wanted to go over to her, to comfort her, but knew I couldn't. Instead, I said, "Alzheimer's disease?"
She nodded slowly. "The diagnosis was early-onset Alzheimer's. We told each other it'd be OK, but both of us knew we were lying. Natalie and I did the round of specialists. We tried every treatment they suggested, but it was clear the disease was inexorably advancing. Natalie was distraught when she realized what lay ahead for both of us. I remember her saying that she felt she was slowly dissolving, becoming less of herself every day."
I said nothing. What could I say? I tried to visualize what it must have been like for Ariana-for both of them-but I knew the reality had to be much worse than I could imagine.
Ariana got up and moved restlessly about the room. "Natalie couldn't bear for anyone to know what was happening to her. I promised her I'd keep it secret from everyone but a few close friends. She took early retirement and dropped out of academic circles altogether. I tried to arrange my workload to spend every possible moment with her. Soon it became obvious that being a cop and looking after Natalie were not compatible. I had irregular hours, was expected to be available on short notice, often at night. Natalie was becoming more dependent and needed a structured, fixed routine to help her cope."
"That's where my dad comes in?"
Ariana sat down opposite me again. "Your dad was wonderful. Colin and Ken, his partner, had often made up a foursome with Natalie and me. When she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, they were both so supportive. A few years earlier, your father had left the LAPD and started Kendall Investigative Services. He offered me a partnership, pointing out that I could schedule my time so Natalie would have that necessary routine in her life. It was a wrench to leave the force, but I'd do anything for her, and for a long time it worked out well. I employed a retired nurse to be her companion during the day, and I was there for Natalie every night."
Ariana fixed me with her blue, intense gaze. "I promised her I would always love her, always be there for her-would never leave her." She looked down at her hands. "I underestimated Alzheimer's and overestimated myself."
Where was Natalie now? Was she in some care facility? Or had she died? If it were me, I thought I'd rather cease to exist man face such inescapable deterioration of my mind, and eventually, my body.
"I kept her at home with me as long as I could. But it became impossible. It was obvious Natalie needed twenty-four hour professional care. It was the hardest thing I ever did, to put her away in an intensive-care home."
Her lips trembled. I wished with all my heart I could simply take her in my arms and say everything will be all right. But of course, it wouldn't.
After a moment Ariana continued, "She went without fuss or tears-I was the one who wept. I go to see her at least once every week. Outwardly she's the woman I've loved for so many years, but inwardly there are only flickers of her true self. She only sometimes recognizes me. Often I can see she's puzzled but polite to this stranger who seems to know her so well."
She gave me her direct, cool look. "Now you know."
"Now I know."
"And you see why it's impossible for us-you and me."
A wave of protest rose in my throat. "I don't see why it's impossible at all."
Ariana's face hardened. "I made Natalie two promises: to always love her, and to never leave her. I broke the second promise. The first I'll never break."
TWENTY
Tuesday morning I felt groggy from lack of sleep. Horribly aware that I'd been venturing into an emotional minefield, I'd left Ariana shortly after she had responded so negatively to my protest that a relationship between us was not, as she claimed, impossible. When I'd finally forced myself to go to bed, the whole scene kept replaying over and over in my head. And when I dozed, I dreamed disjointed, disturbing dreams, full of loss and grief.
To finish off a perfect evening, Mum had called me just before I turned out the light.
"Am I disturbing something, darling?"
"No, Mum, of course not."
"Are you sure?"
Sorry for myself, I wanted to snap, Yes, Mum, you're disturbing something-the day I found out I'm doomed to pine forever for a woman I adore so much it hurts. I said, "I'm sure."
"I got your letter today." Her tone was gloomy. "Your handwriting indicates you're not being entirely honest with me, Kylie."
I was short with her. "I don't see how it can, since I was."
"You may not realize you're not telling the whole truth," my mum conceded, "but handwriting never lies."
I didn't say anything but silently cursed the day my mother had decided to do that handwriting analysis course at Wollegudgerie High.
Mum cleared her throat, which usually signaled she was about to embark on a new subject. "I don't know if you realize how very disturbing it is for a mother to have her only child living in a dangerous place like Los Angeles."
Oh, groan!
To counterattack, I said, "Why didn't you tell me I was on an Australian TV show? I had to hear about it from someone else."
"Who?" Mum was obviously playing for time.
"Just someone," I said vaguely. I didn't want to mention Oscar's name, because if I did, I'd be duty bound to tell my mum that he was dead, and worse still, that he'd died violently.
"Frankly, Kylie," said Mum in a confidential tone, "the program was rather an embarrassment, so I didn't mention it."
I recalled that Oscar had thought it was called "Aussie Chicks Make Good." I asked Mum if that was the tide.
"Something along those lines," she said." 'Aussies O.S. Make Good,' I think it was, but it was a trashy show, not worthy of you, darl."
"How did they know about me in the first place?"
"Nephew Brucie," said Mum, obviously disgusted. "He took it upon himself to call the network when they ran an ad asking for stories of ordinary Aussies being successful overseas. And he supplied photos of you too. If I'd have known, I would've stopped him quick smart, but needless to say, Brucie wouldn't dream of checking with me."
Depressed though I was, a spark of interest made me ask, "Did you j record the show?"
Silence. Then, "I might have."
"Will you send it to me, please?"
My mother reluctantly agreed. Now I was definitely interested in what the program contained. "What did it say about me, Mum?"
"Oh, I don't know…something about you going to L.A. to run a private investigation company" she said vaguely.
"Was it complimentary?"
She dodged that question by saying, "It wasn't accurate. For one thing, it said you were taking steps to become a private eye yourself." lam.
Silence. If it was something Mum really didn't want to hear, she ignored it. At last she said, "I have to admit the item about you was very short, like all the others, but it was rather flattering. You know how those TV types like to put a gloss on things."
Now I had an inkling of the devious motive that had kept my mum quiet about the program. "You didn't mention me being on TV because you thought it might influence me to stay in America. Is that right?"
"It may have crossed my mind."
"Crikey, Mum, you must think I'm shallow."
"Not shallow, Kylie darling, but anyone's head can be turned."
Any other time I would have had a bit of a barney with her over this, but last night I'd felt too down in the dumps to bother. We'd chatted for a few minutes longer about what was going on at the pub, then I'd made the excuse I was tired, and we'd rung off.