I pictured Nancy as she was a week ago wearing a classic, bright yellow shirtwaist dress, tripping the light fantastic with Jerry, who looked pretty spiffy himself in an oxford shirt and jaunty bow tie. ‘Oh, stop!’ I said, flapping a hand in front of my face. ‘You’re going to make me cry again. It’s a goddam tragedy. Romeo and Juliet. Abelard and Heloise. Star-crossed lovers thwarted at every turn by well-meaning but callous…’ I paused. ‘Not sure I want to call them “grownups.”’
‘Well, if it were my mom or dad I’d be grateful they found somebody to spend the rest of their lives with.’
‘Sometimes grieving spouses do make poor decisions,’ I said, thinking of the horrible woman my father had taken up with not too many months after my mother died. But someone had hated Darlene enough to take her out of this world before Daddy could make an even bigger mistake by marrying her. ‘But in this case,’ I continued, ‘I can’t think of two people more perfectly matched.’
A uniformed staffer pushed through the double doors butt first, dragging a vacuum cleaner. Elaine asked the woman to start work at the other end of the hallway, then said, ‘Once Tina gets going we won’t be able to hear ourselves think. Do you have to be anywhere?’ When I shook my head, she said, ‘Come with me.’
A few minutes later I was seated across from Elaine at a small, round table in the corner of her office, and she’d called out for tea. Sun poured through a picture window that looked out over a small, staff-only parking lot constructed of porous pavers through which grass was already beginning to grow. ‘Why exactly did Jerry’s son take him away?’ I asked.
‘You’ll hear it from some of the other residents anyway so I guess it’s OK to tell you. Jerry actually proposed to Nancy and when his son found out about it, well, all hell broke loose. He called Nancy a golddigger. Ridiculous.’
‘Hasn’t he heard about pre-nups?’ I asked.
‘Well, exactly. And since Nancy’s still married to the real Frank, even though she doesn’t remember him, it’s kind of a moot point.’
‘More to the point, how does Frank feel about the relationship?’ I asked.
‘Exactly. Have you met our director, Tyson Bennett?’
I nodded. She hadn’t answered my question, so I wondered where she was going. ‘We spoke. Briefly. He was making the rounds in the dining room last time I ate there.’
She smiled. ‘That’s Tyson. Very hands-on. Progressive. When it was clear that a relationship was blossoming between Nancy and Jerry, Tyson called a staff meeting. He believed that Nancy and Jerry’s relationship was beneficial to their well-being and so did our resident psychologist. I agreed, certainly, and thought we should support it. The nursing supervisor, however, recommended keeping them apart, and even suggested prescribing drugs to help curb Jerry’s sexual urges. But Tyson is opposed to chemical restraints so that got vetoed PDQ.
‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘Tyson decided to call both families in and talk to them about it. At the time, Nancy’s husband, Frank, was totally supportive, whatever makes her happy and all that.’
‘Like Sandra Day O’Connor,’ I commented. ‘I remember reading an article in the New York Times about it. Her husband, John, had Alzheimer’s disease and totally forgot her. He took up with another woman in the long-term care facility he was living in. Justice O’Connor said it was a relief to find him relaxed and happy, holding hands with his sweetheart whenever she visited.’
‘Exactly.’
The tea arrived. Elaine selected a Tazo Cucumber White from a wooden caddy, poured hot water into her cup then dunked the teabag up and down in it. I wasn’t really thirsty but selected a spicy ginger one that I hoped would lift my spirits.
‘As for Jerry’s son,’ Elaine continued, ‘I think he was OK with the relationship as long as it remained on his terms,’ she said thoughtfully, ticking them off on her fingers. ‘Like, you can eat meals together. And dance. Holding hands and cuddling is OK, but kissing is off-limits, and, for heaven’s sake, don’t wander off to the privacy of your room and do what the rest of us do.’ She took a sip of her hot tea then set the cup down on the saucer. ‘He insisted that his father’s heart wasn’t healthy enough for sex. Ha! I’m sorry, but if you’ve made it to age eighty-eight, having sex won’t kill you. It may even help prolong your life.’
‘What did he expect his poor father to do?’ I wondered aloud. ‘Lie around all day watching reruns of Gilligan’s Island, waiting for the arrival of Oscar the Death-Sniffing Cat?’
Elaine chortled. ‘We have pets and visiting comfort dogs here at Blackwalnut Hall too, but so far none have demonstrated the kind of supersensory ability that Oscar seems to have. It would certainly make my job easier.’
‘If it’s true that touch is often the last sense to deteriorate,’ I said, getting back to the subject of physical contact, ‘I can understand why massages, facials and mani-pedis can be so therapeutic, especially for your dementia patients. Massages with Garnelle at Spa Paradiso are my main vice,’ I added. ‘They feel so good they ought to be illegal.’
‘I hear her hands are insured by Lloyds of London.’ Elaine grinned. ‘Seriously, though, human touch is super critical. No matter how old you are you never outgrow the need for that kind of loving, physical comfort. Tyson believes that the elderly have a right to intimacy,’ she continued after a moment. ‘We don’t treat it like a behavioral problem. The staff here are trained to monitor developing relationships, particularly among our residents with impaired memory, to make sure they’re mutually enjoyable. I don’t know about you, but I hope to have another shot at it when I get to be ninety.’
‘Even in the short time I’ve been volunteering here,’ I said, ‘it became obvious to me that Nancy and Jerry’s relationship was exactly that – mutually enjoyable. As for the sex? It looked entirely consensual to me.’
‘Well, the Maryland Office of Health Care Quality might want to argue with you about that. Seems they have initiated an investigation.’
‘I’ve heard about it. They’ve asked me for an interview. But what I don’t understand is if it wasn’t Tyson, who reported it and why? Was Nancy injured?’
‘Of course not! When you brought the incident to our attention, I grabbed Heather and we went down to Nancy’s room right away. Nancy and Jerry were still, uh, involved. It took two of us to separate them, and neither of them was happy about it! Jerry thought we were attacking Nancy and tried to protect her, while Nancy was screaming bloody murder. I haven’t heard such language since my husband was working on our tax returns.’ Elaine leaned forward and whispered, ‘If anyone needed a doctor, it was me. Nancy bites.’ She extended an arm where a ragged, red semi-circle confirmed her claim. ‘Thank goodness my tetanus shots were up to date.’
‘Ouch,’ I said.
‘After we got Jerry calmed down and settled back in his own room we called the doctor to take a look at Nancy,’ Elaine continued. ‘Aside from a bit of redness on her thighs and…’ she cleared her throat, ‘you know where, which would be entirely normal under the circumstances, there was nothing at all wrong with her.’
‘So, I don’t understand. What is there for the State of Maryland to investigate?’
‘They claim that Nancy’s advanced dementia made it impossible for her to give informed consent.’
I recalled, with some embarrassment, the cries of pleasure that I had – albeit unintentionally – overheard; sounds that everyone in America was familiar with thanks to Meg Ryan’s famous Katz’s Deli performance in the movie When Harry Met Sally.
‘What nonsense,’ I said. ‘Nancy was a willing participant, otherwise she would have been screaming – and she knows how to scream, that’s for sure – or trying to fight Jerry off.’ I pointed to Elaine’s wound. ‘Exhibit A. But, she was doing none of those things. She may not remember who the president is, or that she already has a husband, or even what day of the week it is, but she definitely wanted to have sex with Jerry.’