The Friends We Keep(89)

“Darling, I do love having you here,” she said, taking his arm and snuggling up to him. “I can’t believe my little boy is right here in Somerset. It’s going to be so much fun.”

“Mrs. Winthrop?” The receptionist called her name without looking at her, even though they were the only ones in the waiting room, and Topher and his mother stood up and walked through to see the doctor.

He joined them almost immediately in what was clearly his consultation office. “I’m Dr. Khan,” the young man said in introduction, shaking hands with Topher. “Very nice to meet you. I have heard lots about you from your mother.”

“Oh.” Topher was surprised. “That’s so nice.”

“And it’s lovely to see you, Mrs. Winthrop. You’re looking very elegant, as always.” Topher watched as his mother positively simpered at a compliment from a handsome man.

“Please, take a seat,” said the doctor, gesturing to the two plastic seats in front of his heavy mahogany desk. Then he sat at the desk and looked at them. “What brings you here today?”

“I have no idea,” said Joan, looking at her son. “I’m in perfect health.”

Topher cleared his throat. “My mother is, as you can see, in perfect health, but I’ve noticed some . . . confusion . . . recently. I’m just a little concerned it might be something more serious.”

“Confusion?” His mother grew imperious. “I’m not confused in the slightest. I’ve never felt better.”

“Mother,” he said gently. “Earlier today you told me you were dating my father, who has . . . well.” He looked at the doctor. “He’s been dead for over twenty years.”

“I did?” Rather than being angry, or refuting what she would surely think was a ridiculous claim, his mother seemed meek, unsure.

“You did. And there have been other things that are uncharacteristic. You phoned me the other night, or morning rather, at three, and you didn’t seem to realize it was the middle of the night. You said you were about to go out shopping.”

“I did?” she said again as Topher felt his heart lurch. His mother had always been so strong, so elegant, so together, and yet now, as he looked at her, she seemed small and confused, almost childlike, as Topher felt a stab of pain, seeing his omnipotent mother seem so fragile, so vulnerable. He reached out and took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze as she smiled at him, seeming again to come back to herself.

The doctor asked a series of questions, at the end of which he looked at Topher.

“Mr. Winthrop, I think your mother is in excellent health”—Joan smiled like the cat who got the cream—“and at her age this kind of confusion and memory loss isn’t uncommon. Her recall of the past is exceptional, and it may be that there is a touch of dementia, but I’m not seeing any of the other signs—trouble finding the right words, mood changes like depression, or anger and aggression. Often people suffering with these kinds of issues stop keeping up things like personal grooming, but that clearly isn’t the case for you, Mrs. Winthrop. I think we keep a close eye with monthly checkups, and I will give you my details so you can contact me with any concerns.”

“You don’t think it would be wise to maybe start researching . . .” He paused, wondering how to put it delicately. “Some sort of assisted-living facility?”

“I already told you,” Joan interjected, “I am staying in my house.”

“We could maybe find someone to come and stay in the house with you. To help out a bit.”

“Do you remember that lovely Filipina we had?” Joan said dreamily. “She was your Yaya. Baby. Isn’t that funny? That was her name, Baby, and her husband’s name was Boy. They lived in the guesthouse and made the most delicious food for us. Oh, you loved her, Topher. She indulged you horribly. She’d take you out for walks and buy you every sweet thing you wanted.”

Topher shot the doctor a look that said, See? This is what I’m talking about. Why is she banging on about someone who worked for us fifty years ago? Dr. Khan just smiled at him with the slightest of eyebrow raises and a nod.

“We will monitor,” he said softly, “and if we see further deterioration, we can run some tests. But, Mr. Winthrop, for eighty-five, all things considered I would say your mother is pretty spectacular. Let’s keep in touch, but a lot of this is normal. I know it’s worrying to see a parent get older, but your mother is in great shape.”

“I told you,” she said to Topher. “No need to see a doctor after all. When you drop me home, don’t forget to get tickets to Bedroom Farce. And you should bring all your friends. My treat.”

“Okay.” Topher shrugged helplessly, his mother back to her normal self. “Will do.” He took her arm as they walked to the car, worrying about the future but grateful, so very grateful, that he was able to be there for her now in a way he was never able to before. He had spent all this time resenting her, convinced that she didn’t protect him from the abuse, convinced she refused to see what was so obvious because it would have marred her perfect life, but now he knew he was wrong. All the anger and resentment was gone, and he was able to enjoy her in a way he hadn’t since he was a child.

And if she needed to be taken care of, he would do that, too, even though, all those years ago, she wasn’t able to take care of him.