We Are Not Ourselves(115)

She didn’t know how much of what she’d said she believed, but it felt good to say it. She went back to her book. The chapter she was reading discussed how the disruption of context might accelerate the patient’s decline. Familiar settings and people, it suggested, could have a prophylactic effect on memory loss.

She thought of how strenuously Ed had fought leaving Jackson Heights. Had she exposed him to harm in moving him to Bronxville? A guilty feeling took root in her thoughts and blossomed into panic.

“We can’t afford to wait to tell Connell,” she said. “What if he finds out for himself? What if he overhears me on the phone?”

“Don’t talk on the phone.”

“We have to tell him tomorrow,” she said.

“Give it another week.”

“Fine,” she said. “This Saturday is the dinner. The one after that, we tell Connell.”

“He has a game that day.”

“You have his schedule memorized?”

“He plays every Saturday.”

“After his game, then. Trust me. It’s the best thing.”

“Okay,” he said. “I trust you.”

She was strangely disappointed to hear him give in so easily. She understood that this new relationship of theirs signaled the beginning of the end of the old one. He would have to become something like a child to her.

? ? ?

The afternoon of the dinner, as she was running around getting the last things ready, Ed came in and told her to call it off.

“It’s not true,” he said. “It’s a lie we’d be telling them.”

“Honey,” she said.

“It’s a lie.”

It was too late; the Cudahys, possibly the McGuires, were already on their way. Dishes were simmering on the stove.

“These are our friends.”

“It’s a lie.”

“Would it be easier for you if I told them myself?”

“Do what you want,” he said, waving his hand at her in a way that called to mind an angry old man.

“They’ll be here in a little while. Tell me what to do.”

“This is your affair,” he said. He ran the tap and put a glass under it. Water filled the glass and spilled up over the sides. He held it under for a while. It looked as if he was making a little fountain out of it.

“I think we should do it the way we discussed.”

“No!” he said sharply. “They don’t need to know anything. It’s all a lie.”

“Do you think they can’t tell anything?” she found herself shouting. “You think they can’t figure it out? You think they don’t have eyes and ears?” She paused. “And brains?” She regretted it as soon as she’d said it.

“They won’t see anything,” he said, seething. “There’s nothing to see.” He left the room.

She found him stewing on the front stairs and took a seat beside him. “We have to tell them sometime.” She reached to touch him, but he flinched away. The neighbors across the street were pruning their flowers. She hadn’t met them yet. She had wanted to wait to introduce herself until she felt herself to be operating from a position of strength, but that time hadn’t come, and she felt too self-conscious to go over there now that they had looked at each other so many times across hedgerows without waving.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Would you rather nobody knew?”

He didn’t answer.

“Because if you want to do this alone, just us and Connell, I can’t. Maybe I’m not as strong as you. I thought I was, but I need all the support I can get. Now more than ever.”

He turned and looked at her.

“I won’t say anything tonight,” she said. “We can do this when you’re ready. On one condition.”

He was blinking intently.

“Until then, don’t make me feel like I’m alone with this. Connell needs to know. Let’s deal with the reality of this. Other people, fine. But I need to know we in this house are going to deal in reality.”

“Fine,” he said.

“You have Alzheimer’s.”

“Don’t say that.”

“This is what I’m talking about,” she said. “We need to stick together on this.”

“Fine,” he said. “Good.”

“I know you know,” she said. “But I need to hear it from you.”

“I do know.”

“Say it, then.”

“Say what?”

“Say that you have Alzheimer’s.”

“You’re crazy,” he said. “I’m not saying any such thing.”

? ? ?

She almost didn’t care if he didn’t join them. She could tell them he was sick, and if he chose to wander in, she could joke about a miraculous recovery. Maybe they’d think it strange; maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe they’d notice things; maybe they’d have blinders on. She couldn’t worry about managing impressions anymore. She almost couldn’t care anymore whether they wandered upstairs and saw the state of disrepair her house was in, outside the carefully curated area for hosting guests.

Frank and Ruth, Cindy and Jack, Tom and Marie, Evan and Kelly: they arrived all at once, as if they’d rented a bus for the occasion. She tried to distract them with drinks and a flurry of hanging coats and shuttling dishes. She was trying to think of an alibi for Ed when he appeared in the door to a round of salutations.