Always the Last to Know(107)

Aside from storm issues, there was the impending town-wide celebration for the 350th anniversary of our founding. The garden club needed more volunteers, the auction that would raise money for college scholarships needed more donations, and half the people who’d answered the e-mail about hosting open houses hadn’t filled in their forms.

I guess you could say I had a lot on my mind, plus John’s future. Gosh, it made me tired.

“All right, John, we’re here,” I said, getting out of the car. I had to unbuckle him, because he couldn’t seem to grasp that one. I wished LeVon was still with Gaylord. He’d come by last week to check in and, after John had fallen asleep, stayed for a cup of tea with me. It had been so nice, talking to him again.

It was slow going to the conference room, since John seemed to wander to the left, and I had to half tow him down the long hallway. The whole team was there—Betsy, the speech therapist; Evan, the head of physical and occupational therapy; Dr. McIntyre, the head of outpatient rehabilitation; two physiatrists. They all had iPads and folders, and I suddenly had a bad feeling in my stomach.

“Lovely to see you again,” Dr. McIntyre said. She’d been wonderful this whole time, sometimes even calling me on the weekend to check in. We all sat around the table, and my heart started jumping like a scared rabbit.

“So,” Dr. McIntyre said. “I’m afraid the news isn’t great, which doesn’t mean it’s horrible. John seems to have had at least two smaller strokes since the big one. That explains why his left side seems weaker than before, and why he’s struggling with mobility more than he was a month ago.”

I put my hand over John’s, not sure what he understood. He seemed calm and unchanged. Sleepy, even. “Oh,” I said, my voice small.

“He has made a little progress with speech,” Betsy said. “But that seems to have plateaued. He can say a few words, but he’s not putting them together in a meaningful way.”

“Yes, I . . . I thought so, too.” Oh, gosh. This was going to hit Sadie real hard. It was hitting me, hard, too. “Um . . . the strokes. Does that mean he’ll have more?”

Dr. McIntyre looked kind. “We’re adjusting his medications, but it’s definitely possible.”

John was asleep now, his chin on his chest. Good. I didn’t want him to have to hear this. Know this. Oh, he looked so old, so sad!

“He’s probably safer using the walker all the time,” Evan said. “A wheelchair for when he’s tired. You may want to look into hiring a full-time caregiver. We can give you referrals, of course.”

“Gotcha. I . . . So he’s not . . . going to improve.” No one said anything. “Do you have any guesses on how long he’ll . . . be with us?”

“It’s always so hard to predict,” the doctor said.

So they weren’t going to say the words outright. “Can I have a sec?” I asked.

“Of course,” Dr. McIntyre said. “Use the room next door.”

I practically ran to it, closed the door and started to shake.

So this was it, then. My husband, the once intelligent, wry attorney, was gone. He’d never talk to his grandchildren again. Sadie and Juliet wouldn’t get him back. We’d never have another night where talking was even a possibility, and suddenly, those silent nights of him watching television and me answering e-mails felt awfully precious.

I shouldn’t have let them operate on him that day in January. I should’ve let him go, but gosh, I don’t even remember that being presented as an option.

This was his life now. He’d just slip away, inch by inch, confused and scared and exhausted until he died. And not to put too fine a point on it, I’d be his caregiver for the rest of his life, or the rest of mine. Almost without knowing it, I pulled out my phone.

“Caro?” I said.

“What’s wrong, honey?” The concern in her voice brought me to tears.

“He’s not going to get better. He’s had a couple of little strokes, and . . . and he’s not getting better.” I started to cry.

“Oh, shit, Barb. I’m so sorry. Are you at Gaylord now?”

“Yes. I didn’t want the girls to come, because I suspected there would be bad news. I just didn’t know it would be so . . . definite.”

“Barb, why didn’t you call me? I would’ve come! We’re best friends, for God’s sake!”

“I should have.”

“Okay, here’s what we’ll do. You come home, I’ll bring dinner tonight, and wine and lots of it, and we can talk to the girls and go from there. Don’t worry, hon. We’ve got this.”

We. A person forgot what a beautiful word that was when it had been you for so long.





CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX





Sadie


Noah left before dawn, kissing me gently on the lips, whispering that he wanted to see Marcus before he went to work. I spent a blissful half hour dozing, Pepper by my side, before getting up to take her for a walk. There was no evidence of our dolphin rescue; the tide had erased any tracks, and the birds were nearly deafening. I felt as happy as I’d ever felt in my life.

Grateful . . . a word made sappy by a million tacky wooden signs, yet a feeling that was so powerful. I felt as if sunbeams were shining from my skin. My dad was getting better. Noah loved me. We’d saved a baby dolphin! I had a dog! I’d painted a sunset yesterday, and the coffee was on.