Every Note Played(40)

“Like a man?”

“Yes, a man. Or a woman if you’re into it. Whichever. A date.”

“No.” She shakes her head for emphasis, dismissing the suggestion.

“Look at you. You’re beautiful. Or, you would be after a long shower and some makeup and maybe a trip to the mall.”

“The last thing I need is another man to take care of, thank you.”

“I’m not telling you to marry him, for God’s sake. I’m talking someone to wine and dine you. And getting laid wouldn’t hurt either, girl. I’m just sayin’. You know I love you.”

“Thanks. I just . . . I’m good.”

“Okay.” Bill stands, not believing her, but satisfied enough for now, needing to go. “But find something outside of this that’s just for you. ALS is going to take Richard down. Don’t let it take you, too.”

He kisses the top of her head and leaves the kitchen. She stays in her seat, listening to the squeaky sound of his rubber-soled footsteps on the hardwood floor of the living room and then the front foyer, the rising chord progression of his coat zipper, the questioning intonation of the front door as it creaks open, and the satisfying thump of it closing all the way shut.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


Karina and Elise walk together every week, regardless of the weather. Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of early dawn keeps them from completing their three-mile loop. It’s an admirable policy in theory, but questionable on mornings such as this when the temperature, with the windchill, is below zero. They leave the paved roads of their neighborhood for the dirt path that encircles the reservoir, walking much faster than they normally do. The sharp, frigid air stings Karina’s cheeks and seems to penetrate her brain through her exposed eyeballs, every blink a temporary shield, a noticeable moment of relief. She wishes she’d remembered her sunglasses. The normally soft pine-needle-strewn dirt path has no give, feeling petrified beneath her feet, the earth frozen solid. Frequent bursts of wind slice her body and steal her breath. It’s too cold to be out here. It’s almost too cold to talk.

“She definitely needs more help,” says Grace, walking fast behind Elise’s heels as if pursuing her.

Grace arrived home yesterday for a long weekend. Before bed, Karina invited Grace to join her and Elise in the morning but didn’t pin any hopes and dreams on Grace’s actually coming. A night owl who hates the cold and hasn’t seen 6:00 a.m. since elementary school, Grace didn’t verbalize any interest, and Karina took her nonanswer to mean Thanks, but no thanks. So Karina was more than a little surprised, and happy, to see her daughter dressed and waiting at the front door when Karina was ready to leave.

It’s been a month since Grace was last home. It feels like a year. In December, Karina came and went without too much thought regarding Richard’s safety. He could always reach her on her cell. But his voice has significantly weakened since Christmas, and the voice-activation app on his phone can’t reliably comprehend his muted, slurred speech. His whole life has changed in one month. He needs Karina’s help regularly, throughout the day and night, and so her whole life has changed, too. She worries about leaving him alone, but she’s not giving up her weekly walk. He’ll be fine.

“What about his father and brothers?” asks Elise.

“They’re not going to take him in,” says Karina.

“How do you know if you don’t ask?”

“Believe me, I know.”

“They can at least give you some money for more help.”

“I can do it.”

Richard has thirty hours a week of home health aides, not covered by insurance. The rest is on Karina.

“But why do you want to?”

“Yeah, Mom, what are you trying to prove?”

Karina’s not sure. Maybe having Richard in the house gives her something useful to do, something that fills the many hours every day when she’s not teaching children to play piano. When Grace moved to Chicago, an enormous, lonely void moved into Karina’s home and heart. No amount of therapy, chocolate, wine, sleep, or Netflix could evict it. Richard in the den with ALS has elbowed out some of the void, which is admittedly strange, as his presence had never before been the cure for her loneliness. Are these really her only two options—live with Richard or live with the void?

She must be a saint. Or a martyr. Or screwed up.

“It’s not forever.”

“That’s what Jane Wilde thought.”

“Who?” asks Grace.

“Stephen Hawking’s first wife,” says Elise. “They were in their twenties when he was diagnosed, and she married him anyway, thinking he had only a couple of years left. He’s in his seventies now.”

“So Dad could live that long?”

“If for some reason the disease stops progressing,” says Karina, not believing this is possible in Richard’s case, given the decline he’s experienced in the past month. “Or if he gets a trach and goes on a ventilator.”

“You can’t do this indefinitely, Karina.”

“I know. If he goes on a ventilator, he needs to move to a facility.”

She’s not a nurse. And she’s not his wife.

“He’d probably qualify for some kind of assisted living now,” says Elise.