Back on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #4)(60)

Mom’s face lit up. “Alix is getting married. That’s wonderful news.”

I swallowed hard and realized Mom didn’t remember Alix at all. I didn’t know when she’d slid so far downhill mentally, and it worried me. I should’ve noticed this long before now. I wondered if she’d become adept at disguising what she understood and what she didn’t.

“It’s going to be a lovely wedding,” I went on in a bright voice. “Brad and I are invited.”

Mom frowned again.

“You remember Brad, don’t you?”

Mom nodded, but I knew she didn’t. A sick feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. In my recent concerns over Margaret and my own busy life, I hadn’t been sufficiently aware of Mom’s decline.

“You know who I’m looking for?” Mom asked, twisting around as she spoke.

I turned, too, assuming she’d misplaced something and needed me to find it.

“Spunky,” Mom said. “I haven’t seen him all day.”

Spunky had been our family dog when I was a child, a self-assured little terrier who’d adored my mother. He’d been dead for years. The last thing I wanted to do was tell my mother that the dog she’d loved had died—even if it happened decades ago.

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” I said.

“I’m afraid he’s lost and can’t find his way home,” she worried.

We’d had a fenced yard and Spunky had never escaped or run away from it. But I needed to tell Mom something that would reassure her and give her peace. “Just wait. He never goes far,” I said.

“He’s a good dog.” Mom smiled. “Do you see his mouse anywhere?”

“Spunky had a mouse?” I didn’t remember any such toy.

“It’s a little stuffed animal,” she reminded me, staring down at the floor.

Then it came to me. I did remember the mouse, which wasn’t a mouse at all, but a small stuffed poodle that Spunky carried from room to room and had with him almost constantly. The fact that my mother remembered that and not my husband astonished me.

“I can’t imagine where he’s gone.”

Spunky died at about the time of my first cancer diagnosis when I was sixteen. Margaret had wanted to get another dog right away. Dad said no, and it wasn’t because he didn’t want another family pet. Just then, taking care of me was all he could handle. My sister knew that and added one more resentment to the pile she was accumulating. One more resentment against me.

“Can I get you anything before I leave?” I asked Mom. Instantly I could tell she didn’t want me to go.

“You just got here,” she said accusingly.

Actually, I’d been with her for over an hour. “I need to get back to the shop and then home to Brad and Cody,” I told her as gently as I could. From the blank look in her eyes, I knew she didn’t recognize either.

“Will you come tomorrow?”

I nodded. I’d make the time and if I couldn’t, I’d ask Margaret to visit. Before I left, I hugged her and made sure she was comfortable. I handed her the remote and Mom flipped up the volume on yet another judge show, one with a woman on the bench.

As I stepped into the hallway, Rosalie Mullin, the staff nurse who gave Mom her insulin injections, passed me. I stopped her. “How have Mom’s blood sugars been?” I asked, remembering that she said she’d skipped lunch. A cracker with a bit of tuna could hardly be considered a meal.

“Her sugars have been good.” She paused, then said, “The diabetes is under control.” Her eyes held mine.

Rosalie’s hesitation told me she had other concerns. “There’s another problem, isn’t there?”

She nodded. “Perhaps we should talk in my office. I can be there in five minutes.”

I took the elevator to the bottom floor, where I waited outside Rosalie’s office. She seemed to be away far longer than a few minutes, but that might have been due to my nervousness. Each minute felt like at least ten.

Without a word, Rosalie ushered me into her office. She sat behind her desk and motioned to the chair on the other side. With a lump in my throat, I perched stiffly on the edge of the cushion.

Already I could feel the beginnings of a headache. Probably because of the brain tumors, I’m prone to migraine headaches. They’re crippling, and they can last for days. It’d been months since I had one and I chose to believe that this was a simple tension headache and forced myself to ignore the nausea and dizziness.

“I’d been planning to call you and your sister,” Rosalie said. She reached for a file from the stack on her desk and opened it. “I’ve asked the assistants to keep tabs on your mother.”

“Why?”

“She’s been missing a lot of meals, growing less social and showing signs of paranoia. She was reacting badly to the Aricept, so the doctor took her off. He warned me she might lose ground quickly and she has. Unfortunately, one of the symptoms of this sort of decline is lack of appetite.”

My first inclination was to defend Mom, to make excuses for her. “I’m sure that has something to do with losing both Helen and Joyce in such a short time. I don’t think I’d want to eat, either.”

Rosalie agreed with me. “To a point, that’s true. However, I’ve started to notice other signs.”