Back on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #4)(61)

“What do you mean?”

“I’m afraid your mother’s showing early symptoms of Alzheimer’s.”

That had been my worry, as well, although I couldn’t verbalize it, even to myself.

“As far as meals go, what about bringing them to her?” I said.

“We can do that, of course,” Rosalie assured me. “There’s an additional charge after a certain number of delivered meals. But what I’m trying to say isn’t about your mother’s eating or her diabetes.” Her eyes were sympathetic. “I’m thinking the time is fast approaching when her needs will exceed what we have to offer her.”

My mouth was dry. The light from the lamp on her desk was bothering my eyes. “You’re not suggesting a nursing home, are you?” The thought of placing my mother in one was more than I could bear.

“Not a nursing home,” Rosalie told me. “A memory care facility.”

“Memory care?” I repeated. I’d never heard of such a thing.

“They’re wonderful for people like your mother. There’s a greater level of individual care, and the environment is more controlled. I’d recommend that you and your sister visit a few, talk to the staff, get a feel for each place. I can give you information on three of them.” She opened a drawer, removed a file and handed me a sheet with names and addresses. “I’m familiar with all of these, and I can guarantee that Mrs. Hoffman would be well looked after.”

“Thank you,” I said shakily as I stood. My eyes had started to water and I wasn’t sure if it was because of the light or my emotions. Probably both.

By then I knew I needed to get home as quickly as possible. I don’t usually talk on my cell phone while I’m driving, but this was an emergency. At least it felt like one. My first call was to my husband, who was just getting off work.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said as he answered. “Where are you?”

“Driving. I probably shouldn’t be,” I said, hardly able to function now as my head throbbed painfully. “I’m on my way home. I have a migraine.”

“Your medication’s at the house?”

“Yes.” At one time I carried it with me, but after all these months I’d become careless. “I’ll be all right once I’m home,” I said. “I should have asked the nurse for a painkiller, but it didn’t enter my mind.”

“How far are you?”

“Five minutes from the house.” That was true on a good day, but it was rush hour and the traffic would slow me down.

“What can I do?”

“Call Margaret for me,” I said. “Ask her to close the store. She’ll know what to do.”

“Okay. Anything else?” I heard the concern in his voice.

I swallowed a sob and when I spoke my voice was hoarse with emotion. “It’s Mom, Brad. She’s not doing well.”

“I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“Thank you.” I clicked off the phone and exited the freeway. By the time I’d pulled into the garage and made my way into the house, the pain in my head was blinding me. I stumbled down the hallway to the bathroom, where we kept the medications. Turning on the light wasn’t an option. I found the bottle in the cabinet more by luck than intent, nearly ripped off the cap and swallowed the pill without water.

Keeping my eyes closed I braced my hand against the wall and dragged myself into our bedroom. The first thing I did was close the shades. Once the room was dark, I undressed and climbed into bed. Soon the medication would kick in and the pain would subside. Tears crept from my eyes, sliding down my cheeks.

“Mom,” I sobbed. “Oh, Mom.” She wasn’t there to comfort me and would never be again. Nor, it seemed, could I comfort her.

The tragedy of this disease was that it took away so much of who my mother was. She’d become completely dependent on Margaret and me to make decisions for her. As her mental capacities diminished, we’d be assuming all responsibility for her care. Most painful, perhaps, was her growing inability to remember her own life. My sister and I would have to be the keepers of her memories, for her and for ourselves.

Margaret had talked about how much she missed our mother, and I knew now that we’d be missing her more and more.

CHAPTER 22

Alix Townsend

When Colette met her at Go Figure, Alix could tell that she was worried about something. For that matter, so was Alix. They completed their workout routine and then went for a drink at a nearby restaurant.

“You’re looking very thoughtful,” Colette said, sipping her herbal iced tea.

“You are, too,” Alix said. She wasn’t about to let Colette’s uncharacteristic silence that morning slip past without comment.

“Is everything all right between you and Jordan?” Colette asked.

Alix shrugged, dismissing the comment. Her relationship with Jordan was strained at the moment; it’d all started with the wedding cake and escalated from there. She’d avoided him since then and he seemed to be avoiding her, which only complicated matters. “We had a…difference of opinion. It’s no big deal.”

Colette studied her. “What about?”

Alix reached for her iced coffee and took a deep swallow before answering. “What else? The wedding.”