Dream Lake (Friday Harbor #3)(67)

Alex lurked in the corner, drinking iced Cokes in highball glasses. The ghost lounged beside him, silent and brooding.

“What are you thinking about?” Alex eventually asked beneath his breath.

“I keep wondering if Emma loved her husband,” the ghost said.

“Do you want her to have loved him?”

The ghost struggled to answer. “Yes,” he eventually said. “But I want her to have loved me more.”

Alex smiled, swirling the ice in his drink.

The ghost stared pensively at the sunstruck water. “I did something wrong,” he said. “I hurt Emma. I’m sure of it.”

“You mean before you died?”

The ghost nodded.

“You probably pissed her off by enlisting,” Alex said.

“I think it was worse than that. I need to remember before something happens.”

Alex gave him a skeptical glance. “What do you think’s going to happen?”

“I don’t know. I have to spend as much time as possible with Emma. I remember more when I’m with her. The other day—” The ghost stopped. “Time to shut up. Maggie’s coming this way.”

Mark’s red-haired wife—now Alex’s sister-in-law—approached him. She was holding a white porcelain coffee cup. “Hi, Alex.” She was radiant with happiness, her brown eyes glowing. “Are you having a good time?”

“Yeah. Nice wedding.” He began to stand up from his chair.

“Don’t get up,” Maggie urged, motioning for him to remain in the chair. “I just wanted to check on you. There are a few women who are dying to meet you, by the way. Including one of my sisters. If I bring her over, would you—”

“No,” he said quickly. “Thanks, Maggie, but I’m not in the mood for small talk.”

“Can I get you something?”

He shook his head. “Go dance with your husband.”

“Husband. I like the sound of that word.” Maggie smiled and gave him the cup she was holding. It was filled with steaming black coffee. “Here. I thought you might like this.”

“Thanks, but I’m—” Alex broke off as he saw her discreetly retrieve his half-finished glass of Coke and ice from the little table next to his chair.

“She thinks you’re plastered,” the ghost said helpfully. “You’ve had about four drinks and now you’re sitting here in the corner talking to yourself.”

“They were nonalcoholic drinks,” Alex said.

“Oh, of course,” Maggie said brightly.

The ghost snorted. “She’s not buying it.”

With a self-mocking smile, Alex took a sip of bitter black coffee. Given his past, it was entirely reasonable to think that he might get drunk on such an occasion. And Maggie, being a sweetheart, was trying to handle it in a way that would spare his pride. “I’m not talking to myself, by the way,” he said. “There’s an invisible guy sitting right beside me.”

Maggie laughed. “I’m glad you told me. Otherwise I might have accidentally sat on his lap.”

“Feel free,” the ghost said without hesitation.

“He wouldn’t mind,” Alex told Maggie. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you, but I’ll leave you and your friend to your conversation.” She bent to kiss his cheek. “Drink the whole cup of coffee, okay?” And she left, taking his half-finished Coke with her.

Eighteen

When Alex went to the Dream Lake cottage on Monday morning, the home-care nurse, Jeannie, met him at the door with an expression that instantly warned something was wrong.

“How’s it going?” Alex asked.

“It was a tough weekend,” she said quietly. “Emma had a downturn.”

“What does that mean?”

“The term for it is TIA. Transient ischemic attacks. Tiny blockages that stop the blood flow to the brain. They’re so minor that you may not notice any stroke symptoms, but the damage adds up. With the kind of mixed dementia that Emma has, there’ll be a steady decline with these occasional downward steps.”

“Does she need to see a doctor?”

Jeannie shook her head. “Her blood pressure is fine, and she’s not having any physical discomfort. Many times after a step-down, a patient will show signs of temporary improvement. Today, Emma’s doing well. But as time goes on, the moments of confusion and frustration will last longer and happen more often. And the memories will keep disappearing.”

“So what exactly happened? How can you tell that a TIA occurred?”

“According to Zoë, Emma woke up on Saturday with a slight headache and some confusion. By the time I got there, Emma was determined to make herself breakfast—she insisted on frying an egg at the stove. It didn’t go well. Zoë kept trying to help her—put a pat of butter in the pan first, turn the heat lower—but Emma was having a tough time trying to do something she’d always done, and that made her frightened and angry.”

“She took it out on Zoë?” Alex asked in concern.

Jeannie nodded. “Zoë is the most convenient person for her to vent her frustration on. And even though Zoë understands, it’s still stressful.” Jeannie paused. “Yesterday Emma repeatedly asked for the car keys, messed up Zoë’s computer when she tried to get on the Internet, and kept arguing with me to get her some cigarettes.”