The Things We Keep(35)

“Anna—”

“If it’s all right with you, I’d like to go home now,” I say before the questions start again. And when I say the word “home,” I’m surprised to realize that I’m talking about the big house with all the old people.





14

Eve

“I probably should have explained something yesterday—” Eric perches on the edge of my desk and lets out a long, world-weary sigh. “—about Anna and Luke. What you saw the other night? It isn’t the first time.”

“I beg your pardon?” I hear him fine, but I want to hear him say it again.

“It’s a sensitive topic, and I didn’t know how much to say earlier. But I’ve spoken to Anna’s brother, and he agrees that I should fill you in. The truth is, Anna and Luke were friends.” He pauses, shakes his head. “They are friends. But shortly after they arrived, they developed quite an attachment. A romance, you might say. It was a great thing for both of them; it gave them a lift and possibly even extended their mental dexterity a little. We were going to let it run its course and we figured eventually it would take care of itself, that they’d forget their friendship. Usually that’s how these things play out.”

“These things?” I ask. “You mean … there have been other—?”

“—romances? Oh, yes,” Eric says, grinning. “There’s more lust at a residential care facility than in high school. Didn’t you know?”

There’s something about Eric’s obvious enjoyment of this that I find a little off-putting.

“It’s especially common with dementia patients,” he continues. “Human beings are programmed to form attachments in order to survive. So it makes sense that when you have dementia, new attachments are formed to replace those that are lost. It’s a good thing, it can reduce loneliness and depression. But in this case, it was a little more complicated.”

“Why?”

“We became aware that Luke and Anna were intimate. Which in itself is complicated, but for them, it opened up a host of other issues. For example, is Anna—or Luke, for that matter—of sound mind to consent to this?”

“But … you said they’d developed a relationship. Surely that implies consent?”

“Actually, it doesn’t. Among other things, as dementia develops, an individual’s inhibitions can become lowered, causing them to act uncharacteristically promiscuous or flirtatious. Even if they are saying yes, we can’t be sure they would be saying yes if their judgment wasn’t impaired. Then, of course, there was the other incident—Anna’s suicide attempt. After that, we had no choice but to start locking the doors. We didn’t come to that decision lightly. But all things considered, it made sense.”

“Are Anna and Luke okay with it?” I ask.

“As okay as you can expect, really. Sometimes they become upset at night, but again, that’s normal for people with dementia. Most likely, Anna’s distress is simply the night-restlessness and she doesn’t remember Luke at all. It’s possible Luke does remember, but even if he does, we can’t allow him free access to Anna’s room at night. They can spend time together during the day, but the staff try to keep them busy and redirect them if they try to go off privately together. I’ll ask you to do the same,” he says, “if you happen to see them together.”

I think of Anna asking for help. Of her asking if he was there, then saying she was talking about Luke.

“All right, Eve?” Eric repeats.

“Yes,” I say. “Okay.”

But my facial expression must give away my true feelings because Eric continues. “The important thing is that we abide by the families’ wishes, for everyone’s sake.”

“Of course,” I say, though I can’t help but wonder if abiding by the families’ wishes is really for everyone’s sake. Or just for everyone else’s sake.

*

Clem aka Alice is quiet on the way to school. I try to engage her by asking her if she wants a special dinner, but she just shrugs. Even seeing Legs on the way into the classroom isn’t enough to pep her up.

I have a quick word with Miss Weber, who says she’ll keep a special eye on her. She also asks for my change-of-address form, which I supply with a stomach full of knots. If she suspects anything, I can’t tell.

Then I have to run off to work. It strikes me that this is a cruel irony. Before, when I had the most well-adjusted, happiest little girl in the world, I had nothing but time to spend with her. Now, when she could really use her mother around, I have to work.

Back at Rosalind House, the parlor is full. Laurie is reading a newspaper, Bert is chatting quietly to himself. Gwen dozes. Luke and Anna are perched at opposite windows. As I wipe down the mantel, I can’t help stealing a look at them. They seem content enough, staring into the garden, but who knows? Do they wish they were side by side?

“That’s lovely,” Bert says, startling me. At first I’m not sure what he’s referring to; then I realize I’ve been humming.

“Oh,” I say. “Well … thank you.”

“That tune?” he says. “What is it?”

“It’s … Pachelbel’s Canon.” Why had I chosen to hum my wedding song? “Do you know it?”