Remember (34 page)

She’d lost Ryan once before when she’d waited too long, guessing at his feelings. But she’d learned a few things since then, and now she was suddenly sure of this much.

She wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ashley’s eBay item arrived on Monday afternoon.

She opened the package and inhaled sharply. It was just what she needed—an old western saddle she’d won by bidding just forty-two dollars. Yes, the left stirrup was missing, but the saddle was large enough for an adult and had beautiful markings etched into the black leather.

Ashley had priced used saddles at local tack shops and been quoted prices as high as five hundred dollars—far above her budget.

This one was perfect. So was the worn old sawhorse she’d picked up at the lumber store. The manager had found it in a storage area and had been happy to get rid of it. He’d given it to her for nothing and suggested eBay for the saddle.

On Tuesday morning, Ashley loaded both items into the back of her car. She left them there when she went in for her shift; the last thing she wanted was for Belinda to walk in on her as she hauled a saddle and sawhorse to Bert’s room. Better to wait until Belinda was busy with paperwork. If Ashley could manage to get the saddle into Bert’s room, she’d be home free. Belinda rarely went into Bert’s room.

Ashley hated to think what would happen if Belinda did find out about her plan. Already the woman was not happy with Ashley. She was constantly removing the sheet from the bathroom mirror, and when she saw Irvel’s wall of photos she’d accused Ashley of having too much time on her hands. She didn’t know yet that Sue Brown was pretending to be Helen’s friend rather than her daughter. But if Belinda found out, Ashley was certain there’d be trouble. Orchestrating conversations that did not pertain to reality was, in a sense, going against house rules.

“Step too far out of line and you’re finished,” Belinda had told Ashley recently. “Don’t push it. You’re not in charge here; I am, and Lu listens to me. Give me one reason, and you’re gone.”

Ashley didn’t want the saddle and sawhorse to be the reason.

She locked the car and went inside. Belinda wasn’t there yet, but the woman could show up any minute. Ashley said good-bye to the night-shift care worker, then made breakfast, changed diapers, and helped Irvel and her friends to the table. Once they were seated, Ashley served them each a bowl of hot cereal and a cup of peppermint tea. Then she joined them.

“So”—she looked around the table—“how’s everyone today?”

Irvel looked particularly rested, her face relatively smooth and free of the worry lines that she sometimes woke up with. “Hank has been nothing but wonderful to me, dear. It’s been a lovely week.”

The old woman had such a way of tugging at Ashley’s heart. She angled her head, seeing Irvel as she must have been two decades earlier, back when she and Hank had shared the same soul. Of course, now that the old dear woke up to Hank’s pictures, she was bound to feel more secure. “That’s wonderful, Irvel.”

Sunlight streamed through the window despite two inches of rain that had fallen the night before. Irvel smiled at her. “You know, dear, in this light you have the most beautiful hair. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Not today, Irvel.” Ashley remembered that Landon had said that exact thing, teasing her on one of their lazy summer days. Back before the world was knocked off its axis that September morning.

“Well, it’s true.” Irvel looked at Edith. “Don’t you think so?”

“Yes, I like her hair.” Edith looked at Ashley for a moment. “It’s a nice shade.”

Helen lowered her chin and stared at Ashley over her oatmeal bowl. “With hair like that, it’s a good thing you’ve been checked. Sue was checked, but not during breakfast.” She picked up her spoon and took a bite of the hot cereal.

Ashley smothered a smile behind her hands. Back when she first started working at Sunset Hills, Helen would have slammed her fist on the table or slapped her leg for emphasis. Not now. The streak of belligerence that seemed to color her personality had faded considerably. Ashley had to believe this was because of Helen’s conversations with her daughter. She had a connection to Sue now, no matter how distant. As a result, life was better for all of them.

“You
have
been checked, haven’t you?” Helen raised an eye in Ashley’s direction once more. “Spies run the place, you know. There was a fellow on TV the other day . . . looked wild and crazy. Wacky face.” She tapped a finger against her temple. “A big zero up here. He was a spy, I know it. But no one ever checked him.”

“Yes, Helen, I’ve been checked. Just before I came in. I’m not a spy.”

“Good.” She gave a quick nod. “Is that old lady coming to visit today? The nice one—knows my daughter?”

“I believe she is.” Ashley was glad Sue hadn’t heard that description of herself—especially coming from her mother.

“She’s not a spy.” Helen blew on her cereal.

“No, Helen, she’s not.” Sue came by often now. Every time they were together, Ashley’s heart picked up hope. Maybe one day, if the friendship between Sue and Helen continued, Helen might actually accept Sue for who she was—her only daughter.

Irvel set down her spoon and stared at Helen. “I’m Irvel.” She held out her hand. “Glad you could join us today.”

Helen left Irvel’s hand hanging and looked across the table at Edith. “Who are you?”

“Me?” The question seemed to stump Edith for a moment. “Edith . . . I’m Edith.” The spoon shook in her hand, her voice uncertain. “That’s right, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Edith.” Ashley kept her voice calm and confident. She had noticed that the residents did better when the caretakers didn’t react to their questions with sarcasm or exasperation, the way Belinda did on a routine basis.

“Edith’s our friend,” Irvel said. She patted Edith’s hand and looked at Helen with politely raised eyebrows. “And you are . . . ?”

“You know who I am!” Helen lowered her brow. “I make sure people get checked around here.”

“This is Helen.” Ashley gave Irvel a knowing smile. “She’s our friend, too.”

“This tea is just wonderful.” Irvel pointed to Helen’s cup. “You should try it.” She glanced at her watch, a delicate old silver bangle she wore night and day. Ashley had a feeling it had been a gift from Hank. Irvel took a slow sip of her tea. “Hank will be here in an hour or two, so drink up, Ingrid. Tea is best when it’s hot.”

Edith tapped Irvel on the shoulder. “I’m not Ingrid. I’m Edith.” She pointed to Ashley. “That girl said so.”

Ashley sat back and watched with a mixture of amusement and sadness as the conversation unfolded. They really didn’t know. These women lived together, ate every meal together, and spent their days in each other’s company. But every morning they had no idea who the people around the table were. Introductions were part of their daily routine.

The disease was that wicked.

And although she’d found a way to stop Edith from screaming, there was nothing Ashley could do to clear the permanent fog that clouded the woman’s memory. The research Ashley had read said that helping people live at the point in time where they felt most comfortable sometimes worked to restore memory loss. But not always. And clearly not for Edith.

Irvel shook her head and shot Edith a knowing smile. “I know you’re Edith.” She pointed to Helen. “I mean her. Ingrid over there. The one that’s always checking people.”

“My name’s Helen.” An irritated look filled Helen’s eyes, and she looked at Ashley for help. “What’s with her?” She pointed at Irvel. “The old bat can’t remember anything!”

“Actually, I was thinking we could play a friendly game of bridge until Hank gets here.” Irvel glanced at the others. “No wagering, though. Hank says the good Lord looks down on wagering.”

“Is this scrambled eggs?” Edith poked her spoon into the oatmeal three times. “It doesn’t look like eggs.”

Irvel shot a look down the bridge of her delicate nose at the food in Edith’s bowl. “Dear . . .” She rolled her eyes in Ashley’s direction. “That’s not eggs. It’s corn cereal. Your mother fixed it for us.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Helen raised her hand but stopped short of slamming it on the table. “My mother makes lasagna. She made it today.” Helen peered into the kitchen. “But every time she makes it, someone steals it. Just like Sue. They stole my daughter, too. Things are always getting stolen around here.”

Irvel sighed as though it was all she could do to be patient with the women on either side of her. “Not
your
mother, Ingrid.
Edith’s
mother. Edith’s mother made the corn cereal this morning.”

“I’m not Ingrid,” Helen growled. “Ingrid’s in the other room.”

Edith hadn’t eaten a bite since she’d asked about the contents of her bowl. Now she mouthed the word
mother,
her eyes wide and fearful. “Mother?” She glanced around. “Mother?”

“Spies.” Helen shook her head, disgusted. “It’s the spies that steal things.”

Here we go. . . .
Ashley drew a deep breath. Every now and then a healthy dose of reality was necessary to get the conversation back on track. “Actually,
I
fixed the oatmeal this morning.”

Edith stared at her. “You’re not my mother.”

“No,” Irvel cut in. “She’s not your mother. But she does have beautiful hair. Don’t you think so, girls? I’ve never seen hair like that before.”

* * *

Ashley could hardly wait for naptime.

All she could think about was the saddle and sawhorse in the trunk of her car, and the way Bert would react when he saw it. Would he recognize the feel of leather? Be drawn to the smell? Would it take him back the way she hoped it would—back to a time when he was useful and needed? If so, it was possible he might regain some of his communication skills. At least that’s what the Past-Present school of research taught.

Despite the reigning confusion, the morning went well. Ashley made sure the sheet was over the bathroom mirror, and Edith seemed completely at ease. Irvel had only to look at her bedroom wall to know Hank was nearby. And Helen had asked again about the “nice old woman” who came to talk about Sue.

Sometime during breakfast, Belinda slunk in through the front door and headed back to the office without saying a word. Ashley was glad. The two of them got along better when they avoided each other.

By ten o’clock, the residents had been bathed and were nestled into their chairs for their morning naps. Laura Jo seemed worse. She’d barely eaten anything for three days, and she slept nearly all the time. Ashley looked in at her and quietly came to her side. “Laura Jo?” Ashley took hold of the woman’s water cup and worked the straw between Laura Jo’s dry lips. The woman took two slow drinks.

Ashley waited. “Are you okay?”

The woman moaned and rolled her head a few inches toward Ashley. She was shrunken; her bones practically poked through her skin. Last time Ashley had checked the woman’s health chart, Laura Jo’s weight had dropped below eighty pounds. Her doctor had said it would be only a matter of weeks.

Belinda was already taking applications for her bedroom.

“I’m here, Laura Jo.” Ashley took hold of the woman’s fingers and ran her thumb over the fine bones along the back of her hand. “If you need anything, let me know.”

Laura Jo worked her lips as though she was trying to say something. Finally a single word sounded. “Pray.”

Pray? Ashley’s nerves jingled like wind chimes. “What’s that, Laura Jo? I’m here for you, dear. Whatever you need.”

Again the woman worked her mouth. “P-p-pray. Pray.”

This time Ashley had no doubt. She swallowed her fear. “You want to pray?”

In a small, barely detectable movement, Laura Jo nodded.

Great. Ashley felt a fine layer of perspiration break out across her brow. She couldn’t pray with Laura Jo. She wasn’t the right person for the job. It was one thing to pray silently for Landon or talk to God in church. But aloud? For a dying woman? Laura Jo needed someone in good standing with the Lord to say that kind of prayer, someone who would know a Bible verse or two, someone to give her peace in her final moments. “You . . . you want
me
to pray?”

Moving like a Disney mannequin on low batteries, Laura Jo nodded. “Praaaay.” She gave Ashley a faint squeeze of her fingers.

Oh, boy.
The pounding in Ashley’s chest was so loud she was afraid it would frighten the old woman.
I don’t know what to say, God. Help me.

Remember the days of your youth, daughter. Remember . . .

Ashley jerked back an inch. Remember the days of her youth? Where had that come from?

Laura Jo hadn’t said it, and there was no one else in the room. Besides, the words were silent. Almost as though someone had spoken them directly to her heart.

Then it hit her. Could it be God speaking? Was he asking her to remember her childhood, the way she’d prayed aloud back then?

A memory filled her mind. She and Kari as children, holding hands beside their sick puppy. “God, make Brownie better. Please, God.” She’d prayed then, hadn’t she? Simple words voicing out loud the request closest to her heart.

But that had been more than a decade ago. Could she do it here? For this dying woman? Ashley did a quiet gulp and opened her mouth.
Help me, God. I don’t know what to say.

Then, as though God himself was providing her a script, the words—almost childlike—began to come. “Lord, help Laura Jo. . . .” Ashley’s voice was shaky, nervous. But somehow she found the strength to continue. “Be here, and hold her hand . . . please, God. Make her feel happy inside, and be gentle with her.”

Tears blurred the image of the old woman’s face, and Ashley blinked, struggling to see. “Pretty soon she’ll be . . .” Her voice caught, and she noticed that the wrinkles around Laura Jo’s mouth had eased some. The urgency she’d had moments before was gone.

Ashley worked to finish. “Pretty soon she’ll be home in your arms.” Ashley leaned over and kissed Laura Jo’s cold, hollow cheek. “Until then, stay with her, God. Give her your peace, and hold her hand so she’s never, ever alone.”