is Jada.” I see her smile. She knows how much I love Jada. I turn to Jada next, “Jada, this is my mother.”
They shake hands. Jada is bashful, shy in a way I’ll never be.
“It’s nice to meet you, Jada.” My mom pulls Jada in close for a warm hug.
“And you, too. I love your house. And your garden is wonderful.” Jada says nervously.
“Oh, you’re too kind. Look closer and you’ll see it’s just a weed bed.” She shows Jada, pointing with her scrawny hand. She’s old; it shows everywhere.
“Mom, I thought that maybe we would have dinner with you tonight.” I don’t give her a chance to object. “Jada is an extremely talented chef.”
Jada shrugs modestly. “I don’t have a choice. All he cooks is cereal.”
I laugh and we jab each other playfully. I love this girl.
“Well, then. I would hate to put your talents to waste. It’s about dinner time. Come on inside.” Mom begins towards the house. She looks back to us as I take Jada’s hand in my own. “Water? Tea? Wine, Jada?”
I whisper in Jada’s ear softly. “Not the water.”
“Tea is fine,” Jada replies.
“You pick tea. I say not the water, and you pick the tea.” I laugh and kiss her quickly. “Tea is made of water.”
We enter the house and walk into the kitchen. I show Jada pictures on the wall. She laughs at my grade school photos. Laughs harder at my kindergarten haircut.
“Who cut your hair?”
With my eyes only, I let her know it was my mom.
My mother opens the fridge. “Water? Soda?”
“Tea is fine,” Jada says again.
“Oh, I don’t carry any tea.”
Jada shoots me a curious look. I can only shrug.
I help my mother out of the way, investigating for myself. “Mom, what sounds good to you?”
“Oh, I can’t eat again. I just had dinner.”
I stare at her in wonder. I see her turn to Jada, hand extended in greeting. I feel my stomach churn.
“And you must be the girl he’s so worked up about?” she asks.
Jada hesitates. “I think so.”
“You’re so pretty.” She looks like she’s has such a great idea. “I know what you need: a tulip. I have a beautiful garden outside. Would you care to see it?”
I close the refrigerator door. My heart breaks. It’s beginning, I know. Early stage, of course. But the outcome is inevitable. I’ve gone too long in between visits to catch the subtle hints. I fill with regret.
How soon before she forgets who I am?
Alzheimer’s has no cure. There is nothing I can do to help her. I wish it were otherwise. I get mad that I’m not smarter for her. I want badly to have the cure—to have more time. There must be a way. Instantly I am obsessed with finding the answer. My future is now mapped out. My determination is chiseled in stone.
I hear my mother repeat something else to Jada. My spirit is washed in sadness. Jada sees it. She knows. She reaches out and holds my hand, rubbing her thumb against mine. I don’t feel like eating. I feel like mourning.
S E V E N T E E N
It’s five o’clock. Jada shouts the time from the kitchen, giving the count down. It is five minutes before we have to leave. I’m upstairs helping Avery with his cleats.
“Steve?” Jada shouts with a slight annoyance. “We have to leave in five minutes, you two. Five minutes!”
“We’re ready!” I shout back from a room beyond the top of the stairs.
Avery and I rush to the staircase in a thundering of footsteps, bringing a smile to Jada’s face. Avery shows off his uniform, bright and clean for the last time. His baseball cap is almost too big. I follow Avery down the steps, carrying a baseball bag full of bats and Avery’s glove. I am a proud father.
“Look at my boy!” Jada announces. It brings a smile to Avery. He blushes and smiles grand—minus one tooth in the top front. “Avery Barton. You look just like your father.”
“Yes, we are some good looking ball players.” I say.
“I’m like a baseball team,” Avery says. He’s five.
Avery reaches the floor and Jada grabs and hugs him, kissing him a hundred times. Avery doesn’t mind. Jada takes a few pictures and sets her camera in her purse.
“Is Lorelai ready?” I ask.
Lorelai flutters around like a butterfly, proudly showing off her summer dress to the cat she named Kit Cat. People tell her that she looks like her mother. I agree.
“Lor, honey, put your sandals on. We have to leave now.” Jada says to our daughter. She points to a small pair of pink sandals near the kitchen doors. Lorelai meows a few times as she runs. Jada sighs and shakes her head. She says nothing, but she can’t wait for little Lor to stop talking like a cat.
I take Lor’s hand and walk her outside. Jada straightens Avery’s shirt, fussing like a perfectionist. Avery tries to walk away.
“Mom, come on. We have to go.”
Jada smiles. “You’re going to be fine.”
“I’m not scared, mom.” Avery rushes past her, making her follow.
I set the bag in the minivan, shutting the back door as Jada and Avery rush out to us. Lor is sitting in her pink, flowery booster seat, trying to buckle her seatbelt in. Avery gets in on his own and shuts his door.
My phone rings from inside my jean-short’s pocket. The ring tone is poppy. It makes Jada roll her eyes.
“Put it on mute or vibrate,” she says. “You’ll embarrass the hell out of me if someone calls.”
I recognize the number calling and sigh. It’s work. It’s urgent, of course. It’s not good. Jada sees my excitement dampen. She knows. She stares at me as I answer it. She hates it. I hear her mumble something unpleasant as she gives me the look.
“Go ahead,” I answer. There’s a nurse speaking quickly to me, urgently. There’s been a problem. I look away from Jada. She is going to be mad. “Okay, don’t do anything until I get there. Give me ten minutes. Bye.”
Jada is shaking her head before I can put the phone back into my pocket. “You can’t be serious?”
“I’m sorry. I have to.”
She’s hurt. “You always have to. This is your son’s first little league game ever. You will never have this back.”
“I’m on call. It’s my job.”
“Let it be someone else’s job right now!” Jada snatches the car keys from my hands. “You miss out on birthdays, school plays…he’s five, Steve. He’ll remember these times. He’ll remember that you weren’t there. Is that how you want it?”
“That’s not fair.” I get angry too. I don’t want to leave. Not again. “Look, I’ll be an hour. The game is what…two hours long? I’ll make it there, I promise.”
“It’s not just them that miss you.” Jada’s eyes are sad. “Sometimes it feels like you’re married to that hospital.”
“Hey, this is my job! I’ve dedicated years of my life to be able to be in this position, Jade.” She hates it when I call her that.
She’s quiet for a second. “You can’t save her, you know.”
“What?” I don’t follow.
“Your mother. You’re doing all of this because of her.”
“What? She’s dead, Jade. Why would you say that?”
“You blame yourself for not being able to help her. I think you still believe that you can. If you can help other amnesia patients, then you can somehow—”
I’ve had enough. “I said I’ll be there, then I’ll be there. One hour.”
Jada shakes her head. “We have to go.”
Jada pushes past me to enter the van. She starts it up and backs up past me without looking in my direction. The kids stare at me. They don’t understand, but it’s not a big surprise. It’s just another disappointment.
“Take pictures for me!” I yell. I catch Avery’s eyes. “I love you buddy! Swing hard! Keep your eye on the ball!”
I keep giving advice as the van drives away. It’s at the end of the driveway, turning onto t
he street before I walk for the garage to my car. I fight to contain my tears. What Jada said hurt. But she was right. When my mother lost her memory and the amnesia was so severe that she didn’t know me anymore, I vowed to fix it. I vowed to discover a way to reverse the disease.
I start up my car and drive away. I’m speeding; I’m in a hurry. I have to get to the hospital, help where he can, then get to the game. I have to prove Jada wrong.
I’ll never miss another game.
I’m not driving reckless, but close to it. The road bends around the lake, sharp ahead. I slow a bit, tires screech around and through the curve. I speed up again to make up for the time lost. The city looms ahead through the breaks in the trees. I see the hospital and step on the gas harder.
The road bends once more, not much curve this time—just enough. Going in to it, my hands gripping the wheel hard, an old man appears out of no where, standing in the road. I yell, stomping both feet on the brake pedal. The car squeals terribly. I swerve to avoid the man, and skid out of control and veer straight for a tree line.
Impact is inevitable. I close my eyes, screaming as the huge maple nears.
The crash is the last sound I hear.
Blood trickling down my throat wakes me. Through my blurred vision, I see lights surrounding me. My head stings. My neck hurts. My hands bleed from cuts, and broken glass coats me like a second skin. I smell something burning, breaking through the fresh air in swirls.
I slump back in the seat. The door opens and someone pulls me free from the mangled car. I see the smoke now, rising from the engine, now crushed into a horse-shoe shape around the massive tree. Leaves and bark blanket the remaining section of the hood. Disoriented, I understand very little of what happened. I’m even