Face the Music (13 page)

“They’re just people, nobody important.  I miss
my
people, you know?” 
He shook his head and adjusted his coat, covering Molly’s legs.  “Can I ask you something?”

“What?”

“It’s kind of stupid, but…
”

“There’s no such thing as a
stupid question.  As a teacher
I’m required by law to tell y
ou that.”  I raised my eyebrows,
gave him an authoritative look
, and then laughed
.

He grinned.  “
We
usually
have a
little get-t
ogether on Monday night
s
after the show.  It’s sort of a farewell party for whoever is going home
that week
. 
Anyway,
I was
thinking it w
ould be fun if… if you came.”  He then added, “Hopefully it won’t be my farewell party!” 

My stomach lurched at the idea. 

“But what
do you think?  Will you come?”

I watched as he spoke; his breath condensed in the cold air with each word.  He looked at me with those endlessly deep brown eyes and was so unintentionally seductive with the snow whirling around him that my mind blurred.  I had to remind myself to breathe. 

“Allie?”

I blinked and sucked in a deep breath of the crisp air.  “Huh?”

“The party?”

“Mmmm…well, it sounds fun.  I’ll have to see
,
though.  I usually watch Molly on Monday nights.  Can I get back to you?”

“Of course.  You have my number, right?”

Indeed I did.  “Yeah, and I’ve been trying to figure out, where did you get mine?  I thought Emily gave it to you, but she said
she
didn’t.”

A trace o
f a smile played at his mouth.  “You did.  You gave it to me that night at the club.
  You were pretty out of it by then.
”

I
had absolutely no memory of that.  “I wonder
if there
are
any other
strange
men walking around Chicago
with my number,” I muttered, annoyed at myself.

He laughed.  “Strange, huh?  Look,
I’m not trying to hook up with you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“What?”  I stopped walking and stared at him.

“Your apartment walls are thin.”  He watched as I digested what he was telling me.  “But you have to admit, I am pretty sexy, right?”

My mouth just hung open.  “Is this your thing?” I asked once I’d found my voice.  “You
get off by
feeding your ego at the expense of others?”

He laughed again.  “I like making you blush.”

I shook my head
in exasperation
.  What w
as I supposed to say to that?

By the time we got inside,
Molly had fallen asleep in his arms.  He looked perfectly content as he cradled her.  A turbulent wave swelled in my chest, and at that moment I became very aware
of the fact
that I was feeling something much more than my initial, phys
ical attraction towards Chris.
  I swallowed hard and did my best to bury those feelings.
  I’d been burned once before.  I had no desire to let it happen again.

Chapter 7

Saturday afternoon I went to see Grams.  It had been weeks since my last visit to the Cedar Cr
eek Nursing Home, and since
Grams’s health was
in a constant state of decline
,
I tried to stop by as much as I could.  Although the quality of our visits grew increasingly worse as her disease progressed, I told myself that, deep down, she appreciated our time together.

Alzheimer’s started claiming Grams’s mind about ten years
earlier
.  At first she just seemed forgetful.  She would lose her keys or misplace her purse, but it got worse over the years and one day she went for a walk and didn’t come home.  Mom found her on a park bench about three miles from the house.  She couldn’t tell us how she got there and didn’t remember the way home.  Mom took her to a specialist after that, and it was then that we learned of her condition. 

Gramps took care of her for the first few years, but he had a heart condition and one morning just didn’t wake up.  Poor Grams was devastated; after being married for nearly forty y
ears
she just couldn’t understand why Gramps wasn’t there anymore.  She came to live with us after that, but
then Mom died, and
it
got to be
more than I could handle.

Cedar Creek was recommended by one of her doctors.  It was a top-notch place with a highly skilled staff, but their services didn’t come cheap.  Grams’s social security only covered a fraction of it, so it was
up to Emily and me
to pay the rest.  I gave them a substantial chunk of my modest income every month, but I had peace of mind knowing that she was receiving quality care, whether or not she was aware of it.

The person at the front desk looked up at me and smiled. 
“Good morning, Ms. Banks.”

“Hi, Erin.  How is Grams today?”

She frowned.  “It’s been a rough morning.  She’s confused and keeps asking about your mother.  She’s in her room
watching TV
.”

“Hmm,” I said, thinking about recent visits.  Lately
,
Grams
hadn’t
know
n
who I was.  It took its toll on me.  “Thanks for the warning.”

Grams’s room was on the first floor, not far from the reception area.  The walls were
a pale
y
ellow, and a vase filled with
white daisies
sat on her dresser.  Aside from the aseptic, sterile smell, the place was
actually very nice
.

She was sitting on her bed, wearing a
blue robe
and
matching
slippers.  Her thin white hair looked like it had just been washed and combed, and she was wearing a creamy, coral colored lipstick. 

“Hi Grams!”  I
kept my voice cheerful but
entered the room with caution.

“Ann, is that you honey?”
 

“
No, Grams.  I
t’s me, Allie.  Ann is my mom
, remember?”

She studied me, as if she knew that she should know me but couldn’t quite put it together.  After a minute she gave up and turned her attention back to the TV.  “Would you turn the heater up?  There’s a draft coming in through the window.” 

I adjusted the thermostat and
sat
on the hard, white chair across from her bed.  “
How are you feeling?” 
She was watching
Family Feud
, but confusi
on clouded her pale blue eyes
. 
“I brought you som
e yarn.  Are you still knitting?”

Her eyebrows pulled in, causing a vertical crease to fold across her already wrinkled brow.  “Knit?  I don’t know how to do that.”

“Yes, you do.”  I ran my hand across the green afghan that was spread across her bed.  “You made this, remember?”  She stared at it without a trace of recollection. 

Her knitting basket was on the floor.  I pulled out the needles and handed them to her, along with the yarn I’d brought.  “Just try, I bet you can do it.”

“I don’t want to.  I’m watching my shows,” she said stubbornly, turning back to the TV.  Some days
she
could be more difficult than four-year-old Molly.

I sat back in the chair and watched her focus on the TV.  It was plain on her face that she didn’t understand what was going on.  When I couldn’t take anymore, I pulled a sack of jellybeans out of my bag.  “I brought you a surprise.
  Red Jelly Belly’s, y
our favorite!
”
  My tone mirrored one that I’d use with a small child.

“You were always such a good girl.  Your father and I are so proud of you,” she said, reaching for the sack.  “How was school today?”

I sighed
and slumped back in the chair. 
As hard as it was not to correct her,
s
ometimes it was just easier
to play along
.  “School was great.”

She returned her attention to the screen.

After sitting for what felt like an eternity, a nurse came in and said that lunch was being served in the main dining room. 

I got Grams up and helped her shuffle down the h
all.  She was getting so thin.  T
he nurses said she didn’t eat much anymore, so after
getting her settled at a table
I tried to pick out something she would like.

We sat in silence, and I was sad to watch as she picked at her ham and bean soup.  It was heartbreaking to see her this way- she used to be so full of life.  When I was younger, I spent almost every weekend with her.  We use
d to go shopping and play house.  In the winter we’d
build snowmen
, and once we made paper boats and floated them down the street after a heavy rain
.  Sometimes I would drape a blanket across my shoulders and pretend it was a cape. 
She
would make a crown out of aluminum foil, give me her long strands of plastic beads, and I’d pretend I was queen of the world. 

She and I were so close. 
I could always tell her anything.  Now she didn’t even know who I was.  I knew her time would come soon, and in a way I was looking forward to it- not because I wanted her gone, but because I wanted her released from her own personal hell.  The Grams I loved and remembered would not have wanted to live this way. 

A family at a nearby table played cards.  Mom, Emily, Grams, Gramps, and I used to play.  Every Sunday afternoon we’d gather around Grams’s solid oak dining room table for a big meal and a few games of Pinochle.  Those were the days.  I really missed those days.

Grams finished picking at her food and said she was tired.  I led her back to her room and helped her get into bed. 

“I love you, Grams,” I whispered before closing her door.

When the
twelve-sixteen
bus
arrived, I boarded and
sank into a seat near the back.  Leaning my head against the window, I stared out the glass and
found myself lost in memories of better days.

I had spent the night before my thirteenth birthday at Grams’s house.  Mom called early the next morning and told me I needed to come home and babysit Emily.  I was so mad.  Why should I h
ave to babysit on my birthday?