Remembering Me (2 page)

E
MMA WAS SITTING ON THE FLOOR OF HER ROOM, ABSORBED IN
her new tropical fish puzzle, a gift from her teenage baby-sitter, Shelley. Laura hunched down next to her. It had been two weeks since Christmas, yet this was the first time she’d seen Emma play with the puzzle. It was taking her some time to get over Poppa’s death.

“I’m going out for a little while,” Laura said, tucking a strand of Emma’s hair behind the little girl’s ear. “Daddy’s downstairs in his office.” It was good that Emma was so wrapped up in the puzzle. She would be little bother to Ray.

Emma held up a piece of the puzzle. “I know what
this
is,” she crowed. “Do you, Mom?”

“Fish scales?” Laura asked as if she weren’t quite sure.

“Right! And it goes right here!” Emma dropped the scales into the picture. “Are you going to work?” she asked, reaching for another piece of the puzzle.

“No. First I’m going to drop off my broken necklace at the jeweler’s. Then I’m going to visit someone.” She stood up. “I won’t be long.”

“This one’s an eye,” Emma said. “I can’t wait till when I have it all done. Can we put paste on it and hang it up like we did with the other one?”

“Sure, if you like. But then you won’t be able to play with it again.”

“That’s okay.” She looked up at Laura. Her eyes were the same color as her pale blue sweater. “Mom?” she asked.

“Honey, I really have to get going.”

“I know, but do you want to look at one of my books with me?”

“Tonight. Before bed.” She bent over to kiss the top of Emma’s head. “I’ll see you in a little while,” she said.

“’Kay,” Emma said, returning her attention easily to her puzzle.

She was an independent child, far more independent than other five-year-olds Laura had encountered. People had been surprised to see her at Poppa’s funeral, but Laura had prepared Emma well for what she would see and hear, and she was certain she’d made the right decision in taking her. Emma finally seemed to understand the permanence of Poppa’s death after attending the service. Her daughter hadn’t cried during the funeral, but she’d put her little arm around her mother in comfort each time Laura began to tear up.

Downstairs, Laura found Ray in his office, his manuscript on the desk in front of him, but his attention focused on something out the window. She put her hands on his shoulders, the gray plaid flannel of his shirt warm beneath her palms.

“I won’t be long,” she said. She looked out the window herself, trying to determine what had caught his eye, but saw nothing other than the row of town houses across the street. Each of them was identical to the house in which they lived, each of their slanted roofs was covered with a thin layer of snow.

“Please don’t go,” Ray said, his gaze still riveted outside, and she knew he was slipping into one of his dark moods. She’d known Ray for ten years and had been married to him for nearly six. During that time, he’d seen several psychiatrists and
taken a myriad of antidepressants, but nothing could hold off the darkness for long.

In the two weeks since her father’s death, Ray had apologized repeatedly for his outburst, assuring her he was not upset about her career. Still, the words he’d said that morning echoed in her ears, and she didn’t believe his retraction of them. In his moment of anger, he’d finally spoken the truth. Wanting to Honour his feelings, Laura had tried to set her father’s request aside, and she was able to do so with reasonable success until the call from her father’s attorney.

“Who’s this Tolley woman?” the attorney had asked her. He told her that her father had paid the entrance fee for Sarah Tolley to move into Meadow Wood Village five years earlier. Not only had he continued to pay her monthly rent, he’d also left a large sum of money in trust for her so that she would still be taken care of after his death.

“I don’t have a clue,” Laura had told him, but her father’s arrangements left her even more certain that Sarah Tolley had somehow played a significant role in his life. She had to see her. When she told Ray her plans, he grew sullen.

“I’m leaving,” Laura said now, bending over, pressing her cheek to Ray’s temple. “I’ll be back in an hour. I promise I won’t stay longer than that. Emma’s completely absorbed in her fish puzzle, so you should be able to work undisturbed.”

He said nothing, and she removed her hands from his shoulders. He was giving her no support on this. Even in Ray’s blackest moods, it was out of character for him to treat her so coolly. It was almost as though her desire to carry out her father’s last wish had come to symbolize her inattention to him. She wondered if it was all right to leave Emma with him today.

“I’ll be back before you know I’ve gone,” she said, and she turned to leave the room before he had another chance to change her mind.

She dropped her broken necklace off at the jeweler’s, then drove across town to the retirement home.

Meadow Wood Village was a charming place, a large, three-story building that managed to look well-aged and homey despite its relative newness and size. Its siding was a pale blue, the shutters white. An inviting porch ran across the entire front of the building. A place like this could take the fear out of growing old, Laura thought as she walked to the front door.

The building was as warm and inviting inside as it was out, and it smelled like cinnamon and vanilla. The carpets and upholstery were all a soft mauve-and-aqua print. Laura stopped at the front desk, where the receptionist looked up from a stack of paperwork.

“I’m looking for one of your residents,” Laura said. “Sarah Tolley.”

“I’ll call her attendant for you.” The woman motioned toward the lobby. “Have a seat.”

Laura sat on the edge of one of the wing chairs, and in a few minutes, a young, heavyset woman wearing a long floral jacket came into the lobby.

“You’re here to see Sarah?” the woman asked. She looked frankly incredulous.

“Yes,” Laura said. “My name’s Laura Brandon. I don’t actually know her…know Sarah,” she said. “She was a friend of my father’s, and he died recently. He’d asked me to look in on her.”

The woman lowered herself into the chair closest to Laura’s. Everything about her was round: her body, her face, her wire-rimmed glasses, her button nose.

“I’m Carolyn, Sarah’s attendant,” she said, “and I have to say, I’m a little surprised by this. No one ever comes to visit Sarah.”

“My father must have,” Laura said. “Carl Brandon. He was about six feet tall, very slender, eightiesh, and—”

Carolyn interrupted her with a shake of her head. “
No one
has ever come to see her. I would know.”

“That just doesn’t make sense.” Laura saw her own puzzled reflection in the attendant’s glasses. “Well, can you tell me about her?” she asked. “How old is she?”

“She’s seventy-five. And she’s in the early stages of Alzheimer’s. Did you know that?”

Laura sank lower in her chair. “No. I don’t know a thing about her.”

“She’s in excellent shape, physically,” Carolyn said. “She takes the exercise classes in our pool. And the Alzheimer’s is barely apparent, so far.” She sat forward in her chair. “We have three living areas here at Meadow Wood,” she explained. “Independent-living apartments, assisted-living apartments, and then a separate wing for those patients who need round-the-clock care. Until just last week, Sarah was able to live in the independent-living wing, but we had to move her over to assisted-living so she could receive more supervision. You know, no stove, no lock on the door. She got lost a couple of times when she went out for a walk, so we felt it was time to move her. We can’t let her go out by herself any longer.”

Laura nodded. What was she getting herself into?

Carolyn leaned even farther forward in her chair. “You know what would be fantastic?” she asked. “If you could take her out for a walk sometime. When the weather’s warmer, of course. Sarah would love that.”

Laura pictured Ray in the study, stewing in his disappointment that she’d gone to Meadow Wood even this once. “I don’t know,” she said. “I mean, I haven’t even met her.”

“The other thing you could do to help her,” Carolyn continued as if Laura hadn’t spoken, “would be to simply listen to her. Let her talk about her old memories. At this point, her primary symptoms are confusion and short-term memory loss. Her mind is still sharp in the past, though, and she loves to talk. But like I said, there’s no one to listen to her, except me, and I have other patients to take care of.”

“I really just wanted to—”

“Even though she’s always up for the bingo games, and she
loves
movie night,” Carolyn surged ahead, “she still spends too much time in her apartment watching TV. It shouldn’t be like that. I mean, with some patients, that’s okay. That’s enough stimulation. But someone like Sarah needs more.”

“Well—” Laura held up a hand to stop the woman “—as I said, I’ve never even met her. And I have a family of my own as well as a job to attend to. I only wanted to find out how my father knew her. That’s all.” That was not all her father had been asking of her, though, and she knew it.

“All right,” Carolyn stood up, clearly disappointed. “Come with me, then.”

She followed the attendant down a long corridor lined with pale aqua doors, each of them decorated with something different. Some of the doors had photographs taped to them. One had a stuffed teddy bear attached to the knocker. Another, a pair of ballet slippers.

Carolyn stopped at the door bearing a black cutout of a movie projector.

“This is Sarah’s apartment,” she said. “She loves old movies. We put the pictures or whatever on their doors so they know which door is theirs. Sarah’s not that bad yet, though,” she added quickly as she rang the buzzer.

It was a minute before the door was pulled open by an elderly woman, who smiled warmly when she saw Carolyn. “Come in, dear,” she said.

Laura followed the attendant into the small living room, which was furnished in attractive contemporary furniture. Nubby, oatmeal-colored upholstery and oak tables.

“Sarah, this is Laura Brandon,” Carolyn said. “She’s come to visit you.”

“How nice.” Sarah smiled at Laura. She was tall, an inch or two taller than Laura’s five-six. Her silver hair was neatly coiffed, and she bore a slight but unmistakable resemblance to Eleanor Roosevelt. She was impeccably dressed: beige skirt, stockings, beige pumps. The only giveaway that she was not entirely lucid was the incorrect buttoning of her beige-and-white-striped blouse. The fabric gapped slightly above the waistband of her skirt. For some reason, that slip in the otherwise noble carriage of the woman put a lump in Laura’s throat.

Carolyn glanced at her watch. “I’ll leave you two to get to know each other,” she said. “Enjoy your visit.”

Sarah led Laura to the couch after Carolyn left. “Won’t you sit down, dear?” she said.

“Thank you.”

“Would you like some coffee? Or lemonade? I think I have some in the refrigerator.” She started walking toward the small kitchenette, but Laura stopped her.

“No, I’m fine,” she said. She looked awkwardly into her lap. “I’d like to explain why I’m here.”

Sarah sat down at the other end of the couch and looked at her attentively, hands folded in her lap.

“I believe you knew my father,” Laura said. “Carl Brandon.”

Sarah’s expression did not change.

“He died a few weeks ago and he’d asked me to…visit you. He wanted to be sure you were all right.”

A small cloud of confusion slipped over Sarah’s face. “That was nice of him,” she said. “I can’t remember who he is, though. I don’t remember things too well anymore.” She looked apologetic. “What did you say his name was?”

“Carl Brandon.”

“And where do I know him from?”

Laura smiled. “I don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me. He didn’t say. I figured maybe you were old friends. He pays for your apartment. And he still will, of course,” she added hastily, not wanting to worry her. “He set up a trust for you in his will.”

“My!” Sarah said. “I thought my social security paid for it.” She pressed her fingers to her temples. “I truly must be losing my mind. I just can’t remember him. Where did you say I know him from?”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Tolley. He was born in New York City in 1918. He grew up in Brooklyn. I think he moved there when he was about twelve and lived there until he was in his early twenties. Did you ever live in New York?”

“New Jersey,” Sarah said. “I grew up in Bayonne.”

“Well, maybe you didn’t meet him in New York, then. How about Philadelphia? He moved there when he was twenty-four or so, and he worked as a physicist at Allen Technologies. He had a passion for astronomy—
everyone
who knew him knew about that. He married my mother when he was around forty. My mother died when I was a child, and my father never remarried. I don’t know if he ever dated anyone or not. But maybe he knew you during that time? Could you have gone out with him at some time?”

“No, I don’t know how I knew him, but I’m sure that wasn’t
it. I only went out with one man in my whole life.” Sarah’s gaze drifted to a photograph on one of the end tables. It was an old, sepia-toned picture of a good-looking young man.