Chương 5
Then another.
Then Margaret called, “Where do you keep the extra pillowcases?”
Evan closed his eyes.
Laura laughed.
A real laugh this time, brief and painful.
He looked at her.
“You think that’s funny?”
“She has slept in this house probably forty times.”
“So?”
“She knows where the pillowcases are.”
He stared toward the door.
Margaret called again.
“Laura?”
Laura raised her voice.
“Hall closet, second shelf.”
“I looked there.”
“They’re behind the towels.”
A pause.
“Oh.”
Evan put both hands over his face.
Laura leaned against his shoulder.
He did not move away.
The next morning Margaret dressed for Dr. Patel’s appointment as if she were going to court.
Dark slacks instead of the house dress.
White blouse.
Small gold earrings.
Lipstick.
She ate half a piece of toast and announced that she had slept terribly because the guest cot was “an orthopedic crime.”
Evan poured coffee into three mismatched mugs.
Nobody mentioned the bruises.
Margaret opened the sugar bowl.
“It’s empty.”
“There’s sugar in the cabinet,” Laura said.
“Why have a bowl?”
“So you can tell us it’s empty.”
Margaret looked at her.
Laura braced.
Then Margaret snorted.
Evan stared into his coffee as though afraid any sign of amusement would count as taking sides.
At nine-thirty they left.
Evan wanted to drive.
Margaret objected.
“My car is perfectly good.”
“You’re not driving.”
“You’ve made that decision?”
“For today, yes.”
“On what authority?”
“The authority of having the keys.”
Margaret stopped on the front step.
Laura turned sharply toward him.
“You took her keys?”
“Last night.”
“I told you not to hide things.”
“I didn’t hide them. They’re on the kitchen counter.”
“In my house,” Margaret said.
Evan looked at his mother.
“Mom.”
“You entered my house and took my keys.”
“I used the emergency key you gave us.”
“For emergencies.”
“You attacked Laura.”
“I was confused.”
“Yes.”
“Which is apparently now evidence that I can never operate an automobile.”
“It is enough evidence that you don’t drive until somebody checks what’s happening.”
Margaret held out her hand.
“Give me my keys.”
“No.”
Her face went blank.
Laura recognized that expression.
Not confusion.
Humiliation.
It was the look Margaret had worn when a grocery clerk once offered her a senior discount without being asked.
Laura stepped closer.
“Margaret.”
“Don’t.”
“Let’s just go to the appointment.”
“You’re on his side now.”
“There aren’t sides.”
“There are always sides when someone takes your keys.”
Evan exhaled.
“Fine.”
He took the keys from his jacket pocket.
Laura stared at him.
Margaret did too.
He placed them in his mother’s open palm.
“You are not driving today,” he said.
Margaret closed her fingers around the keys.
Evan continued.
“If you decide after the appointment that you’re going home and driving wherever you want, I can’t physically stop you. I am not going to wrestle keys out of your hand.”
Margaret’s expression softened almost imperceptibly.
“But if the doctor tells you not to drive and you do anyway,” he said, “I’m not covering it up.”
The softness disappeared.
He opened the passenger door of his truck.
“Your choice.”
Margaret stood on the sidewalk for ten seconds.
Then she put her keys in her purse and climbed into the truck.
Dr. Patel had been Margaret’s physician for eleven years.
He was a quiet man in his fifties who wore running shoes with dress pants and had the irritating ability to let silence last longer than whoever sat across from him.
Margaret gave him her version first.
She had been tired.
She had mixed up a few medications.
She occasionally forgot names.
She had become frightened one night and accidentally struck Laura.
She was under stress.
She was not senile.
Dr. Patel listened.
He asked about sleep.
Margaret said poor.
Appetite.
Fine.
Headaches.
No.
Falls.
No.
Alcohol.
“A glass of wine sometimes.”
“How often is sometimes?”
“Sometimes.”
He waited.
Margaret sighed.
“Three nights a week.”
“More than one glass?”
“Not unless the bottle is very persuasive.”
Dr. Patel smiled faintly.
Laura noticed Margaret relax.
Then he asked whether she had gotten lost anywhere familiar.
“No.”
Margaret answered too fast.
Laura looked at her.
Dr. Patel saw it.
“Laura?”
Margaret’s head turned.
Laura felt the old instinct rise.
Protect her.
Give her dignity.
Say nothing she has not given you permission to say.
Then she remembered the poker hitting her leg.
“I found her at the old library in June.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
Evan looked between them.
“What old library?”
“The one on Kirkwood.”
“That closed.”
“I know.”
“It closed four years ago.”
“I know.”
Margaret said coldly, “I took a wrong turn.”
“You called me because you couldn’t find your car.”
Dr. Patel asked, “Was the car nearby?”
Laura looked at Margaret.
“No.”
“Where was it?”
“At the grocery store.”
Evan stared at his mother.
Margaret folded her arms.
“I walked.”
“It’s three miles.”
“I like walking.”
“You told me you drove.”
“I forgot I walked.”
Silence.
Dr. Patel wrote something down.
Margaret watched his pen.
“That,” she said, “is exactly what I didn’t want.”
He stopped writing.
“What part?”
“People making lists.”
“Lists can be useful.”
“Lists become files.”
“Sometimes.”
“Files become decisions.”
Dr. Patel set the pen down.
“Margaret, nobody in this room gets to erase you because you’re having memory problems.”
She looked at him skeptically.
“But avoiding the problem doesn’t protect your choices,” he said. “It usually reduces them.”
Laura felt Margaret glance toward her.
They had discussed that sentence before, though not in those words.
Dr. Patel reviewed the medication bottles Laura had brought.
There were duplications from older prescriptions.
One bottle had been filled months ago but was nearly full.
Another should have lasted six weeks but was empty.
He did not offer a dramatic diagnosis.
He did not say one frightening word that made everything suddenly clear.
Instead he asked more questions.
Dates.
Recent events.
Simple tasks.
He ordered blood work.
May you like
He recommended a more detailed cognitive evaluation.
He wanted someone else organizing Margaret’s medications for now.
