as if it were 1968, back when he’d been a hotshot, 33-year-old attorney in Arlington Heights, Illinois with a beautiful wife, Elaine, and two children, Frank Junior and Sheila. The old man in the stained T-shirt and pajama bottoms used to dress in Brooks Brothers suits. The family moved to Seattle in 1971, where they added a third child to the brood, a baby girl. Frank started his own law firm, and did quite well in Mariner town. But he’d always remained a Cubs fan.
Though she knew it was typical of Alzheimer’s patients, Karen still thought it was kind of funny that Frank often couldn’t remember the name of his dead wife or the names of his three children and seven grandchildren. But he still recalled the Cubs’ star lineup from 1968.
“How do you think Ernie Banks is going to do, Frank?” she asked.
He stopped, and his milky blue eyes narrowed at her for a moment. “Um…you need—you need to keep your eye on Ron Santo. This is—this is going to be his year.” He lowered the knife. He suddenly seemed to forget he was holding it.
“I thought you were an Ernie Banks fan, Frank,” she said. “You know, there’s some glass on the floor behind you. Be careful.”
He turned and glanced down at the floor. “Yeah, you got to love Ernie. Who doesn’t?”
Karen felt her cell phone vibrate in the back pocket of her jeans, but she ignored it. She took a few steps toward him. “You know, you ought to put down that knife. Should we get some ice cream?”
He frowned at the knife in his hand, and then set it on one of the cafeteria tables.
“Does ice cream sound good to you, Frank?” Roseann piped in. “I think Karen has a good idea there. You recognize Karen, don’t you?”
The second orderly carefully reached for the knife and took it away. A few of the residents behind Karen sighed, and one elderly man clapped.
Karen put her arm around Frank. Between his breath and his body odor, he smelled awful. But she smiled at him. “You recognize me, don’t you, Poppy?”
A smile flickered across his face, and for a second he was her dad again. “Of course,” he whispered. “You’re my little girl.”
She gave his shoulder a squeeze. “That’s right, Poppy. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” She led her father toward the cafeteria doors.
Later, while the orderly got Mr. Carlisle changed and back in bed, Karen ducked into the employee lounge to check her phone messages. She’d been volunteering once a week at the Sandpoint View Convalescent Home for half a year now, and knew all the staff. It was one way to ensure her dad got special treatment, one way to keep from feeling so horrible for giving up on him and putting him in there.
In addition to her volunteer day, Karen saw her father at Sandpoint View about twice a week. She’d been driving over to visit him this afternoon when the call had come from Roseann, saying her dad was having an “episode.” Frank had slipped out of his room and under their radar a few times in the past; he’d even wandered off the grounds once. But this was the first incident in which he’d posed a threat to anyone.
Karen knew Roseann would have to take some measures after what had just happened in the cafeteria. They’d probably start him on a new medication, which would make him even more dopey and unreachable. Or maybe they’d move him into Ward E with the severe cases.
Karen didn’t want to think about that right now.
She nodded hello to a nurse, sitting at the table with her iPod and a sandwich. The small lounge had one window with the blinds lowered, and yellow-painted cinderblock walls that someone had decorated with these sappy, inspirational posters entitled Achievement, Friendship, and Tranquility. The photos of people watching the sunset, goldfish in a bowl, and kites flying against a blue sky were fuzzy and the poetic sentiments were written in script. Someone had scribbled BLOW ME in the top corner of the sunset Tranquility poster. There was also a
Though she knew it was typical of Alzheimer’s patients, Karen still thought it was kind of funny that Frank often couldn’t remember the name of his dead wife or the names of his three children and seven grandchildren. But he still recalled the Cubs’ star lineup from 1968.
“How do you think Ernie Banks is going to do, Frank?” she asked.
He stopped, and his milky blue eyes narrowed at her for a moment. “Um…you need—you need to keep your eye on Ron Santo. This is—this is going to be his year.” He lowered the knife. He suddenly seemed to forget he was holding it.
“I thought you were an Ernie Banks fan, Frank,” she said. “You know, there’s some glass on the floor behind you. Be careful.”
He turned and glanced down at the floor. “Yeah, you got to love Ernie. Who doesn’t?”
Karen felt her cell phone vibrate in the back pocket of her jeans, but she ignored it. She took a few steps toward him. “You know, you ought to put down that knife. Should we get some ice cream?”
He frowned at the knife in his hand, and then set it on one of the cafeteria tables.
“Does ice cream sound good to you, Frank?” Roseann piped in. “I think Karen has a good idea there. You recognize Karen, don’t you?”
The second orderly carefully reached for the knife and took it away. A few of the residents behind Karen sighed, and one elderly man clapped.
Karen put her arm around Frank. Between his breath and his body odor, he smelled awful. But she smiled at him. “You recognize me, don’t you, Poppy?”
A smile flickered across his face, and for a second he was her dad again. “Of course,” he whispered. “You’re my little girl.”
She gave his shoulder a squeeze. “That’s right, Poppy. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” She led her father toward the cafeteria doors.
Later, while the orderly got Mr. Carlisle changed and back in bed, Karen ducked into the employee lounge to check her phone messages. She’d been volunteering once a week at the Sandpoint View Convalescent Home for half a year now, and knew all the staff. It was one way to ensure her dad got special treatment, one way to keep from feeling so horrible for giving up on him and putting him in there.
In addition to her volunteer day, Karen saw her father at Sandpoint View about twice a week. She’d been driving over to visit him this afternoon when the call had come from Roseann, saying her dad was having an “episode.” Frank had slipped out of his room and under their radar a few times in the past; he’d even wandered off the grounds once. But this was the first incident in which he’d posed a threat to anyone.
Karen knew Roseann would have to take some measures after what had just happened in the cafeteria. They’d probably start him on a new medication, which would make him even more dopey and unreachable. Or maybe they’d move him into Ward E with the severe cases.
Karen didn’t want to think about that right now.
She nodded hello to a nurse, sitting at the table with her iPod and a sandwich. The small lounge had one window with the blinds lowered, and yellow-painted cinderblock walls that someone had decorated with these sappy, inspirational posters entitled Achievement, Friendship, and Tranquility. The photos of people watching the sunset, goldfish in a bowl, and kites flying against a blue sky were fuzzy and the poetic sentiments were written in script. Someone had scribbled BLOW ME in the top corner of the sunset Tranquility poster. There was also a
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