do you see?”
Selma stepped forward and touched Sam’s arm. “I’ve got some cookies,” she said gently. “Come into the kitchen with me.”
“What about them?” asked Sam, breathing hard and again pointing at the window.
“They won’t bother us,” said Selma. “They don’t like cookies.” Sam looked at Selma, back at the window, and then back at her. Her smile ran around her face in a circle, from the edge of her mouth through the tiny laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and back down to her to soft brown lips. “Let’s get something to eat,” she said. Sam slowly shifted to his hands and knees and then used the couch, with Selma holding on to his free elbow, to lift himself off the floor. Ann watched as he followed Selma into the kitchen. She helped him sit at the table before reaching into the end cupboard and pulling out a red tin. Ann watched her take two oatmeal cookies from the tin, put them on a paper napkin, and calmly set them down in front of Sam. The incident was over, but Ann’s chest still thundered. Moments later, Eileen walked through the front door carrying a duffel bag. Ann followed her mother into their bedroom, tears and terror in her eyes, and told her what she just witnessed.
“Honey, honey,” said Eileen, rubbing Ann’s back. “It’s okay. Well, I mean, it’s not okay. He’s not okay. But we can handle this.”
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” said Ann, holding on to her mother. “I don’t know how this happened. Why it happened.”
Eileen pulled a tissue from the pocket of her dress and handed it to her daughter, who accepted it, took a step backward, and blew her nose. “What happened out there, what you just saw, is what the doctor calls hallucinations. Your father sees things—people mostly—that aren’t there. He imagines things. Remember I told you about the kitchen staff at the Lutheran church? These flashes of fantasy are, unfortunately, happening more frequently,” said Eileen, “but thankfully they don’t last terribly long. And I’m getting better at distracting him. It sounds like Selma did the same thing.”
“Yes,” said Ann. “She seemed to know exactly what she was doing. But how can we change this, Mom? What did the doctor say about that?”
“The doctor thinks this is partially the disease, and partially a side effect of his medication.”
“Can we change the medication?”
“We have fiddled with it, here and there,” said Eileen, lifting her duffel from the carpet to the bed. “But, in the end, the good outweighs the bad.”
“What is the good?”
“He can move. The tremors in his hands and feet are under control. The rigidity that struck his entire left side has softened.”
“Good God,” said Ann, putting her hand to her chest. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“Well, yes,” said Eileen, unzipping her bag. “I would imagine it’s terrifying.”
“And is that why he drools?” asked Ann. “The medication?”
“He drools because he’s lost the use of some of his facial muscles,” said Eileen, taking three sweaters out of her bag. “Plus, he can have a hard time swallowing. I always carry a handkerchief with me.”
“Well,” said Ann, taking another step backward, “you must be hungry. Would you like some soup?”
“I’m just going to unpack this duffel and I’ll be ready,” said Eileen, putting several cotton turtlenecks into an empty bureau drawer. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Oh, I can’t stay,” Ann lied. “I’ve got a few things to take care of at the house.”
“Will we see you for dinner?”
“Of course,” said Ann, backing out of the bedroom. “I’ll come and get you.”
“Come back anytime,” said Eileen. “We’re here all afternoon.”
“Okay,” said Ann, over her shoulder. She flew out the front door and jogged up the path to her house. In her own kitchen, Ann locked the door behind her, then raced to the sink to wash her hands. She dried
Selma stepped forward and touched Sam’s arm. “I’ve got some cookies,” she said gently. “Come into the kitchen with me.”
“What about them?” asked Sam, breathing hard and again pointing at the window.
“They won’t bother us,” said Selma. “They don’t like cookies.” Sam looked at Selma, back at the window, and then back at her. Her smile ran around her face in a circle, from the edge of her mouth through the tiny laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and back down to her to soft brown lips. “Let’s get something to eat,” she said. Sam slowly shifted to his hands and knees and then used the couch, with Selma holding on to his free elbow, to lift himself off the floor. Ann watched as he followed Selma into the kitchen. She helped him sit at the table before reaching into the end cupboard and pulling out a red tin. Ann watched her take two oatmeal cookies from the tin, put them on a paper napkin, and calmly set them down in front of Sam. The incident was over, but Ann’s chest still thundered. Moments later, Eileen walked through the front door carrying a duffel bag. Ann followed her mother into their bedroom, tears and terror in her eyes, and told her what she just witnessed.
“Honey, honey,” said Eileen, rubbing Ann’s back. “It’s okay. Well, I mean, it’s not okay. He’s not okay. But we can handle this.”
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” said Ann, holding on to her mother. “I don’t know how this happened. Why it happened.”
Eileen pulled a tissue from the pocket of her dress and handed it to her daughter, who accepted it, took a step backward, and blew her nose. “What happened out there, what you just saw, is what the doctor calls hallucinations. Your father sees things—people mostly—that aren’t there. He imagines things. Remember I told you about the kitchen staff at the Lutheran church? These flashes of fantasy are, unfortunately, happening more frequently,” said Eileen, “but thankfully they don’t last terribly long. And I’m getting better at distracting him. It sounds like Selma did the same thing.”
“Yes,” said Ann. “She seemed to know exactly what she was doing. But how can we change this, Mom? What did the doctor say about that?”
“The doctor thinks this is partially the disease, and partially a side effect of his medication.”
“Can we change the medication?”
“We have fiddled with it, here and there,” said Eileen, lifting her duffel from the carpet to the bed. “But, in the end, the good outweighs the bad.”
“What is the good?”
“He can move. The tremors in his hands and feet are under control. The rigidity that struck his entire left side has softened.”
“Good God,” said Ann, putting her hand to her chest. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“Well, yes,” said Eileen, unzipping her bag. “I would imagine it’s terrifying.”
“And is that why he drools?” asked Ann. “The medication?”
“He drools because he’s lost the use of some of his facial muscles,” said Eileen, taking three sweaters out of her bag. “Plus, he can have a hard time swallowing. I always carry a handkerchief with me.”
“Well,” said Ann, taking another step backward, “you must be hungry. Would you like some soup?”
“I’m just going to unpack this duffel and I’ll be ready,” said Eileen, putting several cotton turtlenecks into an empty bureau drawer. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Oh, I can’t stay,” Ann lied. “I’ve got a few things to take care of at the house.”
“Will we see you for dinner?”
“Of course,” said Ann, backing out of the bedroom. “I’ll come and get you.”
“Come back anytime,” said Eileen. “We’re here all afternoon.”
“Okay,” said Ann, over her shoulder. She flew out the front door and jogged up the path to her house. In her own kitchen, Ann locked the door behind her, then raced to the sink to wash her hands. She dried
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