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“See—” Gia said, “Always thoughtful.”
“I appreciate an old-fashioned gentleman. Thank you, sir.” Jennifer touched Derrick’s shoulder as she shuffled in.
The bleach hit Gia in an instant, its sterile, disinfectant aroma an odd comfort. She’d already done the hard part—the research, the initial meeting. The registering with the front desk and the walk down the long hall to Emily’s room. But this visit wasn’t for her. Jennifer stood by her side silent, scanning the sitting room while Derrick signed them in.
“I hate these places,” Jennifer whispered. “They’re no place to live. And no place to die, either.”
“Alright, Mrs. Edelman,” Derrick started, three name tag stickers in hand. A new policy since they’d last visited—it helped memory care patients remember their guests’ names.
“I told you—call me Jennifer.”
“Alright, Jennifer,” he started again. “They’ll be ready for us in just a few minutes. We’re supposed to wear these name tags and wait over there.” Derrick pointed to the sitting room, where residents were again playing cards and watching TV. His Brooks Brothers model look was sharp that day—he said he’d come from showing houses and hadn’t had time to change, but Gia suspected he felt more confident in a navy suit. More masculine, too. He seemed to show up in a suit when they were out in the world more often than not.
“Just as well. I need to use the ladies’.” Jennifer’s ocean blue eyes found Gia’s. “You’ll come with me, dear?”
“I don’t need to—oh! Yes, of course.”
Someone proclaimed “Yahtzee!” as they passed the sitting room and found a unisex, single lavatory. Caregivers walked by, looking at charts, pushing trays, and avoiding eye contact. It had to be hard to work in an environment where you didn’t want to get too close to the patients.
“I’ll wait right here.” Gia leaned against a cream-colored wall that matched all the other cream-colored walls.
“I’m doing the right thing, right?” Jennifer had her hand on the door lever but hadn’t turned it.
How could Gia answer that question? The one person in her life who seemed to have all the answers and the life experience to back them up neededheradvice. No pressure. “I don’t think it’s the wrong thing.”
Not poetic. But true.
“Okay.” Jennifer turned the handle and pushed hard on the painted metal door, then disappeared behind its protective forcefield for several minutes.
When she returned, her silver hair looked freshly primped; her eyes shimmered with an extra layer of the lightest blue eyeshadow. She’d worn a fitted dusty rose pantsuit with a silk top and Gia saw for the first time—Jennifer had a nice figure. She hid it under the caftans. Between Derrick and Jennifer, Gia looked like a case of “which one of these things doesn’t belong,” in her faded Levi’s and scuffed Chuck Taylor’s. Good thing she didn’t care. The day wasn’t about her, and perhaps the college kid look would play into Emily’s supposition that she was her niece.
“You look great! Ready to go see Emily?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
???
“Ms. Mitchell—” Gia rapped on the door to Emily’s room. “Can we come in?”
“Who’s that?” A soft voice asked from the back of the room.
“It’s Gia and Derrick. And we brought you a surprise visitor,” Gia yelled. Why did she yell? As far as she knew, Emily wasn’t hard of hearing. She scolded herself as she stepped in and waved.
Emily’s room looked as it had the first time they’d visited. Twin-sized bed against the wall behind the door—made and corners tucked impossibly tight. A tallboy dresser from the 1930s opposite the bed held a small TV, which was playing Bloomberg News. There was one window, presumably with a view of the parking lot; the miniblinds were turned so they couldn’t see out. Emily was sitting in an armchair near the window, knitting.
“Gia and Derrick,” Emily repeated, not looking up from the throw blanket that appeared was almost complete.
“Yes, remember us?” Derrick joined Gia inside the room. “We visited a couple of weeks ago?”
“I don’t know anyone named Gia and Derrick.” Emily shrugged and returned to her stitching. The blanket was elaborate—a horizontal stripe pattern with a variety of colors. If Gia didn’t know better, she’d think it was a rainbow flag.
“Sure, you do.” Gia smiled. “We’re your friends from Palm Springs. We promised to bring you a surprise the next time we visited. And now, here we are with the surprise.”
Hunched over her handiwork, reading glasses on the tip of her nose, Emily knitted. She was still wearing a nightgown, the kind Gia’s nonna had worn. Cotton broadcloth with a lacy collar and a tiny rose on the front center. The tips of her house slippers peeked out from the bottom of the blanket.
“Ms. Mitchell?” Gia tried again.
Nothing. It’s as if they weren’t even there. Emily was lost in her own world, stitching contentedly. The nurse had warned them she was having a slow day—maybe that was code for “difficult.”
