Page 35 of And Now, Back to You

That had been a good day. We haven’t had a lot of good days lately.

I answer his call with a quick swipe of my thumb.

“Grandpa, hi.” I turn toward the wall. Tuck myself against it and make myself as small as possible. “Everything okay?”

There’s a pause and then a rough, agitated sound and my heart knows before my head does.

“It’s four thirty,” he says and his voice sounds wrong. Short and tired and confused.

I glance at the clock right above the door of the booth. “A few minutes until, yes.”

“You were supposed to be home from school an hour ago. You know I don’t like it when you go over to your friends’ houses without asking.”

I saw my teeth over my bottom lip and suck in a deep breath through my nose. It doesn’t matter how many times it happens, it feels like a punch to the gut every time.

“I know,” I rasp, rubbing at the bridge of my nose, trying to press that burning, aching feeling away. The doctors say I shouldn’t argue with him when he’s like this. That it’ll only make him more agitated. More confused. “I’m sorry. I got a new assignment that I’m excited about. Time got away from me.” There. A bit of the truth, without disrupting wherever he’s slipped off to. For me the hardest part of these episodes has always been the lies I have to tell. It feels wrong, when Grandpa has always asked for the truth. When he’s always given it to me in return.

I glance at the clock again. Three minutes until we’re on. “I’ll be home soon, okay? We can have lemon cookies and tea and watch General Hospital. Just like always.”

Comfort. Routines. All the things that make his Alzheimer’s more manageable. He grumbles some more, but it lacks the low hum of frustration he had when I answered the phone. “I suppose that’s okay,” he finally says.

“Okay. Good.” I force a smile I don’t feel. “I’ll see you soon.”

“You will,” he agrees. “I love you, darling.”

“Love you too,” I manage, my voice pitched slightly too high. I drop my forehead against the cold wall and wait until I hear him hang up the phone, then close my eyes and breathe deep.

It’s okay, I tell myself. He’s okay.

You said the right things.

You didn’t make it worse.

I allow myself another minute and then pack it all away. I’ll deal with this later, with lemon cookies and tea, just as I promised.

But when I turn toward the booth, I feel my resolve buckle.

Jackson isn’t staring at the wall anymore. He’s looking right at me.

DELILAH STEWART: Say it.

JACKSON CLARK: No.

DELILAH STEWART: Come on. Say it. The people need to know.

JACKSON CLARK: You say it, then.

DELILAH STEWART: We’re a team, Jackson.

[sigh]

JACKSON CLARK: Jackson and Delilah, Weather Together.

DELILAH STEWART: Weather Together!

CHAPTER 8

JACKSON