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M
arcus Whittington wasn’t expecting to see a woman on his surveillance recorder, trespassing on his domain. From time to time, maybe a stray dog, never before a woman wearing an oversized red hat that concealed her features as she strolled up to his house. According to his security video, this wasn’t her first visit.
This mystery person had commandeered his porch between 6:30 A.M. and 7:15 A.M., as if she owned the deed to his property. She sat lifeless as a statue for about ten minutes the first time, then seven minutes this morning before hurrying off as if a dog was chasing her. He frowned as he rewound and watched the video again.
What was going on? Marcus had lived on Overdrive Court in Pasadena Hills, Missouri, for four years. The quiet suburban neighborhood was a “hidden in plain sight” treasure with an unmanned majestic sixty-five-foot Garrison Gothic gateway tower at the Natural Bridge Road entrance. It served as an imaginary barrier to guard its residents from the questionable blighted North St. Louis city neighborhoods that were in transition. Clearly, security had been breached.
He didn’t have time for this. It was Monday morning, and he had to get to the office. Scratching his jaw, which demanded a razor, he multi-tasked and called the police at the same time.
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?” a male dispatcher answered.
“I would like to report a strange woman making uninvited visits to my property.”
“Excuse me, sir?” The man paused. “Has your home been vandalized?”
“No, I don’t think so.” His morning paper deliveries were untouched. “This chick just sits on my porch.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone. Finally, a response came. “I can send an officer to file a report. But without a name or address of this lady, it would be almost impossible to file charges...”
Flustered, Marcus changed his mind. “Let’s just take care of this over the phone. I need to get to my office.” After giving the report, he added, “Please add my cul-de-sac to your round of patrols. I’d appreciate it.”
Whittington Janitorial Services, the company Marcus had started with his older brother, Demetrius, was twelve minutes from his house—tops. Unlike his sibling, he wasn’t a fan of city living, so before purchasing his Cape Cod–inspired story and a half home, he had done his research.
With University of Missouri at St. Louis’ sprawling campus nearby, Pasadena Hills was considered one of the untouched neighborhoods of the county and touted as North County’s best-kept secret—that was until this woman showed up.
Not easily intimidated at six-foot-three and two hundred and forty pounds of all muscle, Marcus could back up whatever came out of his mouth. Yet, to know some petite woman violated his property unsettled him. Hmph, he grunted.
“One thing for sure, lady, I’ll be watching you,” he muttered, making a mental note to check his video surveillance more often. He hoped there wouldn’t be a next time, because the woman definitely didn’t want a confrontation with him.
TABITHA KNICELY HIT the alarm clock ten minutes before it blared. She groaned as she forced her lashes to flutter open as her bedroom came into focus. She no longer lived alone. Agreeing to a verbal caregivers’ pact with her two sisters, it was her turn to host her beloved eighty-nine-year-old great-aunt as a guest in her home for six months. Recently diagnosed with the early stages of dementia associated with Alzheimer’s, Priscilla Brownlee couldn’t stay in her house by herself anymore.
There was no cure for Alzheimer’s. She had to accept that after researching the disease, not believing Aunt Tweet’s doctor, at first, when he delivered the news of her diagnosis.
As a pharmaceutical sales rep, Tabitha could recite the medical terms, facts, definitions, and clinical studies’ results in her sleep. She entered college as a biology major and graduated with a bachelor’s in business. The drug sales industry gave her the benefit of both worlds. Plus, she thrived in studying the physiological, anatomical, pharmacological, and scientific properties of medicine to effectively communicate the benefits of the company’s products.
Taking her duty as a caregiver seriously, Tabitha had resigned from her job of six years as a senior pharmaceutical sales rep to ease the stress of a demanding position. Not wanting to leave the field completely, she took a pay cut to work in a smaller territory with a drug competitor who offered little to no overnight travel. Of course, the pay scale wasn’t as good, but the sacrifice was worth it. Plus, her aunt’s trust designated money for her care in the event she became incapacitated.
Since this was the first day on her new job, Tabitha pulled back the covers and rolled out of bed. After padding across her plush Oriental rug to her gleaming hardwood floor, she cracked open her bedroom door, listening for any movement coming from Aunt Tweet’s room. Her aunt’s door was open, and her bed was made with her aunt’s favorite tapestry bedspread.
Good. Aunt Tweet rose at six-thirty like clockwork every morning without an alarm. Her routine was predictable with shower, dress, and breakfast. At least that was what it had been the past two weeks before she started her new job.
Today would start a new routine with Aunt Tweet at an adult daycare and Tabitha’s first day at Ceyle-Norman. While she gathered her things to shower, her mind replayed the events of last year.
Tabitha had been at a medical conference in Birmingham, Alabama, when she got a call from her older sister. She never would forget that day as she reflected on Kym’s ramblings.
“Aunt Tweet is in the custody of the Philly police department.”
“What?” Scared didn’t begin to describe the dread that came over Tabitha as her jaw dropped and her heart stopped before she felt faint. “What happened? Is she all right?” She blinked away a tear.
“She’s fine,” Kym assured her, “but someone called the police when she was sitting behind the wheel at a red light. She got lost, unsure how to get home.”
Tabitha exhaled. Thank God she was alive, but still the news was disturbing. “What do you mean lost? She knows every nook and cranny of Philly, so how was she lost in her own city?”
Their youngest sister, Rachel, who was also on the line, finally chimed in. “Yeah, explain that.”
“Well, apparently, she left home to get groceries and wound up in Cherry Hill.”
The two sisters had gasped. “Jersey?” Rachel asked.
“That’s ten miles away,” Tabitha added, knowing the area well.
“Yeah, I’m glad it wasn’t farther. Anyway, they took her to the hospital for a physical and mental evaluation. Her blood pressure and sugar levels were normal, but...” Kym became quiet before she stuttered, “They suspect her confusion could be connected with Alzheimer’s.”
“No!” Tabitha couldn’t stop the scream that escaped her throat.
Their aunt had been too important in their lives for them not to come to her rescue, not out of a sense of duty, but because of their enduring love. Tabitha had left the conference early and booked a nonstop flight to Philly. Rachel coordinated her flight from her condo in Nashville. Kym was already on the road from her home in Baltimore.
When the bathroom filled with steam, Tabitha realized she had lost track of time in the shower. She turned off the water and hurried out, but her thoughts returned to the circumstances that led her to be a caregiver.
Aunt Tweet’s eyes had danced with merriment when she saw her great nieces. She gave the Knicely sisters hugs as if they were gathering for a family reunion, and downplayed the crisis.
“Oh, it was a combination of my medicine and this extreme heat that made me a little disoriented. The next time—”
Their aunt seemed physically okay at the moment, but when would that change? What about tomorrow, next week, or next year, or in the next hour? In her defense, she had always lived independently.
“There won’t be a next time.” She had cut her off, then apologized for raising her voice.
Kym had agreed. “Tabitha’s right, this house has always been too big for one person.”
“If you want to stay here, how about a live-in companion?” Rachel suggested.
“Oh no!” Raising her hand in the air, Aunt Tweet turned up her nose as if she had a whiff of ammonia. “Even the Bible says don’t entertain strangers.”
“I don’t think we learned that in Sunday school,” Kym said with a frown.
“I tweaked it.” Their aunt beamed.
Refocusing on the issue at hand, Tabitha suggested moving into a retirement community. “Philly has some upscale properties.”
“I’m too young to live around those old folks. They’re not bringing me down with constant complaints of what’s hurting them. Sometimes, when I hurt, I keep it moving, don’t stop.” Their aunt hmphed. Independent to a fault, she believed in calling the shots, but not this time.
They brainstormed for hours after Aunt Tweet retired to bed.
“First things first, we need to see her attorney. I know she updates her will every couple of years, maybe she has a living trust or something to guide us.” Kym shrugged. “If not, she has to come and live with us.”
“Which one of us?” Rachel asked, twirling strands of her curly hair. “We all live in different cities, remember?”
True. Rachel was an engineer at a major firm in Nashville. Kym had a tenured position at Morgan State University in Baltimore, and at the time, Tabitha was a senior pharmaceutical rep for Pfizer.
Following their parents’ deaths not long ago, the sisters had put their St. Louis childhood home on the market. Before the first contract was signed, Tabitha decided she didn’t want to part with the memories and bought out her sisters’ portions and took ownership. Tabitha looked to their big sister for the answer as she began to contemplate what she needed to do.
Kym nodded. “I know. What about taking rotating shifts? Let’s say we each have her live with us for six months at a time. I’ll go first.” Kym raised her hand.
As the second oldest, it only seemed right Tabitha would go next. Rachel would be last.
None of them had been caregivers before. Even when their father, Thomas, had a mild stroke five years earlier, their mother, Rita Knicely, had taken care of him with little complaint. When their mother was killed a couple of years ago in a car crash, Aunt Tweet was there to console them.
The next day they were crazy busy, meeting with the attorney, real estate agents, and other tasks to begin the process of becoming caregivers.
After Dr. William Murray evaluated Aunt Tweet, he verified the sisters’ fears. “There are early, moderate, and severe or advanced stages of dementia as a result of Alzheimer’s,” he said, reciting some of the symptoms: poor judgment, mood swings, personality changes, loss of interest in hobbies, difficulty communicating, long and short-term memory loss...”
“This doesn’t sound good,” Kym had said sadly.
“It’s not. Alzheimer’s is a cruel disease,” he advised.
“Wait, I thought you said she had dementia,” Rachel asked.
“Alzheimer is a disease and the leading cause of some of the dementia symptoms I outlined. Other diseases can cause the same symptoms like Huntington’s, Lewy body dementia, a stroke, or brain injury. Remember, the symptoms are caused by something.”
The information had overloaded her sisters while Tabitha had soaked in every nugget she could remember, then she did her own personal research. The bottom line, in laymen’s terms, was Alzheimer’s was slowly attacking Aunt Tweet’s brain cells.
Since her aunt’s stay, she had noticed subtle changes. One moment, her aunt was absentminded, repeating tasks, and was like a bottomless pit when it came to craving snacks, especially sweets, as if they hadn’t finished a meal not long ago. Then in a blink of an eye, Aunt Tweet would turn into a game show junkie. She would beat the contestants before they could answer the host’s questions as if she was a Google search engine.
Amused, Tabitha chuckled as she stared at her reflection in the mirror, admiring her long, thick lashes like Aunt Tweet’s. Her aunt was stunning back in the day. It seemed odd that she hadn’t married until she was in her early forties. She blinked, wondering if the same fate would befall on her, since she was still single at thirty-two.
Switching back to Aunt Tweet, Tabitha recalled lunch the other day, and out of nowhere, her aunt started chatting away. “I let love pass me by, marrying that man. Butch Freeman was a mean man.” She scowled. “But he underestimated me when he felt he had the right to tame his wife.”
The story Aunt Tweet told the family throughout the years was she gave Butch back his last name. Plus, five stitches over one eye while she walked away childless with a bruised heart. Her word of caution to her great-nieces had been to stay away from uncaring men who were full of themselves. “I don’t care how good-looking they are.”
Clearly, she and her sisters had taken heed from their mentor, role model, and cheerleader. They were fiercely independent, polished, free-spirited...and none of them had ever been invited to meet a man at the altar.
The next six months would sure be interesting. Tightening her robe, Tabitha stepped out of the bathroom. She glided down the winding stairwell of her childhood home. She and her sisters had called the open stairs movie-star steps when their robe or long dresses dragged on the stairs.
She sniffed the air as she strolled into the kitchen. Tabitha welcomed another cook in the house. “Good morn—” She paused in her steps.
Aunt Tweet had scrambled eggs, sausage patties on a paper-towel covered plate, and bread waiting in the toaster. Yet, her aunt was munching on a spoonful of Cheerios.
“You cooked a hot breakfast, but settled for cereal?” Tabitha chuckled as she was about to get a plate to serve herself.
“I changed my mind.”
She spied her aunt’s bowl and frowned. “Ah, you don’t have any milk in there.”
Getting the carton out of the refrigerator, Tabitha walked back to the table and poured some in the bowl. Chalking it up as another sad oddity of dementia, she kissed her aunt’s cheek.
“Thank you, ma’am.” Aunt Tweet giggled, adjusting Tabitha’s red floppy hat on her head. Since her arrival, her aunt had fallen in love with it and wore it practically every day, regardless of her ensemble.
“So how long have you been up, and what have you been doing?” She filled her plate, then reached for a mug to dilute the strong coffee her aunt had made.
“I took a little walk around God’s green earth.”
Tabitha held her breathe. She didn’t like the idea of her aunt being out of her sight. She exhaled. “Without me?” She and Aunt Tweet had taken walks together, since she’d arrived. The abundance of green space in Pasadena Hills could not only rival the nearby Norwood Hills Country Club, but the tranquil surroundings tempted residents to come out and play. Her aunt had succumbed to the enticement. She shivered. There were too many bad scenarios to consider.
“You were asleep.”
“Next time, wake me up.”
Aunt Tweet nodded. She scooped up more cereal, then dropped her spoon. “I left my scarf...I left my scarf!” Panic-stricken, she trembled.
That’s all? Tabitha patted her chest to aid her breathing to return to normal as she took her seat. “It’s okay. I’ll get it from upstairs,” she said, reassuring her that it was okay to forget things sometimes. Her sister had mentioned how their aunt had worked herself into hysterics over the vintage scarf she had gotten as an engagement gift. Her aunt boasted she’d gotten rid of the ex-husband, but held onto the expensive scarf. There wasn’t any peace in Kym’s house until she found it behind a pillow in the sofa.
“I’ll get it.” She started toward her front door.
“No!” Aunt Tweet shrieked, shaking her head. “On that porch. We’d better hurry.”
Confused, she tried to calm her down by speaking slowly. “What porch?”
“I don’t know.”
Of all the days for a distraction, this was not a good one. “Okay, wait here. Let me put some clothes on, then we’ll find it.” Tabitha raced upstairs, grateful that her clothes were ready to slip on, then grabbed her briefcase. Minutes later, she almost slipped while hurrying down the stairs in her heels.
She reentered the kitchen, and Aunt Tweet was nowhere in sight. Tabitha checked the adjacent family room, then peeped outside toward the patio. Her aunt was behind the wheel of Tabitha’s rental car. She wouldn’t be issued a company vehicle until after she completed her two-week training, which started today. It was a perk of being a sales rep.
After locking up, she convinced Aunt Tweet she couldn’t drive. While her aunt worked herself into a frenzy, Tabitha took deep breaths to stay calm.
She coaxed herself to have patience as she followed her aunt’s conflicting directions. However, all she could think about was not being late for work.
“That’s the place!” she yelled as Tabitha cruised by a stately story-and-a-half older brick house. The massive front door was centered under an archway. On both sides of the entrance were twin sets of French doors with mock balconies.
“I don’t see anything.” She cranked her neck.
Aunt Tweet snapped, “I told you that’s the porch.”
“Okay.” There is no reason for your sharp tone, Tabitha dared not voice her reprimand. This house wasn’t that close. Despite some mental deterioration, there was nothing wrong with her aunt’s physical stamina to cut through the park to this house in a short period of time this morning—unless, of course, she performed a speed walk before dawn.
Parking her car, Tabitha got out and surveyed her surroundings. The coast was clear, so she hurried toward the red scarf that was barely hanging onto a flower in a pot, flapping in the wind about to take flight. She was within inches of taking the item when the door opened, and she jumped back and steadied herself on her four-inch heels.
An imposing man filled the doorway. Under different circumstances, he would have been handsome and breathtaking. That was not the case. Judging from his snarl and piercing eyes, Tabitha felt as if she had walked into a trap.
Forget the scarf. Buy Aunt Tweet a new one. Run!