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The young woman fidgeted with the collar of her pink-koala-print smock, and glanced over her shoulder toward the closed door of the administrator’s office. She whispered. “Mr. Williams? Mrs. Bradshaw doesn’t know I called you?”
Again with the question. “We’ve known each other for almost a year now, Alison. When will you start calling me Teddy?” He adjusted his wire-rimmed spectacles, set the iPad on the counter and unbuttoned his lightweight jacket. “It’s okay you decided not to go to the mall. Probably easier to spend time with her here; she prefers the familiar these days. Maybe take Molly for a walk with Trixie, and then take a trip down memory lane.” He forced a smile and gestured at the album.
“You know the policy? We got to be respectful. Always Mister or Miz?”
“Good golly, she hates being called Miz Molly.” He waited for Alison to giggle at the old, tired banter. Molly would have hee-hawed with delight.
But Alison busied herself with a pencil and pad, averting her eyes. “Could you take a seat for a minute?”
He’d worried for nothing. Allison would have said something, or the administrator Mrs. Bradshaw would have met him if there were a problem. He shrugged, grabbed the photo-filled tablet from the counter and shuffled over to one of the uncomfortable orange Naugahyde chairs, and lowered himself slowly with a grunt. His old bones didn’t take kindly to the up-and-downs of sitting these days, and it irked him that the usually perky Alison was so prickly. Besides, the assisted living facility depressed him. He’d never imagined life would come to this.
Theodore Williams, maverick computer nerd, loved the predictability of technology. He’d been an early adopter of all things cutting edge when pocket protectors weren’t cool, enjoyed the challenge of cyber-anything, and delighted in the ability to upgrade, re-boot, and download the latest advances. Hard drive failed? Replace it with a newer model. Software infected? Re-write the virus code to ricochet and destroy the sorry-assed wannabe player. Never mind Teddy officially “retired” from his teaching job ten years earlier; he still got called for freelance jobs from time to time, often from white-glove entities that needed discretion. His reputation as Mr. Fixit hadn’t dimmed, although his hair had turned to snow and his knees made popcorn sounds.
But he couldn’t re-boot Molly. Alzheimer’s had stolen her away.
They met a lifetime ago. The girl with the giddy-making smile and ballerina grace made him crazy-happy for more than forty years, she the sequin shine to his stark practicality. Teddy liked to think he’d balanced her impetuous impulses as much as Molly had taught him how to laugh, laugh at life, laugh at failure, laugh at success, but always laugh together. Their happy expression had two F’s, the “laff” a code for a personal shared hilarity nobody else understood.
Alzheimer’s stole the laffs.
It happened so fast. Within six months, Molly disappeared, locked in a void of vacant stares, crying jags and fist-flung waking nightmares he couldn’t breach. Most days he spent researching the digital world for the latest options, until his eyeballs bled from strain and he wanted to take a baseball bat to the computer. He hoped the iPad pictures from their happiest moments might spark a smile.
The front door squeaked open, and Teddy looked up. “Lewis? What’re you doing here?” He struggled to his feet, and held out his hand to the much younger man.
“Same as you, I suppose. Visiting.” Lewis’s big hand swallowed Teddy’s when they shook. He tugged off his gimme cap to reveal a well-worn groove in his brow. “Patricia finally got the point . . .” His throat worked and he turned away.
“I didn’t know. God, I’m sorry.” The news was a blow, although he hardly knew the man. As the local high school football coach, they frequented different circles, and Lewis’s much younger wife worked in social services. But Patricia and Molly called themselves “professional volunteers” and spent hours together in various club meetings. “Patricia can’t be more than forty year’s old.” His voice quavered with the shock.
“She’s thirty-seven.” Lewis throttled the cap in callused hands, but the words were void of emotion, as though he’d already used up futile anger and must conserve any remaining energy for grief. “They tell me it’s a particularly aggressive form of the condition.” Dark bags under Lewis’s eyes aged him a decade beyond his mid-forty age.
Alison returned to the front desk. “The administrator wants a word, Mr. Williams. Through that door.” She pointed, and then turned a full-wattage smile on Lewis. “Miz Patty is ready and for waiting your visit? Follow me?”
Lewis stuffed the hat into his pocket and followed Alison down the left hallway. Molly’s room was at the end of that same corridor. The patients—or “guests” as Alison characterized them—needing more advanced care stayed on that side of the facility.
Teddy reclaimed his iPad from the chair before he hurried to the administrator’s office, the first door on the right-hand hallway. He’d visited the office only twice before: six months ago when he realized Molly needed more than he could give, and a week later when together they’d introduced her to the facility. Neither visit had been pleasant.
“Mr. Williams, come in, have a seat.” Mrs. Bradshaw met him at the door. Stiff decorum that served as her professional mask—and emotional protection, he guessed—had fled. Her hands fluttered, birdlike, smoothing the front of a dark tailored blouse and matching slacks. No koala print for her.
“I’ll stand, thanks. What’s this about? I want to see Molly.” He gestured with the iPad. “I brought her favorite photo album. Is she having a bad day?”
“Actually, she’s had a very good day.” Mrs. Bradshaw moved around the tidy desk and perched on the edge of the overstuffed rolling chair. She scooted it back and forth, back and forth until Teddy wanted to nail her feet to the floor.
“A good day. Terrific. So what’s the problem? You want me to authorize adjustment to the medication?” She’d been taking Damenia until the blowup in the news over the off-label use of the drug caused the company to pull it from the market. Maybe the new drug had better results? His heart jumped and he cautioned himself against false hope.
She pursed her lips. “We’re doing everything we can, and I’m sure she’s fine. You know how she loves Trixie.”
His heart thumped louder. “I’m not liking your tone, Mrs. Bradshaw. What does Trixie have to do with this?” The resident Golden Retriever had been the deciding factor between this facility and others, and Molly acted much calmer when in the dog’s presence. He put his hands on the desk, and leaned toward her. “Where is my Molly?”
She shrank back. “Like I said, I’m sure everything will work out fine. But you see, at the moment, we don’t know exactly where Molly is.”
He straightened. The iPad dropped to the floor with a loud crack.
Mrs. Bradshaw stood, the rolling chair rebounding from her narrow butt. “Truly, Mr. Williams, it should be fine. I’ve already called in a Silver Alert, and the police should find her quickly. Besides, the day’s pretty mild, and she talked about walking the dog. Before we could get an aide lined up, she and Trixie were gone.”
