The next morning, Tabitha dragged herself out of bed after a restless night. She replayed Aunt Tweet escaping from her house and then Marcus showing up unexpectedly. It was the makings for a never-ending nightmare. To make sure it wasn’t a bad dream, Tabitha stretched, then crossed the hall to look in on Aunt Tweet’s room. Asleep. Good. She relaxed, but her mind was still strategizing options to keep her aunt from sneaking out.
After backtracking to her bedroom, Tabitha washed her face and brushed her teeth. “God, I’m going to need Your help to get through the next six months,” she whispered.
Tabitha had foolishly thought she was self-sufficient based on her financial stability, healthy lifestyle, and intellect. Aunt Tweet’s diagnosis was evidence that wealth couldn’t buy good health. Initially, the what-ifs had plagued all three sisters as they berated themselves for ignoring the signs of their aunt’s forgetfulness during phone calls.
Even Aunt Tweet was in denial that something was wrong after she got lost in her hometown of Philly. “Oh, it was a combination of my medicine and this extreme heat that made me a little disoriented,” she had said, playing it off.
Days after that harrowing experience, Dr. William Murray evaluated Aunt Tweet and confirmed the sisters’ fears. “Miss Brownlee has moderate signs of dementia. At this stage, you can witness bouts of 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, shaking her head and cutting off the doctor.
“It’s not. Alzheimer’s is a cruel disease,” he advised. “And a person can live years with it.”
“Wait, I thought you said she had dementia,” Rachel asked.
“Alzheimer’s is a disease and the leading cause of some of the dementia symptoms I’ve outlined. Other diseases can cause the same symptoms, like Huntington’s, Lewy body dementia, a stroke, or a brain injury. Remember, the symptoms are caused by something. They don’t just pop up,” Dr. Murray stated.
But they did just pop up, Tabitha thought. None of them had seen this coming.
Dr. Murray had suggested prescribing Aricept and Exelon to slow down the progression of some of the dementia symptoms. Her sisters had immediately defaulted to Tabitha for the drugs’ stats. As a pharmaceutical sales rep, she knew that every drug had its side effects.
Tabitha had collected data and created spreadsheets on the five most common medicines on the market. She had their drug names, brand names, adverse side effects, drug interaction, and whether they were FDA approved. Many of the medicines to treat dementia symptoms were still in clinical trials. Others were too new to have a track record. She had hesitantly consented to one medication, not both.
“Only time will tell if she needs more,” Tabitha whispered to her reflection in the mirror. As she dismissed further thoughts of drugs, diseases, and research, somehow Marcus’s face resurfaced. What was the deal with him? It wasn’t her concern. She had enough on her plate with Aunt Tweet, so as long as they stayed out of each other’s way, they could live in harmony in Pasadena Hills.
Leaning closer to the mirror, she noted the evidence of not getting enough sleep, which was rule number one on her beauty regimen. With a sigh, she applied more concealer under her eyes, finished the rest of her makeup, then headed downstairs to prepare breakfast.
Since her arrival, Aunt Tweet had taken over the kitchen, and Tabitha had no qualms about relinquishing the task. Her aunt had a flair for cooking—at least her memory hadn’t robbed her of her culinary masterpieces, yet. But this morning, Tabitha wanted to make breakfast for her aunt, so she’d woken up early. She rattled pans in the kitchen until she yanked out a cookie sheet she preferred for biscuits. Not long after slipping them in the oven, Aunt Tweet appeared, fully dressed and wearing mismatched shoes—one teal and the other yellow. The floppy, red hat was in one hand.
“If you don’t stop slamming those dishes, I’m going home.” Her aunt fussed as she took a seat at the table.
But you can’t, Tabitha thought sadly.
* * *
“Don’t mistake kindness for weakness.” Marcus locked eyes with the man on the other side of his desk who was five seconds away from becoming an ex-employee because of his disregard for punctuality. He needed this distraction after pulling that stunt at Tabitha’s yesterday. What had possessed him to cruise through the neighborhood three times, looking for trouble and signs of the two women? Checking on the welfare of neighbors was the excuse he’d given to Tabitha, and it was as good as any. That’s the story he was sticking to until he could figure out why he gave them a second thought after their run-in yesterday.
When Victor Graves blinked, so did Marcus, forcing his mind to stay focused.
Since Victor’s release from prison, he had worked for Whittington Janitorial Services for almost two years; however, his good work history was in serious jeopardy. There was something about the young father of two that always swayed Marcus to give him the benefit of the doubt and treat him as a mentee or little brother. Not this time. Marcus had on his boss hat and was ready to terminate an employee. “I don’t like to throw our generosity in your face—”
“But you are anyway.” Crossing his arms, Victor leaned back in the chair as if he were the one in charge of his payroll.
Flaring his nostrils, Marcus scowled. “Don’t play games with me. All you have to do is arrive here on time, and I don’t care if you hop on a bus, take an Uber, or ride a tricycle. Our shuttle vans drop you off at the front door of the office sites for cleaning.” Counting on his fingers, he listed other perks WJS offered. “Did you forget the child care—”
“It ain’t free.” Victor leaned forward as if putting Marcus in check. “You’re taking fifty bucks out of my check a week.”
Really? Did this dude realize his job was on the line? “Stop using it and see what child care costs for a one- and a three-year-old.” He grunted. “You make more than minimum wage, so help me understand why those benefits aren’t incentives for you to want to keep your job?”
Victor remained silent.
“I have applicants vying to take your place. Give me a reason why we shouldn’t suspend you.” It had better be good, he thought, waiting for a reply.
The buzz about the working culture at Whittington Janitorial Services had generated a waiting list of prospective employees. He and Demetrius paid their workers, many of whom were single parents, more than minimum wage and they operated day and night child care on site. Their workers were rewarded with a $100 bonus every quarter if they deposited a certain percentage of their weekly pay into savings. These perks nurtured employees’ loyalty and pride in their work.
“Fire me,” Victor taunted.
If Demetrius were in the room, Victor’s wish would have been his brother’s command. But Marcus saw potential in the twenty-five-year-old. “Where will you live? What would your babies eat? Think about others besides yourself.” He tried one more time to reason with the impossible.
“Man, you don’t care nothing about me. I know you’re getting government subsidies for hiring us bad boys.”
True, but it didn’t cover the extras his company provided. “I don’t do rehires, so I would think carefully about getting to work on time tonight. Last chance.” Marcus stood. “Meeting over.”
“Whatever.” Shrugging, Victor got to his feet and walked to the door as Demetrius was entering the room.
No words were exchanged as Demetrius eyed Victor until he left the office. “You’re either a fool or a better man than I am, because I’d have fired him after the second tardy, no questions asked or guilt keeping me up at night.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Marcus gritted his teeth. “Something tells me Victor is about to call my bluff, and I’ll put every dime we owe him on his payroll debit card before the end of the day. What is wrong with people? First that Tabitha woman and now him.” He rocked back in his chair and exhaled. “I have to be earning brownie points with God for putting up with foolishness.”
Demetrius stopped sifting through a stack of envelopes and gave Marcus a curious expression. “So your neighbor came back and you called the police? You didn’t tell me that.” He lifted an eyebrow.
“Because she hasn’t been back.”
“Oh.” Demetrius took a seat with a disappointed expression. “You can put the fear in the little lady, but Victor ain’t scared of being on the streets hungry or going back to jail. I call him a fool.” He balled his fists. “Say the word, and I’ll take it from here.”
“I don’t need your backup, Bro. My hunch is he plans to fail.”