Earl stopped by the McDowells’ apartment and pulled down the books Georgia wanted, and then he returned to his own apartment. But the little living room seemed quieter than usual after such a loud lunch. He was not sure he had ever met anyone quite like Teller. Earl was certain he would never run off on a trip with the guy, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Teller’s description of the memory care unit.
Still, Earl tried to think positively. He had always liked to learn, and he told himself that he would read more from now on, make the most of all the private time he would have to educate himself. He would read the books he had bought but never found time to read, and he would learn more about sciences he had not studied in depth. In his first years of retirement he had spent almost all his time caring for Muriel, but after she had died, sitting in his empty house had not appealed to him. He had worked in his yard a good deal, kept a garden, and gotten together with old friends now and then. Then, since moving to Valleyview, he had tried to escape his apartment as often as he could.
But he had made a decision. He would pour himself into his books. He had chosen one online and loaded it onto his iPad—a feat he was proud of. The book was supposed to explain quantum theory in plain language. He opened his iPad and remembered the icon that got him to his Kindle books. The screen opened conveniently to where he had left off in his last session. He had a big leather recliner, and he liked to lean back in it and keep a Diet Coke nearby.
As he delved into the book, he followed the ideas without difficulty . . . at first. But gradually the words seemed to go out of focus. He shut his eyes, rested for half a minute, but when he tried to read again, he knew it was his mind that was out of focus, not his eyes. He reread the last paragraph and contemplated each sentence, made sure he understood the content of it before he moved on. He made it through that paragraph and the next before the numbness set in again. He finally dropped the iPad to his lap and stared ahead.
He told himself he couldn’t give up that easily. He got up from his recliner and took a little pride in the fact that he didn’t need one of those chairs that was spring-loaded to toss old people onto their feet. He walked to his bookshelf and looked for something entertaining to read. He found a novel that Becky had brought to him even though she knew he took little interest in fiction. But it was historical fiction, and Becky said it was known to be accurate, and that seemed an adequate justification for reading a “story” instead of an actual history book. As it turned out, he did get involved in the plot . . . until he fell asleep.
When Earl awoke, he realized that considerable time had passed. He checked his watch and saw that dinner would be served in less than two hours, but that meant he still had time on his hands. He picked up his remote and turned on his TV. But he found nothing engaging, so he turned it off and went back to the novel . . . and back to sleep. At least when he woke up this time, he knew he could get up and get ready for dinner.
Earl sort of dreaded facing Teller. He was afraid the man would push the idea of a road trip again. Still, when only Mac and Georgia joined Earl, he began to worry that Teller might not show up. As it turned out, though, Teller flashed in like a grass fire and within seconds had begun a story about his travels in West Africa and a man he’d met in Nigeria who was 134 years old. The man had advised Teller to drink nothing but water and to eat standing up. Teller said that he had taken that advice to heart and tried to live by it. What he didn’t explain was why he was drinking fruit punch, sitting down.
Earl was still at dinner when Becky showed up, as she sometimes did on her way home from work. When Earl introduced Becky to Teller, he made a grand gesture of standing up and loping to another table to get her a chair. Then he described himself again as a seagoing man. “I’ve seen the wonders of the world,” he said, “and trust me, there are many more than seven. The Taj Mahal is overrated if you ask me, but the conical towers in the Karst mountains along the Li River of China are truly wondrous. I’ll see them in my mind forever.”
Becky laughed just a little, Georgia rolled her eyes, and Mac gave his head a little shake, but Teller didn’t notice. Earl could see that Teller was taken with beautiful Becky, as most people were when they met her. She was tall, with long red hair and dark brown eyes. She had a way of smiling when she listened to others talk—which befuddled some people—but not Teller. The man thrived on the attention. “I hiked the Inca Trail all the way to Machu Picchu,” he said, “and fell in with a holy man from Tibet. He was mostly silent, and I too grew silent while I was with him. Clearly, he was seeing more than I was, so I watched his eyes and looked at the things he looked at, and then, when he glimpsed the basin in the top of the mountain, looked upon Machu Picchu and studied it, I waited and did the same. Then, finally, he said, ‘Coherence.’ I knew exactly what he meant; I’d felt it but hadn’t had the word for it. But I also knew I was changed forever—by the sight before me, but mostly by the word.”
Becky nodded a couple of times and then said, “So this holy man spoke English?” Earl knew she was teasing him, and he ducked his head so Teller wouldn’t see him smile.
“Only a little. But he knew the words that mattered.”
“So is Teller your first name, your last name, or your avocation?”
Teller liked that. He laughed with that damp sound of his, and then he said, “All three.”
Becky rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. She looked at Earl. “Are you finished?” she asked. “Or do you want some dessert?”
Earl pushed back his chair. He felt sure that she wanted to talk to him, but not in front of Teller. “Yes, I’m finished. The dessert is some sort of rhubarb thing that looks like it suffered a slow death.”
Teller made a big show of standing, bowing, wishing Becky well, even shaking her hand.
Becky took hold of Earl’s arm as they walked away. Earl liked that people in the dining room took notice of Becky. After some awkward years as a teenager, she had become a graceful—and gracious—woman. She worked for a chain of department stores as a regional head of public relations. She had always known from childhood how to make friends, but she was also organized and precise, the kind of kid who hung her clothing in divided categories. These days not only was she busy with her work and her three children—two boys, eighteen and thirteen, and a daughter, who had just turned fifteen—but she was also the Young Women president in her ward. Earl sometimes wondered how she found time to breathe, let alone stop to see him.
“Tell me about this Teller guy,” Becky said as they reached Earl’s room. “When did they put him at your table?”
“Today. He’s been at Valleyview for a while, but I’ve never gotten to know him. I think he’s already overwhelmed the poor McDowells. He’s not at all their style.”
Becky laughed. “Well, he’s colorful. You’ve complained that the McDowells don’t talk enough. Teller may never shut up.”
Earl walked to his recliner and sat down. Becky sat on the old couch opposite Earl—not far away in the narrow room. “I stopped by to let you know,” she said, “that Mrs. Schmidt called me today and said that a room has opened up for you. They want to replace the carpets and the curtains and update the bathroom. That might take a couple of weeks, or even a little longer, but then we can move you over to . . . you know, the other unit.”
“They probably want to get the smell of death out of the place.”
“Dad, don’t say that. The woman did die, but she was a dainty little thing and took good care of the room. The carpet was just getting old.”
Earl decided he better take a stand before it was too late. “Becky, I’ve thought it over, and I know what we said before, but I don’t want to move over there. Dolores Schmidt made too much of me making a wrong turn that day I went out for a walk. I’m no worse than a lot of other people on this side of the building. I don’t need to be locked up.”
Becky took a long breath. That usual smile of hers faded. “Dad, I know you feel that way. It’s sometimes harder for you to see in yourself what’s starting to happen, but I see it. You need someone to help you with your pills and—”
“One of the aides can help me with that. But the memory care unit is the place where people go to die, and I’m not that bad off. My health is good.”
“Who told you it was a place to die, Dad? It’s just an area that offers extra assistance.”
“Becky, I know you worry about me and want to make sure I’m looked after, but when I can’t think right, I’ll know it. Today I spent part of my afternoon reading a book about quantum theory. And I read some of that novel you brought over. I found both books quite interesting.”
Becky sat quietly for a time, looked at the floor, and then finally said, “Dad, I think you’ve gotten the wrong idea. It’s true that some of the people down there are suffering from dementia, but others are doing fine. I visited the unit and saw people putting puzzles together, playing cards, enjoying each other’s company. And they like the food. I understand it’s better over there than what you get on this side.”
“That’s a low bar to jump over.”
But that seemed to break something in Becky. Earl saw tears in her eyes. “Dad, I’m so sorry. I know you don’t want to be here at all, let alone move into the other room. I keep telling you, we would love to have you come and live with us.”
“You don’t have enough room, and you know it. I like the kids, but they whiz around and make too much noise.”
“No, Dad. They’re not little anymore. They spend more time with earbuds in or playing video games in their rooms than they ever do whizzing around.”
“They need their own bedrooms. You don’t have an extra room for me.”
“Actually, we do. Zach isn’t home very often since he started college, and he’ll be heading out on his mission after this semester. You could move into his room.”
Earl knew better than to make more objections, which she would dismiss, but he couldn’t picture himself as an extra presence—out of place and probably annoying to his grandkids. He doubted he could sleep with the kids up at all hours, and the bathroom was down the hall from Zach’s bedroom. Earl got up two or three times at night, and he didn’t want to be wandering in a dark hallway. “I don’t think it would work out for me,” he said. He didn’t try to explain.
Becky was silent for a time before she said, “Dad, you’ve been such a great father. You came to every volleyball game I ever played. My friends thought you were the greatest bishop who ever lived, and they envied me because you were such a kind and understanding dad. Please don’t ever forget how much I love you.”
“I’ve never doubted that.”
“I know. But you have to understand what I’m feeling right now.” She paused again. She was leaning back with her long legs, in dark dress pants, stretched out toward Earl. He hadn’t turned on any lights, and the room was growing dark, but he could see Becky all right, and he thought again how beautiful she was—so much like her mother. He wished he could return to those days when he had gone to her piano recitals and afterward taken her out for a soft-serve cone at the Dairy Freeze. With her brothers gone, Becky had been his bright light, one last lovely kid to cling to. She had always been a talker, and he had loved to listen to her prattle on about her day at school, her worries, her excitement about this or that.
“Do you remember that time when I broke up with Eric Hodges and thought the world was coming to an end?” she asked.
Earl smiled. “No. Not really. But it’s not because I’m forgetful. It’s because you broke up with lots of boys and always thought the world was coming to an end.”
“Not really. Maybe two or three times, but Eric was my first real boyfriend. I went with him the summer before my junior year and up until Christmas.”
“Oh, yeah. Now I remember. He had buck teeth and lots of pimples.”
“He did not. He was really cute, and he was on the football team. The problem was me. I was about four inches taller than he was by then, and I still had ugly braces that I’m sure you remember paying for.”
“For about six years, I think. See, I do remember things.”
“But look how well they turned out.” She offered an exaggerated smile.
“You were pretty with braces.”
“Well, old Eric must have decided I wasn’t. He dumped me for a bouncy little cheerleader. When I found out he had asked her to the Christmas dance, I cried for days. But I remember you said, ‘Come on, sis, let’s go for a ride,’ and we drove into Ogden to get ice cream at Farr’s—Rocky Road, the kind I loved so much. By the time we got back, you had me laughing at myself. And I always remember what you told me: ‘Becky, you’re the prettiest girl at Roy High School, and it won’t be long until all those boys who think you’re too tall and skinny will wish they could get a date with you.’”
“It was true.”
“Well, sort of. I did start to look better by my senior year, and Eric showed some renewed interest, but I brushed him off.” She laughed.
“That should tell you, I’m always right.”
Becky sat up straight and leaned toward him. “But listen to what I’m trying to tell you, Dad. You were there for me. Now I want to be here for you. I understand that you’re in better mental condition than almost any of those people in the memory care unit, but you are forgetting more than you realize. You have to trust me on this. When I told you that you shouldn’t drive anymore, you didn’t believe me at first, but after you—”
“That guy ran into me. It wasn’t my fault.”
“Dad, we talked that over. You finally agreed; it was time to stop driving.”
“I gave in, Becky. But I could drive all right. I still can, as far as that goes.”
“I know you feel that way, but you have to rely on my judgment sometimes. My brothers aren’t around. I’m the only one who can look after you. I just can’t get here as often as I want to. But you do need assistance with some things, and you—”
“I don’t want help taking a shower. That’s what they do over there.”
“Not unless you need it. But the time might come when you will need help with that. And the aides in memory care are trained to know when that time comes.”
“I’d rather bleed to death in a shower than have some nurse holding onto me and scrubbing me like I’m a baby. Can’t you understand that?”
“I do. But you also need to understand what I’m feeling. I’m caught in the middle. I want to be a good mom to my kids, and at the same time, I feel that you need me too. If you lived with us, I think we would all be better off.”
“But I just can’t do that. I don’t know how to explain it to you, but I’m not ready to give up on being myself.”
Becky nodded, but tears had spilled onto her cheeks, and Earl had never been able to watch her cry. “I know you love me, sweetheart. And I love you. I just want to stay in my apartment for now and not move into a place that’s locked up all the time.”
“Could you give the other unit a try? If you’re not happy there, we can look at other possibilities—maybe see what other facilities offer.”
But that’s not what Earl wanted to do. And suddenly he realized what he did want. “I’m going on a trip,” he announced.
“What?”
“Teller and I, we’re going on a road trip—a long one maybe. Teller will do the driving. He still has a driver’s license, and he loves to roam around and see things. He asked me if I want to go with him, and I do.”
“Dad, Teller must be as old as you, or close to it. You two can’t go wandering around on your own.”
“We can look at a map, and we can check into a motel, pump our own gas, find a place to eat—all those things. What makes you think I can’t do things like that?”
Becky got up, stepped to his chair and kneeled in front of him. She took hold of his hand. “Dad, please. You just can’t consider something like that. I would be sick worrying about you.”
Earl knew he couldn’t argue with her anymore. He loved her too much, and he didn’t want her to feel bad. But he also didn’t want to turn his life over to other people. He was sure he wasn’t as far gone as she thought he was, and he needed something to look forward to.