“Alex!”
He was laughing when his phone rang, turning his laugh to a groan. Turning back toward his side of the bed, he took the call from his brother, Paul.
“What?”
“The care home just called. They think Mom has had a stroke. She’s being transported to the clinic.”
“Oh shit. Okay. I’ll meet you there.”
“What’s wrong?” Jenny asked.
Alex got out of bed and ran for the closet. “They think my mom had a stroke.”
“Oh no. I’m so sorry, Alex.” She got up, put on a robe and was tying it closed when he emerged from his closet after pulling on jeans and a Henley and jamming his feet into boots.
He let her hug him for a full minute, drawing strength from her the way he did any time things went sideways—and they’d gone sideways with his mom a lot over the years. “Is it terrible to hope that maybe this is it? That her suffering—and ours—might end?”
“It’s not terrible. It’d be merciful at this point.”
Dementia had been a ruthless bitch. His mother hadn’t recognized him or Paul in years, but she still called Paul’s stepson, Ethan, and her friend Daisy Lawrence by name any time she saw them.
“Do you want me to come with you? I can get George up real quick.”
“Nah, let him sleep. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”
Jenny kissed him. “I love you. I’m sorry this is happening.”
“Love you, too. Thanks.”
“Drive carefully. Please.”
“I will. Don’t worry.”
“Right.”
After withstanding the tragic loss of her fiancé Toby, she’d always worry. And because he didn’t want her to suffer, he checked in with her every chance he got.
Alex drove too fast on icy island roads on the way to the clinic, his mind racing with scenarios as he tried to prepare himself for what was waiting for him when he arrived. He pulled into the parking lot just as his brother ran for the main entrance.
He followed Paul inside a minute later.
Dr. Quinn James and his nurse wife, Mallory, who served as the medical directors for the senior care facility, were updating Paul when Alex joined them.
“We believe she’s suffered a severe stroke,” Quinn said for Alex’s benefit. “David is with her, and we’ll need to thoroughly evaluate her to get a definitive diagnosis. We’ll let you know as soon as we know more.”
“Thank you,” Paul said for both of them as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to bring order to it. He looked as if he’d run out of the house before bothering to comb it.
Alex hugged him, and then they took seats in the waiting room. They were like the survivors of a disaster, only theirs had taken years to unfold, slowly at first and then so quickly, they’d barely had time to react before more was lost.
People referred to dementia as the long goodbye, and truer words had never been spoken.
“What’re you thinking?” Paul asked after a long silence.
“That part of me hopes this is it, because her quality of life is nonexistent.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
“The other part of me feels disgusted with myself for even thinking such a thing.”
