you’re not. It’s horrible what I seen him go through.
Christine put her hand on his mother’s knee. “But I don’t want him taken off it, Mom. I don’t want to see him slip away again. I don’t.”
“But I can’t handle it. I can’t. I know what it does to him, how he gets so upset. Because in his head it’s real what he sees. I prefer him … forgetful.”
“
“But you haven’t seen him suffer. That stuff’s a curse. A damn curse. I wish to God we’d never signed him up on it.” Then her voice broke into a whimper. “Oh, Sweet Mother, give me strength.”
As Rene listened, she uttered a silent thanksgiving that her own father had never been afflicted with such war delusions. He rarely talked about the war, so God only knows what he might have relived on Memorine.
“Mrs. Martinetti,” Nick said, “the lab is working on fine-tuning the dosages and coming up with some combination with other drugs to control these episodes. Believe me, there are a lot of very talented people working on this.”
“Well, hurry up, because I want him back the way he was.”
“In the meantime,” Rene said, “we’re giving him antiseizure medication that will help keep him stable.”
“But that stuff makes him dopey,” Christine said.
“I don’t care
“Well, he certainly can go home on a furlough,” Nick said to Christine. “It’s unusual for patients with Alzheimer’s, as you can imagine. But maybe some weekend soon.”
“That would be great,” Christine said, her eyes brightening.
“Then we’ll put something on the calendar.”
“But only if he had his antiseizure pills,” Mrs. Martinetti insisted. “Otherwise, he can stay here. I can’t take his torture. He was better off with Alzheimer’s.”
60
“SORRY TO BOTHER YOU, JACK.” It was Marcy.
Jack opened his eyes. He was still lying on his bed in his jeans and sneakers. After his morning walk—the forty-yard dash up and down the hall in just seven minutes—he had stretched out on his bed with the television on mute and closed caption and a copy of
“This is Theo Rogers.” With Marcy was a man in a T-shirt that said “We Fix It.” “Mr. Rogers is going to repair your Venetian blinds.”
“Call me Theo.” The man held out a large rough hand that felt as if it could crush Jack’s like twigs.
“How you doing?”
Theo nodded. He looked to be in his early thirties. He was maybe fiveeight and built like a gymnast. His hair was dark and held back with elastic bands in a short ponytail, and his face was smooth and open. Either he had non-Caucasian blood or spent time in the tropics or a tanning salon, because his skin was a coffee color. Around his waist hung a tool holster with a hammer, pliers, and other tools. He opened a small stepladder.
“This won’t take long.”
Outside the window deep-bellied rumbles rolled across the sky and lightning flickered, making Jack squint.
“A bit bright for you, huh?” Theo said. “We’ll take care of that,” and he began to work on the blinds, which hung at a crazy angle in the window frame.
“I’ll leave you two guys on your own,” Marcy said. Before she left, she checked Jack’s heart and pulse and took a temperature reading. While the workman inspected the blinds, Jack closed his eyes. Through the open window he could smell the ocean.
“I read about you in the papers.”
Jack opened his eyes to see the man looking down at him from the ladder.
“Waking up after almost seven months. That’s something.”
“I guess.” Jack closed his eyes again. He was tired and didn’t want to chat.
“I never heard of jellyfish attacking people before. Musta been one hell of an experience.”
“I don’t recommend it.”
“I bet. Remember it any?”
“Not much.” Jack thought about asking Theo to let him sleep but decided that the guy meant well. Besides, the sound of the tools and the shades rattling sabotaged any nap taking. Jack closed his eyes again.
“The papers said something about your memory coming back strong. That’s great. Sometimes coma patients come back with lots of blank spots, I hear.”
Jack cracked open an eye. On the monitor some doctors were talking about that Alzheimer’s drug Rene Ballard had mentioned. “Experimental drug for Alzheimer’s disease,” read the caption.
Theo removed the hammer from his holster and banged the end of the screwdriver to pry loose a fixture. And Jack felt a small sensation jog through him.
“So you remember stuff before the accident pretty good, huh?”
“A little.”
“Well, that’s all that matters, if you ask me. As somebody said, ‘You are what you remember.’ Right? Same thing if your house caught fire.”
“Pardon me?”
“If your house caught fire. They took this poll, asked if your house was burning down and there’s only one thing you could save, besides your family members or pet, of course—what would it be?”
On the screen some doctors in white were being interviewed. Mass General Hospital, read the caption.
“The family photo album.” Theo gesticulated with his hammer hand. “What nine out of ten people said. And me, too. It’s the same with memory, know what I mean?”
Jack closed his eyes. “Guess I’m pretty lucky.”
A few moments passed, then Theo started up again. “Just out of curiosity, what were you doing out there on Homer’s Island? Kind of an out-of-the-way place, you ask me.”
Jack was growing tired of the interrogation. “Bird watching.”
“Bird watching,” the man repeated. There was a long silence. Then he said, “The papers said something about you swimming. And a storm.”
“Got your own boat?”
“Took the water taxi.”
“So you remember stuff before the accident pretty well, huh?”
“That’s my point: You still got what’s most important.” And he tapped the side of his head. Another long pause. “How far back do you go?”
“Pardon me?”
“How far back can you remember—like when you were a kid?”
“Not really.”
