Luke hung the wind chime by the window, then we taped up each picture. The lake at night. The clouds reflecting over the water. Luke by the fire. The Landrys waiting for their breakfast by the end of the dock. Timothy sitting all alone in the middle of his boat. Mary Lynn and Paul having tea. Nana making bread. Willie and Nana snapping peas on the porch. The first night’s dinner with the tables set for one. The Nesters circling Dillon as he huddled near the stove.
Our life on the lake covered her walls.
About the time the doctor asked me if he could talk to me in the hallway, the Nesters started pouring in. Nana told them all she was fine, but they fussed over her anyway. They all brought gifts. Mary Lynn and Paul brought flowers. Mrs. Deals brought a book of poetry. Timothy brought a CD player for her and the Landry brothers brought rocks from the shoreline so she could still feel close to the water.
I stepped out and listened to the doctor tell me the details of patching her up in words I didn’t understand. In the end, he added, “We’ll need more tests, but I think you know that your grandmother is slipping into dementia.”
I’d known. As slow as one grain of sand falling at a time in an hourglass, her memory had been slipping. “How long?”
The doctor shook his head. “I can prescribe medicine that will slow the progression, but it will still come. What would you like to do? I can suggest some care facilities.”
I smiled. “I’d like to take her home. We’ll care for her there for as long as we can.”
He nodded as if he felt sorry for me. We talked on until his pager went off and he had to go. I went back into Nana’s room and sat on the bed next to her, listening to everyone talk about all the excitement on the lake.
When visiting hours were over, Luke stepped out to walk everyone to their cars and suddenly I was alone with Nana.
I hugged her. “I have to go, too. Will you be all right here tonight?”
She smiled at the drawings. “You’re a great artist, Allie. I’ll feel right at home.”
I kissed her cheek as she curled down into the covers. “Good night,” I whispered thinking I’d never have a more important showing of my work than right here.
“Good night, Flo,” she answered, and I knew she was slipping again into another time and another place.
I smiled down at her, brushing her hair lightly with my fingers. “I’m here, Nana. You’re home. We’re all home.”
It crossed my mind that maybe all of life isn’t lived in the present. Maybe a tiny part of it is lived in the heart.
JODI THOMAS
