Gage watched Dutch lift his head, his eyes brightening, and then—almost imperceptibly—he began to nod his head to the steady rhythm. Gage looked over at his mom and she smiled, her eyes filling with tears. They both watched the old man listen intently, his eyes glistening, and then as the lyrics swelled, his lips began to move—he was singing!
Gage stared in amazement—Maeve was right! Hearing an old favorite song had awakened his grandfather’s sweet spirit, and as Gage searched his grandfather’s blue eyes in wonder, he was given the priceless gift of a smile. Then Dutch reached out and squeezed his grandson’s hand. “Thank you, Gage,” he whispered.
“Want to hear it again?” Gage asked, smiling, and Dutch nodded.
45
WHEN MAEVE TURNED IN TO THE WILLOW POND PARKING LOT ON MONDAY morning, she was half-asleep, but when she was almost sideswiped by an ambulance coming around the corner, her eyes grew wide. She jerked to the side just as the lights started to flash and the siren began to scream. She waited for it to pass, and when she finally pulled in to the parking area, she saw a fire truck and two police cars parked on the lawn. “What the heck?” she whispered, looking up to see if the house was on fire, but all she saw was a crowd of residents standing on the porch—many still in their bathrobes. She climbed out of her car and hurried over to where Sal and LeeAnn were standing. “What happened?!”
LeeAnn shook her head and explained. “When Jim came outside this morning to put out the garbage, he found Ivy lying in the grass near the pond—we don’t know how long she’d been there . . . or why.”
“Is she okay?”
Sal shook his head. “Her clothes were wet and she was freezing, but they were able to find a faint pulse. She was hypothermic, and they think she may have had a heart attack or a stroke—it could be just about anything. She’s so tiny and frail to begin with.”
“That’s awful,” Maeve said. “Did you call her son?”
LeeAnn nodded. “Yes, he’s headed to the hospital.” She glanced over to where Jim was talking to the policemen. “But you can bet there’s going to be an investigation.”
Maeve raised her eyebrows, suddenly grasping the potential legal ramifications of having a resident suffer a catastrophic injury, or worse . . . die! “Oh, no,” she murmured.
LeeAnn nodded. “And with a parent company like ours, the payout would be significant. Either way, we’re going to have the state looking over our shoulder all the time now. They could even shut us down.”
“That won’t happen,” Maeve said, frowning. “It wasn’t our fault. You documented all the times she’s wandered off, and you told the higher-ups—and her son—that she needed more care than we offer.”
“I know,” LeeAnn said, “but anything can happen.”
Maeve bit her lip. “Well, I hope she’s okay, and at least now, they’ll move her to a more suitable facility.”
“True,” LeeAnn agreed. She nodded toward the residents still lingering on the porch. “Well, the excitement is over. Do you guys want to see if we can get everyone back inside?”
Maeve nodded, and while LeeAnn went over to talk to the policemen with Jim, she and Sal climbed the porch steps. “I guess we’ve had a little excitement this morning,” she said to the residents.
“I guess we have!” Gladys exclaimed. “What in the world was that woman doing outside?”
“We don’t know,” Maeve said.
“I’ll tell you what,” Gladys continued, “she shouldn’t even be living here. She never talks . . . and she’s always wandering off or feeding those damn ducks. She’s loony, I tell ya, and I’m surprised something hasn’t happened to her before now.”
Maeve nodded. Everything Gladys said was true, but she thought she could be saying it with a little more humility. “Why don’t we all go back to our rooms and get dressed?” Maeve suggested. She looked at Sal and smiled. “Meanwhile, Sal will make some coffee and I’ll set it out in the sunroom, and anyone who’d like to come sit in there—because it’s been such a crazy morning—is welcome to.”
“Crazy doesn’t even come close!” Gladys blustered, shaking her head.
“I hope she’s okay,” Addie said softly. “She loved those swans.”
“And she loved my fiddle,” Bud added.
“She did,” Maeve said, smiling. “Maybe we can all say a prayer for her. She can’t help that she is confused or quiet. It happens to the best of us.”
“She belongs in the loony bin!” Gladys said, which prompted an unexpectedly stern look from Maeve.
“Gladys, we should always try to be kind,” she scolded, suddenly having enough of her lack of compassion, and the old woman looked stunned.
“I’m kind!” she retorted. “And I will absolutely pray for her.”
“Good,” Maeve replied, as she held open the door. “Enough said.”
Everyone maneuvered their walkers and canes through the door with the men bringing up the rear, all of them smiling. “Good for you!” Bud said with a wink. “It’s about time someone spoke up.”
LATER THAT AFTERNOON, THE STAFF AT WILLOW POND RECEIVED NEWS that Ivy’s condition, although critical, had been stabilized and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Her son also asked if someone might be able to locate his mom’s hearing aids. He knew she never wore them because she never remembered to, but he wanted to be able to talk to her. So, shortly before the afternoon snack, Maeve went down to Ivy’s room to look for them. It was dark in her apartment—the only light coming from the window that looked out over the courtyard—and even though she’d been asked to look around, she still felt like an intruder. She propped open the door, switched on a light. The apartment was as neat as a pin—which was odd for someone with dementia. She knew housekeeping came in twice a week, but Ivy’s apartment almost looked like no one lived there. She went into the bathroom and looked in the cabinets, and then
