Chapter 22 Hannah #2
“Hannah, this is my mom, Laura.” He introduces me to an attractive woman who appears to be in her mid-fifties. She’s dressed in a sophisticated but relaxed pantsuit and is wearing a pair of flats that have a double-C emblem I know stands for luxury.
I start to hold out my hand, but Laura pulls me in for a hug instead.
“It’s so great to meet you, Hannah. You’ll have to excuse my excitement, but Dominic never brings friends over.
” She leans back and playfully shoves him in the shoulder.
“And such a beautiful friend, at that.” Her eyes flit back and forth between me and her son.
“And the other beautiful lady over there, talking to the birthday boy, is Hannah’s mother, Sherry,” Dom says, and nerves start to sit heavy in my gut.
I love my mother with everything I have, but she’s not like everyone else in this room.
She used to be. She used to be chatty and aware, someone who never met a stranger.
Back in the day, before Alzheimer’s became a thief of her mind, Sherry May could work a room.
She can still work a room now, but the room has to be willing to join her reality.
“My mother . . .” I pause, trying to find the right words, but Dom pipes in before I can finish.
“Sherry’s mind is like how Grandma Harriet’s was before she passed.” He looks at me, and there’s nothing but genuine kindness on his face. “My grandma had dementia.”
Alzheimer’s and dementia are nearly interchangeable.
Alzheimer’s is a specific disease that causes dementia.
And dementia is more of a general term for symptoms. From what my mother’s neurologist has told me over the years, lots of things can cause dementia.
But Alzheimer’s is a monster of a disease that causes rapid dementia.
Laura’s expression turns sympathetic, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t feel uncomfortable telling someone the reality of my mom’s situation.
“My mom has Alzheimer’s. She was diagnosed when I was twelve.”
Laura’s mouth turns down in a little frown.
“I’m so sorry, Hannah,” she says and reaches out to give me another hug.
“Alzheimer’s is a motherfucker,” she whispers into my ear, and I can’t decide if I’m shocked by how easily she gives affection or the fact that I just witnessed a woman who appears prim and proper drop the f-bomb.
I don’t really know what to say to that, but it doesn’t matter because the rest of Dom’s family is walking over to introduce themselves to me.
I glance over to the kitchen island and see my mom is engaged in a conversation with who I now know is Dom’s grandfather Louie—her pretend target, funnily enough.
I’m not within hearing distance to catch the path their chatter has taken, but I can’t deny that it makes my heart race with uncertainty.
My mother is the sweetest. But it takes a special type of person to be able to understand her condition. Ever since she was diagnosed, I’ve witnessed far too many people get frustrated with her or misunderstand her, or even get angry with her for not being able to comprehend reality like they can.
It’s one of the reasons I’ve never wanted to put her in a memory-care nursing home. I know there are good ones out there, but the bad ones blend in like snakes in the grass, and the mere idea of someone treating my mom cruelly because they don’t understand her is too much for me to bear.
Dom continues his introductions, and I meet his younger sister, Dakota.
She’s really bubbly and pretty, with the same light-brown hair as Dom, but where his eyes are more blue than green, hers are more green than blue.
His father, Jared, is practically the copy-paste version of his handsome son, but add twenty-five years of sophisticated gray.
And his great-uncle Patrick, who appears to be only a few years younger than his grandfather Louie, has the kind of constant smile that makes you wonder if it ever leaves his face.
Everyone is super friendly and welcoming, and when we walk over to where my mother sits at the island, I realize she’s talking to Louie about where Dunn Coffee imports their beans from.
“Well, that depends, Sherry,” Louie answers with a shrug. “Brazil is the best, but sometimes market conditions have us seeking other options in places like Colombia . . . Costa Rica . . . Guatemala.”
“Colombia, Costa Rica, and Guatemala? Sounds like you do a lot of business deals with Central American countries. Is there any particular reason for that, Louie?” she questions, her brow furrowed and her voice 100 percent chary.
Oh no. Panic starts to invade my chest, but Dom’s mom, Laura, steps in and distracts my mom from saying God only knows what next.
“Sherry, would you like something to drink?” Laura asks and walks over to take my mother’s hand, under the guise of patting it, and then leads her toward the spot on the marble counters where ice sits in a gold-plated bucket and fancy glasses wait beside it.
Sherry glances back only once, to make sure Dom is taking over the conversation with their “target” and whispering, “Central American imports,” toward him, before she goes willingly with Laura.
Dom just offers her a confident nod and wink before turning his attention back to Louie.
“Happy birthday, Grandpa,” Dom says and leans forward to give his grandfather a big hug. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’m too fucking old,” Louie responds through a chuckle. “And who is this?” he asks, his eyes meeting mine.
“This is my friend Hannah,” Dom says, and Louie reaches out to shake my head.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, hon,” he says with a gentle smile. “It’s nice to see Dominic hanging out with pretty girls instead of letting himself get consumed with that little hobby of his.”
“Hobby?” Dom cracks up. “It’s my career, old man.”
“Meh.” Louie waves his arm in the air. “Surely one day, you’re going to get tired of all that drama and come back to the family business.”
Dom shakes his head on a laugh, while Louie turns his attention to me.
“Hannah, don’t you think Dominic needs to forget about all that police work mumbo jumbo and come back home to Dunn Coffee?”
“Just ignore him, Hannah,” Dom teases. “He’s just jealous that my job involves doing cool shit and he’s stuck counting coffee beans.”
Louie lets out a hearty chuckle. “Hannah, honey, do me a favor and knock some sense into this lunatic. Tell him he needs to quit his little detective hobby and come back home.”
“I don’t know,” I say with a shrug. “Word on the street is that he’s pretty good at his job. The city definitely benefits from him being a detective.”
He certainly makes me feel safe.
Louie’s smile is warm, and he stands from his chair to wrap an arm around Dom’s shoulders. “You’re right, Hannah. And I might razz his ass, but we’re all proud as hell of him. Pissed that he left us high and dry, but proud.”
“I didn’t leave you high and dry.” Dom smirks. “Now, are you going to spend your birthday party bitching about my little life-or-death hobby, or are we going to celebrate the insane milestone that you’re still living?”
Louie’s laugh is so deep it comes from his toes. “I’m glad you can at least admit it’s a little hobby. Made my whole damn day.”
Dom rolls his eyes and meets my gaze. “You’ll have to ignore my grandfather. He’s kind of a bastard.”
Louie grins and makes a show of putting his arm around my shoulders. “C’mon, honey. Let’s leave this loser in the dust and go eat some of Laura’s famous chicken salad.”
“Just keep your hands to yourself, old man.” Dom is all smiles as his grandfather leads me toward a huge buffet on a big table in the dining room.
But before we step into the room, I glance over my shoulder, seeking out my mother, and I’m thankful when I realize Dom is already heading over to where she stands beside his father, Jared.
Louie hands me a dish. “Fill your plate, Hannah,” he demands. “Laura always makes too much.”
It’s only the two of us at the buffet table, and I grab an extra plate to fill for my mom.
Louie slops a large helping of the chicken salad he mentioned onto his plate, and I follow his lead, getting a scoopful for both my mom and me.
“Dementia?” he asks from across the table, and I look up at him in confusion. “Your mom,” he clarifies, and I’m surprised by how quickly he put it together, seeing as I’m certain Dom didn’t have a moment to quietly update him.
“Actually, she has Alzheimer’s,” I explain, and he frowns.
“Oh, Hannah,” he says and pauses filling his plate to lock his gaze with mine. “I’m sorry to hear that. My wife, Harriet, had a stroke that led to her battling dementia for quite a few years before she passed on. May God bless her soul.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Me too.” He nods. “She was the love of my life. I miss her every day. But then again, when her dementia had gotten really bad, I felt like I missed her every day then too.”
“I know the feeling.” My exhalation is equal parts sad and understanding.
“My mom was diagnosed two years after my father passed away. She was forty-two, and I was only twelve at the time. I feel like I’ve spent over a decade watching her slowly disappear.
Her lucid moments are rare. Most times, she doesn’t know who I am. ”
With my mom in the other room, I feel an unexpected sense of peace standing here with Louie. Dom and his family don’t just keep her safe—they fully accept her, as she is.
Louie lets the silence stretch for a moment, as though giving space to the weight of my words, before commenting, “Girl, you’ve been through some shit.”
“Yeah.” I snort. “Though I kind of feel like I’m still knee-deep in it.”
He laughs at that. “Make sure you and your mom come around more often, okay? I’ve enjoyed talking with the two of you. Honestly, Sherry reminds me a lot of my Harriet.” He adds a helping of potato salad to his plate.
“Okay.” I smile over at him. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Even if you realize that you’re way out of Dom’s league and kick his ass to the curb,” he adds. “Still come visit.”
Out of Dom’s league? Kick his ass to the curb?
Clearly, Dom’s grandfather thinks we’re together. Like, in a relationship. And I don’t know what in the hell to do with that information.
“Oh . . . um . . .” I stutter over my tongue. “Dom and I aren’t . . . we’re not . . . we’re not together . . . we’re . . .” I pause, because how can I explain what Dom and I are to one another when I don’t even know?
Louie looks at me, and his mouth quirks up into this big, amused smile that’s laced with something else I can’t discern.
“What?” I ask him, and he just keeps on smiling.
“Just come visit more,” he says and makes a point to gently squeeze my shoulder before he heads out of the dining room and toward everyone else, still in the kitchen.
I don’t know what Grandpa Louie thinks Dom and I are, but I can almost guarantee he’s not expecting our meet-cute to include me being a phone-sex worker helping Dom work a murder case.
And that doesn’t make me feel great. In fact, it makes me feel a little out of place in this big, fancy mansion Dominic Dunn’s family calls home.