Chapter 18
Eighteen
When Alex went to the Dream Lake cottage on Monday morning, the home-care nurse, Jeannie, met him at the door with an expression that instantly warned something was wrong.
“How’s it going?” Alex asked.
“It was a tough weekend,” she said quietly. “Emma had a downturn.”
“What does that mean?”
“The term for it is TIA. Transient ischemic attacks. Tiny blockages that stop the blood flow to the brain. They’re so minor that you may not notice any stroke symptoms, but the damage adds up. With the kind of mixed dementia that Emma has, there’ll be a steady decline with these occasional downward steps.”
“Does she need to see a doctor?”
Jeannie shook her head. “Her blood pressure is fine, and she’s not having any physical discomfort. Many times after a step-down, a patient will show signs of temporary improvement. Today, Emma’s doing well. But as time goes on, the moments of confusion and frustration will last longer and happen more often. And the memories will keep disappearing.”
“So what exactly happened? How can you tell that a TIA occurred?”
“According to Zoe, Emma woke up on Saturday with a slight headache and some confusion. By the time I got there, Emma was determined to make herself breakfast—she insisted on frying an egg at the stove. It didn’t go well. Zoe kept trying to help her—put a pat of butter in the pan first, turn the heat lower—but Emma was having a tough time trying to do something she’d always done, and that made her frightened and angry.”
“She took it out on Zoe?” Alex asked in concern.
Jeannie nodded. “Zoe is the most convenient person for her to vent her frustration on. And even though Zoe understands, it’s still stressful.” Jeannie paused. “Yesterday Emma repeatedly asked for the car keys, messed up Zoe’s computer when she tried to get on the Internet, and kept arguing with me to get her some cigarettes.”
“Does she smoke?”
“Not for forty years, according to Zoe. And cigarettes are the worst possible thing for someone in Emma’s condition.”
The ghost, who stood just behind Alex, muttered, “Hell, let her have them.”
The nurse wore a resigned expression. Alex couldn’t help wondering how many times she had accompanied patients along this path, watching their inevitable deterioration, steering families through the pain and confusion of losing someone day by day. “Does it ever get easier?” he asked.
“For the patient or—”
“For you.”
The nurse smiled. “You’re very kind to ask. I’ve been through this with many patients, and even knowing what to expect… no, it doesn’t get easier.”
“How long does she have?”
“Even the most experienced doctors can’t predict—”
“In your personal opinion. You’ve been in the trenches, you probably have some idea. What’s your take on how it’s going to progress?”
“A matter of months. I think she’s headed for a major stroke or an aneurysm. And maybe that’s for the best—I’ve seen it when it’s a long and drawn-out process. You wouldn’t want that for Emma, or Zoe.”
“Where is Zoe?”
“She went to the inn as usual, and then to buy groceries.” Jeannie stepped back to let him into the house. “Emma is awake and dressed, but I think she would do better without a lot of noise today.”
“I’ll stick to caulking and painting.”
The nurse seemed relieved. “Thank you.”
Entering the main room, Alex saw that Emma was watching television with a throw blanket over her lap, in spite of the warmth of the day. The ghost was already at her side.
Even if Jeannie hadn’t told Alex what had transpired over the weekend, he would have known that something had changed. There was a new delicacy about Emma, a touch of radiance at her outline, as if her soul were no longer fully contained in her skin.
“Hi, Emma,” Alex said, approaching her. “How are you feeling?”
She gestured for him to have a seat. Taking the ottoman near the sofa, Alex sat and faced her, leaning forward until his forearms were braced on his knees. Emma looked fine to him, her gaze clear and direct, her expression calm.
“I’m going to do some straightening up,” Jeannie said as she headed to the bedroom. “Do you need anything, Emma?”
“No, thank you.” The older woman waited until the nurse was out of earshot. Her gaze returned to Alex. “He’s here, isn’t he?”
Startled, Alex kept his face expressionless. She could sense the ghost? But what had made her assume that Alex had a connection to him? His thoughts moved at a rapid pace. Emma was in a vulnerable condition. He had to be careful. But he wasn’t going to lie to her.
So Alex settled for giving Emma a blank look and saying, “Who?”
“Damn it, Alex,” the ghost exploded, “now’s not the time to play dumb. Tell her I’m here, I’m with her right now, and I love her, and—”
Alex sent him a quick scowl, silencing him.
Emma’s gaze was steady. “The way I used to feel whenever he was near… I knew that if I ever felt that again, it was because he’d found a way to come back. But it only seems to happen when you’re near. He’s with you.”
“Emma,” Alex said gently, “as much as I want to talk to you about this, I don’t want to stress you out.”
A little smile stretched the dry, feathery contours of her lips. “You’re afraid to give me a stroke? I have them all the time. Believe me, no one will notice any extra thrombosis. Especially me.”
“It’s your call.”
“I’ve never talked about him to anyone,” Emma said. “But I’m forgetting things every day. Soon I won’t even remember his name.”
“Then tell me.”
Emma lifted her fingers to her lips as if to pat a tremulous smile into place. “His name was Tom Findlay.”
The ghost stared at her, riveted.
“I haven’t said his name in so long.” A glow came to Emma’s cheeks, like light shining through pink glass. “Tom was the kind of boy that all the mothers warned their daughters about.”
“Including yours?” Alex asked.
“Oh, yes, but I didn’t listen.”
He smiled. “I’m not surprised.”
“He worked at my father’s factory on the weekends, cutting tin plate and soldering cans. After he graduated high school, he became a carpenter—he taught himself out of books. He was smart, and he had the hands for it. Like you. Everyone knew when he built something, it was done right.”
“What kind of family did Tom come from?” Alex asked.
“There was no father. His mother had already had Tom by the time she came to live on the island, and there were rumors that… well, not nice rumors. She was very beautiful. My mother told me she was a kept woman. There were relationships with prominent men in town. I think that for a while my father was one of them.” She sighed. “Poor Tom was always getting into fights. Especially when other boys would say something about his mother. The girls had eyes for him—he was so handsome—but no one dared to go out with him openly. And he was never invited to the nice parties or picnics. Too much of a hell-raiser.”
“How did you meet him?”
“My father hired him to install a stained-glass window that had been shipped from Portland. My mother objected and wanted to pay someone else to do it. But my father said that for all Tom’s wild ways, he was the best carpenter on the island, and the window was too valuable to take chances with.”
“What did the window look like?”
Emma hesitated so long before answering that he thought she might have forgotten. “A tree,” she finally said.
“What kind of tree?”
She shook her head, looking evasive. She didn’t want to discuss it. “After Tom installed the window, my father had him do other things around the house. He built a set of shelves, and did some cabinetry work, and made a beautiful mantel for the parlor fireplace. Since I was hardly immune to the charms of a handsome young man with a wicked reputation, I talked to him while he worked.”
“You flirted with me,” the ghost said.
“But I wouldn’t go out with him,” Emma told Alex, “because I knew my mother would never approve. One night I saw him at a dance in town. He came up to me and asked if I was too much of a scaredy-cat to dance with him. Of course I had to take the dare.”
“You wouldn’t have danced with me otherwise,” the ghost said.
“I told him the next time he’d have to ask like a gentleman,” Emma told Alex.
“Did he?” Alex asked.
She nodded. “He was so bashful about it—stammering and blushing—that I fell in love with him right then.”
“I didn’t stammer,” the ghost protested.
“We kept our relationship secret,” Emma said. “We saw each other all through the summer. This cottage was our favorite meeting place.”
“I proposed to you here,” the ghost said, remembering.
“Did you ever talk about getting married?” Alex asked Emma.
A shadow crossed her face. “No.”
“We did,” the ghost insisted. “She’s forgotten, but I did propose to her.”
Wondering at the contradictions, Alex asked gently, “Are you sure, Emma?”
She looked directly at him. “I’m sure I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why not?” the ghost implored. “What happened?”
Alex wasn’t about to push Emma for answers she didn’t want to give. “Can you tell me what happened to Tom?”
“He died in the war. His plane crashed in China. His squadron had been assigned to protect cargo lifters flying the Hump, and they came under attack.” Her shoulders slumped, and she looked tired. “Afterward, I received a letter from a stranger. A Hump pilot. He flew one of those big clumsy planes carrying troops and supplies…”
“A C-46,” the ghost murmured.
“And he wrote to tell me that Tom had died a hero, that he had shot down two of the enemy in the air, and helped to save the lives of all thirty-five men on the cargo plane. But his Warhawk was outmaneuvered. The Japanese fighters were so much lighter and more agile than our P-40s…” She looked distressed and shaky, her fingers plucking fitfully at the throw blanket.
Alex reached out to engulf her hands in a warm grip. “Who wrote the letter to you?” he asked, although he thought he might know the answer.
“Gus Hoffman. He sent me the piece of cloth that had been sewn into Tom’s jacket.”
“A blood chit?”
“Yes. I wrote back to thank him. We corresponded for two years. Only as friends. But Gus wrote that if he made it back home, he wanted to marry me.”
“I’ll bet he did,” the ghost said grimly. The air seethed with jealousy.
“And you said yes?” Alex asked Emma.
She nodded. “I suppose I thought if I could never have Tom, it didn’t matter whom I married. And Gus wrote lovely letters. But then his plane was shot down. It reminded me so much of losing Tom. When I found out that Gus had survived, I was very relieved. He had a head wound… they operated to remove shrapnel… and he was sent back to the States on medical discharge. After he left the hospital, I married him. But there were problems.”
“What kind of problems?”
“It had to do with the head wound. It changed his personality… flattened it, somehow. He was still intelligent, but his emotions were gone. He was indifferent to everything. Like a robot. His family said he wasn’t the same man.”
“I’ve heard of that happening with some brain injuries,” Alex said.
“He never got better. He never really cared about anything. Even our son.” Blinking like an exhausted child, Emma pulled her hands from Alex’s and settled back against the sofa. “It was a mistake. Poor Gus. I need to rest now.”
“May I help you to your room?” Alex asked.
She shook her head. “I like it here.”
He stood and reached down to lift her feet to the ottoman.
“Alex,” Emma said as he rearranged the throw blanket and drew it up to her shoulders.
“Yes?”
“Let him help you,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “For his sake.”
Alex shook his head, slightly mystified.
The ghost looked shaken. “My God, Emma.”
Hearing the sound of a car pulling into the carport, Alex went outside. It was Zoe, back from the grocery store. She hopped out of the car and opened the back, reaching for a pair of canvas bags filled with groceries.
“I’ll get those,” Alex said, walking toward her.
Zoe started at the sound of his voice and looked at him in surprise. “Hi,” she exclaimed brightly. She looked stressed as hell, her face pale, her eyes tired. “How was the wedding?”
“It was fine.” He took the bags from her. “How are you?”
“Great,” she said, too quickly.
Alex set the bags down and turned Zoe to face him. She was standing a step above him, all fast-breathing tension and locked muscles. “I heard that Emma was a handful this weekend,” he said bluntly.
Zoe avoided his gaze. “Oh, we had a rough patch. But it’s fine now.”
Alex discovered that he couldn’t stand it when she put up a front for him. He settled his hands at her hips. “Talk to me.”
Zoe stared at him, looking flustered. In the silence, he brought her against him slowly. She took an anxious breath, her composure unraveling. Wrapping his arms around her, he surrounded her with all his warmth and strength. She fit against him perfectly, her head tucked into the crook of his neck and shoulder.
He slid his hand into her hair and sifted lightly through the blond curls. “What did Emma do to your computer?”
Zoe’s voice was compressed against his shoulder. “She zoomed the screen out so far that the icons are ginormous and I can’t close the magnifier. And somehow she made copies of the task bar so there are at least eight of them, and I can’t make them go away. And to top it all off, she somehow managed to turn the entire screen upside down.”
“I can fix that stuff,” he said.
“I thought Sam was the computer genius.”
“Trust me on this: don’t ever let Sam near your computer. By the time he leaves, he’s changed all your passwords, illegally hooked you up to the Department of Defense grid, and Bluetooth-enabled everything in your house until you can’t use your toaster because it’s not discoverable.” He felt the shape of Zoe’s smile against his neck. Smoothing her hair back, he murmured near her ear, “You don’t need a genius. You just need a guy who can do some troubleshooting.”
“You’re hired,” she said, her face still hidden.
He pressed his lips to her hair. “What else can I do?”
“Nothing.” But her arms had crept tentatively around him.
“Think of something,” he coaxed.
“Well…” Her voice turned watery. “I called my father this morning. To tell him that if he’s going to visit, he’d better do it soon. Or Emma isn’t going to remember him by the time he gets around to it.”
“What did he say?” Feeling that she had tensed again, Alex began to rub her back.
“He’s coming this weekend, with his girlfriend, Phyllis. They’re going to stay at the inn. He’s not especially happy about it, but he’s doing it. I’m going to make a special dinner for them and Upsie and Justine, and…” Her voice faded as his hand slid lower on her spine, massaging in small circles.
“You want me to be there?” he prompted gently.
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“Really?”
“I’d love to.”
“I’m so glad you—” She stopped and gripped handfuls of his shirt.
His hand stilled instantly. “Did I hurt you?”
Zoe looked up at him with dilated eyes, her cheeks flushed. Slowly she shook her head, looking as if she’d been hypnotized.
Desire shot through him as he realized she was aroused by the way he’d been touching her. For few white-hot seconds, all he could think about was her naked body caught under his like a flower pressed between the pages of a book.
“There’s one more thing I need from you,” she said. The sound of her voice could have been classified as a legal sexual stimulant.
Alex couldn’t seem to make his arms let go. He had to pry his hands from her one finger at a time. “Let’s talk about that later,” he said gruffly, and steered her into the house.