Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MARCO
A ll this talk of Amy had me feeling restless so, after lunch, I took a trip down to Long Beach to visit her mother. She was in an assisted living facility due to advanced Alzheimer’s. Sometimes, she remembered who I was but, most of the time, she didn’t.
Still, I felt that I owed it to Amy to keep an eye on her.
The receptionist looked up from their typing. Her face lit up. “Mr. Cassio. Welcome. Sophia will be so happy to see you.”
“Yeah, if she remembers who I am.”
“Oh, she’s always happy to see you, regardless. Handsome man like you, who can blame her.” She gave me a flirty look and I smiled back. She really was old enough to be my mother so I didn’t take it too seriously.
“You’re too kind.”
She clipped me with her clipboard, before handing it to me, “Sign in, and I’ll call ahead so nurse Jenkins can get her ready.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Please, call me Jennifer. Ma’am makes me feel like your grandmother.”
I laughed, “You look nothing like my grandmother, I assure you. Maybe my mother’s hot friend.”
She cheesed at me. “Aww, you charming thing. Go on with you before you have me risking it all.”
I gave her a playful wave and sauntered on down the corridor. The smile dropped off my face as soon as I turned the corner. Much as I wanted to be here, I couldn’t help the feelings of loss and grief the visit engendered. I stopped at Sophia’s door and knocked gently.
“May I come in?”
Nurse Jenkins looked up from where she was settling Sophia into the armchair, plumping up pillows. “Of course you can. Sophia is very excited to see you, aren’t you poppet?”
Sophia gave the nurse a vague look and then her eyes slid away towards the window, which had a magnificent view of the ocean.
“Hello Sophia. How are you?”
Her eyes slowly turned to face me, a slight furrow in her brow. “Sophia?”
I hurried over to sit next to her taking her hands in mine, “yes.” I said earnestly, “your name is Sophia Mercer. You’re 55 years old, and you've been at this lovely, assisted living facility for three years now.”
She looked around in confusion. “Is this not my home?”
I looked around as well. There was a vase of colorful flowers on the table by her bedside, the vase itself painted in swirling reds, purples and white. A work of art. On the wall, were three paintings. A yellow sun shining over a field of flowers where a little girl frolicked, the sky a clear blue; a slate grey BMW driving away on a dark road, rain falling around it in a very realistic way and an abstract piece that seemed to depict sea, sky and forest or nothing at all. It was all very Sophia, who had been a sculptor before she got sick.
“Well, your home might have migrated here with you.” I said sardonically.
She looked at me, her eyes suddenly clear, and laughed. “Oh, you’re so funny Marco.”
I jerked in startlement but tried not to let it show on my face. She had these moments of lucidity now and then, but they never failed to surprise me. “I do my best to please.”
She squeezed my hand and then suddenly tears filled hers. “I wish she was here as well.”
A frisson of guilt cut through me, like it always did when any member of Amy’s family mentioned her. It was my fault she was dead. If she’d never met me, she’d have gone on to live a long and happy life. She was the Mercers’ only child and I took her away from them.
I squeezed her hand back, swallowing the lump in my throat. I reached for my bag and extracted the lunch box where I’d packed Sophia a lunch. She always did like my spaghetti and meat balls and I always made a point of bringing her some – mostly because I knew it was what Amy would have done.
“I brought lunch for us to share.” I said, putting the box on the table between us.
“Oh… lunch? Is it lunch time already?” she perked up with excitement.
“Yes ma’am.” I opened the container and stuck a fork in the food. “Hope you like it.”
She reached for the fork and twirled some spaghetti around it. She put it in her mouth and chewed as I watched. Then her face lit up. “Mmm, I like it!”
I smiled, relaxing slightly. “Good. I’m glad.”
She ate in companionable silence as I watched, just glad I could do something for her. By the time she was done, her white shirt was stained with sauce and I took a napkin, wet it, and gently wiped it off. She smiled at me, serenely.
“Are you married?” she asked and I felt a pang.
“No ma’am. I’m not.” I said.
Her eyes lit up. “Well good. You should meet my daughter Amy. I just know the two of you would get along.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “That would be nice. I think we’d get along too.”
She always said that. Every time. And every time, it broke my heart. But I kept coming back. I was a sucker for punishment.