Chapter 3
3
Honey
At times, CT seemed almost normal. In those moments, Honey sometimes suffered memory lapses of her own. As a result, she’d spilled the beans that their daughter and granddaughter were coming to Oregon. Her goal had been to cheer him up, but now CT asked, multiple times per day, when they would get here. He always assumed it should be “right now” and spent far too much time gazing out on the driveway. It was ironic how he could forget whether he’d eaten lunch or not, but for whatever reason he did not forget the girls were coming. Maybe he was reading her thoughts. It made no sense, but sometimes it seemed he could do that.
“Are they coming today?” CT asked as she cleared the breakfast table.
“No, CT. Not today. I’ll let you know when I know for sure.”
“I know ... you know ... but will they be here?” He gave her a puzzled smile, a reminder she’d overexplained. Keep it simple.
“Not today.”
“Oh.” His smile faded. “What day is it?”
She told him, and then to distract him from further disappointment, Honey decided to bring up the subject of pumpkins... again. “We need to plant pumpkins.” She reached for his empty plate. Truthfully, she didn’t particularly care if they got planted or not, but she knew how much CT would enjoy the lush green plants once they started to grow, and even more so in the fall when the field would be spotted with bright orange orbs, and they could invite the grade school kids out to pick them. That had always been fun.
“I can do it,” he told her. It was the identical response he always gave, and she suspected the outcome would be the same too. He would soon forget and get involved in some other “task” that didn’t need doing. Like yesterday when he’d moved all her gardening tools from her gardening shed, which was handily located right next to the garden. He’d tucked every single tool into the back of the barn. Even her wheelbarrow and garden cart. It had taken her almost an hour to locate her missing tools. And it had taken more than a little self-control not to throw a hissy fit. Instead she’d retrieved her tools, locked her shed, and attempted to keep things light when she reminded him that the Lone Rearranger had struck again. Unfortunately he didn’t think that was as funny as she did. And by the time she was done re-rearranging, she no longer had any interest in weeding her garden. It could wait. But today was a new day. And if CT got focused on seeding pumpkins, she might have an uninterrupted hour.
“I’ll help you get started,” she told him as she rinsed the last plate.
“Started?” he echoed.
“On pumpkin planting.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Today. I’ll help you.”
His brows arched. “Okay? You’ll help?”
“As soon as I’m done here.” She put a soap tablet in the dishwasher. “You go put on your boots.”
CT nodded, slowly pushing himself up from his chair. He seemed to be moving extra slow today, and Honey realized she’d need to help him not overdo things. They’d just get the process started in the cool of the morning.
Of course, the cool of the morning was evaporating by the time CT got his boots on. And, although the temperature was already in the seventies, he emerged from the house wearing his winter parka and knit cap and was just putting on his heavy work gloves.
“I don’t think you’ll need those.” She tugged on his coat sleeve.
“Oh?” He looked up at the clear sky. “Guess not.”
With her help, he removed his winter wear, and she laid everything on the porch bench. “Come on,” she urged. “I got the seeds ready for you.” She handed him the gallon bucket of seeds, then picked up his old planting stick. “Remember when you devised this clever plan?” she asked.
“Clever? Plan?”
“Your pumpkin stick?” She waved the four-foot pole in the air. It had only been a year since he’d managed to do this task without too much coaching. But how quickly things could change with FTD.
“Pumpkin stick?” His frown revealed the memory lapse. “Does it grow pumpkins?”
She wasn’t sure if he was joking or serious. “Come on, I’ll show you.” She led him over to the field she’d already tilled with the old tractor, doing it piecemeal when CT had been preoccupied with his bees. Otherwise he’d want to run the tractor himself, and she’d already witnessed how dangerous it could get when CT mixed the brakes and throttle on his John Deere. Fortunately he hadn’t been hurt when the machine bucked him to the ground a few months ago. But it could’ve been catastrophic. After that, she’d quietly sold the more powerful John Deere to their neighbor and hid the old tractor key, along with CT’s ? ton diesel pickup key, in the back of her underwear drawer.
Honey stepped into the pumpkin field, laid the stick on the ground, then held it straight, poking a hole into the dirt with the pointed end. She reached for a seed from the bucket, popped it into the ground, then, using her foot, tamped down the dirt around it. Then she measured with the stick to the next hole and repeated the process. “Remember?”
CT’s face brightened as he reached for the stick. “I know how to do that.”
Relieved by his enthusiasm, she stood a few feet off, observing him clumsily measure and plant a seed, and then another. The old CT might’ve laughed at this inept farmer, whose rows were as wavy as the sea. But nothing about this seemed funny to her. She bit her tongue to keep from telling him his line was way off. Really, what did it matter?
“You got this?” she finally asked. He simply nodded, eyes downward as he stomped the ground. Moving methodically, he measured and poked the next hole into the dirt, beginning a slow chant. “Poke-n-plantin’ pumpkins. Poke-n-plantin’ pumpkins.” Seeing her amusement, he attempted to give his stick a spin and shuffled his feet like he was Gene Kelly, but he nearly tripped himself.
“Soft-shoe is tricky in work boots.” She laughed, and his eyes twinkled as he went back to measuring and poking. “But thanks for the floor show, CT.” Relieved at this small success, she told him she’d be in her garden. “Just holler if you need anything.” He just nodded, still chanting cheerfully to himself as he stomped a circle around a freshly planted seed. Honey strolled over to her nearby vegetable garden, feeling happy contentment. It was possible to live with FTD. She just had to plan her activities more carefully and be patient. Not for the first time, she was grateful they lived on a farm. Oh, sure, it came with its challenges. But CT loved being outdoors, and although they only had ten acres now, it was enough room to roam and to keep him happy.
She glanced beyond the pumpkin field, over to the parcel of land that CT had sold to the Oroscos more than three years ago. At first she’d been upset about the agreement her husband struck with their friend Miguel. After all, this farm had originally belonged to her family. Not CT’s. For nearly a hundred years too. She’d inherited the house and barn and land from her grandparents, and she’d dreamed it would stay in the family. But Jewel had never shown the slightest interest in farming, and a hundred acres was far too much for her and CT to manage. Still, it was her family’s land, and Honey felt she should’ve been consulted in its sale.
About seven years ago, while she was still working at the mid dle school, they’d started leasing half their acreage to Miguel Orosco. Miguel had retired from the Air Force in his thirties and was strong and eager to be a farmer, and CT had been something of a mentor to him. Then a couple years later, when CT was on the barn roof installing a silly weathervane that Honey had found at an estate sale, he’d slipped and fallen and broken his leg. After that, Miguel took over all the cultivating—and did a great job with it too.
While still recovering from his broken leg, CT had struck a deal to sell instead of lease the land. Again, without her knowledge or consent. Honey didn’t dispute that the enterprising younger man was the perfect choice to relieve them of that acreage, but she didn’t appreciate being excluded from the agreement.
She glanced to the east as she reached for her hoe. Squinting into the late-morning sunlight, she spotted the double-wide manufactured home that Miguel had put in shortly after purchasing the land. At first it was shockingly bright white in the sunlight and felt intrusive to her. But not long afterward, Miguel had painted it a peaceful dark taupe, which helped it blend into the landscape. And now she had to admit the Orosco farm was attractive, and probably better maintained than the McKerrys’. She peered at the poplars Miguel had planted a few years ago, surprised to see they were green and leafy and nearly as tall as their house now. Pretty.
Although it was a comfort to have good neighbors, she had regrettably voiced her opinion to CT a bit too harshly and loudly. Things weren’t going well at school, and she’d been in a mood and had probably just been up for an old-fashioned vent. Eventually, she got over it and in time she even expressed her gratitude for having the Oroscos as permanent neighbors. But for some reason, probably the onset of FTD, her husband had gotten stuck on it. Of all the things he could forget, he couldn’t seem to forget that the Oroscos owned the land that used to be theirs. And after his leg healed up, he missed that land. And sometimes he got pretty worked up over it.
She hoed into the garden bed she was preparing for tomatoes, loosening a stubborn weed, but continued mulling over the way CT’s brain worked. Or didn’t. Sometimes he got stuck on things that seemed like pure fiction to her. She couldn’t understand how he could mix up facts the way he did. Like the Oroscos. Even though that land purchase happened before CT’s diagnosis, she’d already observed that things had been off with her husband. In hindsight, she felt certain that was why CT had offered the land to Miguel for such a low price. That was about the same time she’d noticed their checkbook was a mixed-up mess and around the time CT started struggling to pull out the right amount for cash for a simple purchase. It was like money suddenly made no sense to him. So practically giving away their land was meaningless to him.
Although Honey was upset at the time, she was okay with it now. Oh, maybe she regretted that she hadn’t paid more attention, but she’d been distracted with her job at the middle school. Amid the post-COVID school politics, budget cuts, and general lack of teachers, there was plenty to preoccupy her mind. And although the figure CT had quoted was too low, Honey liked Miguel. He was a hard worker and had a young daughter to raise and a mother to support. And so she’d begrudgingly accepted the idea, imagining CT would be relieved to have less responsibility and thinking they’d be free to travel some as soon as she retired. Think again.
She bent down to tug on a stubborn milkweed, pulling so hard she tumbled backward onto her hind end. Sitting there in the dirt, with the weed dripping its sticky white juices all over her hand, she felt a smidgeon of guilt. Monarchs liked these milkweeds. She should’ve left it. But not in her garden. There was plenty of milkweed on the backside of the barn to accommodate butterflies. And since CT was oblivious to weeds these days, they would probably go undisturbed too. A blessing for the butterflies.
She glanced over to see her husband still happily planting pumpkin seeds. “Just be thankful for small favors,” she reminded herself as she gingerly got to her feet. In moments like this, she could feel her sixty-plus years in her joints. But determined not to give in, she reminded herself that today was a good day and returned to weeding. Now, instead of fretting over the past, she focused on the fact that her daughter and granddaughter were coming soon. Perhaps even next week, Jewel had told her yesterday. Although Honey didn’t plan to tell CT this ... yet. She would let him know when their arrival was imminent. Not a moment sooner.
Honey noticed her unused gloves on the garden bench as she reached for a spade. Too late for that now since her hands were already a dirty, sticky mess. A small price for having undisturbed time in her vegetable garden. She loved being out here. Especially this time of year. Already, her peas, lettuce, kale, and spinach were solidly up, and some carrots and radishes were bravely sprouting as well. The tomato seedlings in her little greenhouse were ready for transplant too. Maybe Cooper could help with that. Honey was actually relieved that Jewel hadn’t come up here as quickly as she’d originally hoped. Honey had wanted to get the spare rooms cleaned up some before they got here, but it seemed every time she went upstairs, she’d barely get started on one of the rooms when CT would holler up the stairs, calling her back down for something urgent. Urgent to him, anyway. It usually turned out to be some mundane chore, like helping him locate his phone—right by his chair—or a lost shoe. Or last week when he’d called her down to straighten out “the doggone TV remote” that didn’t work, only to discover he was using an old cordless phone. Where he unearthed the useless thing, she couldn’t say, but she’d dropped the defunct item in the trash.
Finally, she decided to just let Jewel and Cooper declutter, clean, and arrange their own rooms. After all, they were coming to help, right? And there was so much “help” needed inside the house, she often felt downright slovenly. Her job and summer farm work had always provided a good excuse for letting a few things go before. She’d always managed to catch up. But that was before CT began requiring so much of her time.
Some of her friends claimed a lot of things went undone as they aged. But no one seemed to mind particularly. Still, Honey had a hard time letting go. She liked sprucing up a room, getting ready for guests. She’d always been active and physical, and even she used to believe she and CT were young for their age. Before frontotemporal dementia, or BFTD as she sometimes called it, the two of them had managed to run the farm, maintain a social life, and still enjoy hiking, hunting, and fishing together when they could get away from the farm. And they’d been conjuring up even bigger plans for her post-retirement.
She glanced over to the dust-coated silver camp trailer parked next to the barn. They’d purchased the Airstream after selling off that acreage to Miguel. It had been her concession gift from CT, and she’d carefully selected all the interior amenities in the classic ’38 RV. Her hope had been to visit all the national parks and cover the back end with bumper stickers that showed off everywhere they’d camped. But on their first short experimental trip to Crater Lake, CT had been surprisingly absentminded, forgetting how to do the simplest of tasks. On their second trip, to the Oregon Coast, he got confused while emptying the sewer tanks, creating a horrible, smelly, not to mention embarrassing, mess at the dump station. With only two bumper stickers on the Airstream, they hadn’t taken it out since. And now she was certain they never would again since she’d listed it in the local paper and had already had several calls with strong interest. She expected it’d be gone by the weekend.
Honey looked over to the pumpkin field to see no one there. Not too surprising for CT. He probably headed inside for a bathroom break. He took them frequently. Just part of FTD. She continued weeding for a few minutes, glancing up now and then, but finally concern got the best of her. She wasn’t even sure why. Probably just experience. She leaned her hoe against the shed and walked over to the pumpkin field. Seeing the overturned bucket and spilled pumpkin seeds, her concern spiked. And then she heard a voice in the distance, shouting something unintelligible. Using her hand to screen her eyes from the sun, she spotted two men facing each other on opposite sides of the east fence. The one with his arms raised, waving a stick and yelling, was CT.
She braced herself as she jogged over to see what was wrong. She was pretty sure the other man was Miguel. When she got there, Miguel looked frustrated and . . . something else. Was it hurt? Or anger? But his hands were planted in his jeans pockets and his lips tightly sealed. Honey imagined he was biting his tongue.
“You stole my farm,” CT growled at him. “Now you got my tractor.” He pointed to Miguel’s John Deere. “That’s mine. You give it back, you thief. Right now.” He shook his pumpkin stick in the air threateningly.
“Whoa, CT.” She grabbed his arm and took the stick. “That’s not true.”
“It is true.” CT glared at her. “Miguel stole the farm. Now he stole my tractor.”
She pointed to his chest. “No. You, CT, you sold him part of our farm. He paid for it fair and square. That eighty acres is his land.”
“No. It’s mine.” He pointed to the tractor. “That’s mine too.”
“It used to be yours, CT. But we sold it to Miguel. Remember? Last winter.”
“You’re lying. Miguel stole my tractor. I know my tractor. I can see it.”
Honey felt the sting of CT’s words as she tried to give Miguel a sympathetic glance. She turned back to CT, placing a firm hand on his arm. “It was your tractor. Now it belongs to Miguel.”
“You’re lying. Miguel’s a thief. A dirty thief. He took it from me. Last night. I heard him in my barn. He took it.”
“No, CT. Miguel is our good neighbor. He helps us. He is not a thief.”
“You’re lying. Both of you.” CT shook her hand free from his arm. “I’m gonna get my gun.”
“CT!” Honey raised her voice. “You will do no such thing.”
“I’m gonna get my gun,” he yelled louder before storming off.
Honey just stood there, waiting for him to get out of earshot, which wasn’t far due to his hearing loss. Then she turned to Miguel. “I’m so sorry for this.”
Miguel sighed. “It’s okay, Mrs. McKerry. I understand.”
“It is not okay. But as you know, CT can’t help it. His brain is messing with him again.”
“I know. I’m sorry to see it.” Miguel’s dark brows drew together. “Will he really get his gun?”
She shook her head. “Don’t worry about that. I already sold his guns. You know, right after that time he mistook Miller’s best bird dog for a coyote. Good thing he missed.”
“Yeah. That was close.” Miguel nodded. “You were smart to remove the guns.”
“Of course, he won’t remember that, well, until he gets in the house.”
“I’m sorry about the tractor. Maybe I shouldn’t have bought it from you.”
She waved a hand. “No, no. If it wasn’t that, it’d be something else. Please, don’t worry about it.”
“I worry about you.” He looked into her eyes. “How are you doing?”
“Oh, you know. I’m okay.”
“I know it’s hard being a caregiver. I took care of Beth before she died. Even with Mama’s help, it was a rough road. And there’s only one of you.”
“Well, my daughter and granddaughter are coming,” she told him. “That should help.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“I better go check on CT. God knows what he’ll be up to next.” She grimaced to imagine him wielding a kitchen knife. That had never happened before, but you never knew... She remembered today’s little surprise and, hoping to lighten things up, decided to share it. “You know what, Miguel?” She chuckled. “CT brushed his teeth with Preparation H this morning.”
Miguel laughed. “Might be good for his gums.”
“Maybe, but it took him three cups of coffee to get the taste out of his mouth.”
“Think the caffeine added to his temper?”
“Maybe. Anyway, please, don’t be concerned. He’ll have forgotten this whole business by suppertime.”
“Sure hope so.” Miguel waved before returning to his tractor and firing up the engine.
Honey walked back to the house, less confident than she was trying to appear. Despite his memory problems of names and dates and daily tasks, CT sure didn’t forget everything. Like the fact he used to own and operate vehicles or had an admirable firearm collection. Pickups and guns occupied a deep place inside him. Probably part of being a man’s man. Even when she’d tried to hide or throw away his rifle magazines, hoping subscriptions would soon expire and quit appearing in their mailbox, CT always seemed to find them. And if a pickup commercial played on TV, CT was all eyes and ears and sometimes tears. Yes, some things were hard to let go. For her too.