Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“There’s a storm coming.”
I look up at Adam from my spot on the couch.
“You’re telling me,” I say, rotating my laptop screen toward him. “Adam, you can not keep egging on my trolls like this. It will only make things worse.”
We’re well into November now, and there’s still no progress with the insurance company. I couldn’t find the original documents they needed, so I had to order new ones. Who knows when they’ll come in, especially with the upcoming holidays.
And, apparently, the ever-present threat of winter weather.
I’m still sitting on a nice backlog of episodes for Elle on the L , but for every week that passes with no forward movement with insurance, my anxiety ticks up a notch. I haven’t had good pizza in over a month, and I’m going through Liss withdrawal.
“It’s nice you noticed, but that’s not what I was talking about.” Adam’s voice is dull and sarcastic. “There’s winter weather coming in.” He holds out his phone, the local weather forecast pulled up. “Some models say eight inches or more.”
Don’t go there, Elle. Don’t take the bait. Don’t—
“I can handle eight inches.”
Oops. I love when I don’t listen to my own voice of reason.
Adam’s ears redden as he clears his throat. “I was hoping one of us could run to the store, grab bread and toilet paper before they’re all out. Why people don’t go for batteries and thermal blankets and ice melt first, I’m not sure.”
“That would make too much sense.” I’m smiling at him. I can’t stop. It won’t turn off.
The corner of his mouth twitches, but he has a much better poker face than I do. “So, do you want to go or do you want me to?”
“Yes,” I say, a little too winded for such an innocent conversation, especially when there’s so much distance between us.
His forehead creases. “What?”
I put the brakes on my lust to dissect his actual question. My pulse is already pounding at the thought of being behind the wheel. “Can we go together? A field trip?”
He scratches his jaw, and my focus narrows there. “That didn’t work out well last time.”
I lean forward, elbows on knees, to clasp my hands under my chin. “Please, Nurse Adam from Indy? I promise to stand up for myself with the trolls and make you a green smoothie tomorrow.” I flutter my lashes, pop out my bottom lip, and go in for the kill. “I’ll give you the bed for a week if you drive.”
A warm smile flashes across his face, and I have the sudden, distinct feeling I just got played. “Lovie’s car or mine?”
Adam was right: the stores are crazy. There are shopping carts scattered across the parking lot, not a worker in sight to wrangle them. Finding a motorized scooter for Lovie turns out to be so challenging we leave without anything on our list.
But we did get pretzels from the kiosk, so it wasn’t a complete waste.
He has to circle the lot at the next store a few times to find a handicapped spot. There are so many people here. It’s eleven AM on a Tuesday. Do these people not have jobs? We can’t all be podcasters.
We follow a soccer mom through most of the grocery aisles. I’ve named her Karen in my head. She will definitely call the manager on you.
Karen will also grab ten loaves of bread. Ten.
When she steps out of the way, Adam grabs one. We don’t eat bread often enough to get more than that. Judging by Karen’s legs, she doesn’t either.
When she grabs five packages of bottled water, Adam helps her load them on her cart, then grabs one for us.
After the third aisle, I realize he’s making it into a game, just for me. In the toilet paper aisle, Adam throws me a wink and starts loading Karen’s cart full of toilet paper.
She balks. “What are you doing ?” She reaches for the pack he’s placing, but he dodges her and gets it in anyway.
Adam’s face turns innocent so fast I think I imagined the mischievousness there before. “I just thought you had seven kids with all the bread. You must need this much toilet paper.”
“I have two children,” Karen snaps, pulling out packs as Adam continues to place them in.
“Then do you have four spouses? Because otherwise there’s no possible way you can go through all that bread before it spoils.”
Karen’s cheeks are the color of cherries. “I was going to freeze it.” She pulls her cart away as Adam continues loading it up, and his last pack falls to the ground.
He scoops it up effortlessly and tosses it in the basket on Lovie’s scooter. “My mistake. Have a great day, ma’am, and you stay safe.” He waves down the aisle at her, smiling like a lunatic. She keeps glancing back over her shoulder. Any second, I expect her to abandon the cart and start running.
I’m in tears, my abs aching. I haven’t laughed this hard in … I can’t remember how long.
Even Lovie’s smiling. “He’s a good one, you know,” she says, watching me. “Don’t let him go.” Something flashes in her eyes, so bright and familiar it halts my laughter in its tracks.
She isn’t talking to Lovie about Bobby. She’s talking to Elle about Adam.
The rush of relief is dizzying, and the guilt that follows is nauseating. If I were at peace with Lovie’s mental state, I wouldn’t be so happy she’s looking at me, Elle . I understand these breakthroughs are rare. It could last for minutes or a week. I’m scared to move in fear of disturbing whatever aligned in her brain.
“Lovie?” I say, almost too soft for my own ears.
Adam turns to us before she responds. The recognition on her face dims but doesn’t extinguish. He points down the aisle. “Let’s swing by the outdoor section and see if we can grab some ice melt and another shovel.”
Lovie reverses her scooter before I can say wait .
Forget Me Not
Transcript, Episode 03
Hi, everyone. Elle here. We were going to talk about the science behind Alzheimer’s this week, but we had what is known in the Midwest as a Snow Scare. A false start to winter, if you will. We’re talking DEFCON-level blizzard preparedness, buying kerosene heaters and ten loaves of bread—I witnessed that last one with my own eyes.
Here at Lovie’s house, we gathered all the spare blankets we could find, premade a few meals that taste good hot or cold, and made sure we had candles and flashlights in every room. Salted the sidewalk and driveway and tuned in to the weather instead of our usual Jeopardy .
But there wasn’t a blizzard. It didn’t even snow.
We spent days preparing, listening to experts, and nothing happened. But last week, there was a tornado outbreak in the South that took ten lives. There are so many variables that it’s almost impossible to predict what will happen, with chronic disease or storms or something as simple as traffic.
I think it’s a great metaphor for Alzheimer’s. I’ve used up a lot of unnecessary energy trying to predict the future, change the outcome. It’s how I am, and how I’ve always been. I need to be in control of my situation. I hate asking for help and I hate taking advice from others on something I consider myself an expert on.
My grandmother, for example.
But while I may be an expert on who she was , she’s different now. Alzheimer’s is changing her makeup, her physical and mental and emotional self. I’m not an expert on her any more than I am an expert on the weather.
So I encourage you along with myself, to give up what doesn’t belong to you. Quit wasting your energy on things you can’t control and try and enjoy exactly what you have in this moment. What’s that quote about holding sand with an open hand versus closed fist?
Yeah, I second that.