12. Cici
CICI
The afternoon sun hung low over the parking lot as Todd and I walked toward his SUV.
Neither of us spoke for a minute.
The visit with Grammy had left me emotionally wrung out, even though I'd spent years getting used to the ups and downs of Alzheimer's.
Todd opened the passenger door for me.
I smiled. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Once we were both settled inside, he started the engine and pulled out of the nursing home's parking lot.
For several minutes, the only sound was the hum of the tires against the road.
Then Todd glanced over at me.
"You know, I still can't believe you took your great-grandmother skydiving."
I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it wasn't.
It was actually kind of perfect.
Todd shook his head.
"I'm serious. Most people won't even go skydiving themselves. Taking an eighty-something year-old woman? That's impressive."
I looked out the windshield.
"It is pretty unbelievable."
"Damn right it is."
I smiled.
"That's because it never happened."
Todd's head snapped toward me.
"What?"
"It never happened."
He blinked.
"Skydiving?"
"Skydiving."
"But she just spent twenty minutes telling us every detail."
"I know."
He stared at me for another second before turning his attention back to the road.
"Then where did the story come from?"
I shrugged.
"I honestly don't know. But she has latched onto that story for a few years now. Maybe she saw it on television. Maybe she dreamed it. Who knows?"
Todd frowned.
"And now she thinks it's real?"
"Yep."
He was quiet for a moment.
"Why don't you correct her?"
I looked out the passenger window.
The answer felt obvious to me. It had been for a long time.
"Because it makes her happy."
Todd didn't say anything.
I continued.
"She isn't lying. At least not intentionally. In her mind, it happened."
I thought about all the times I'd tried to correct Grammy in the beginning.
The arguments.
The confusion.
The tears.
The heartbreak.
I'd learned that lesson the hard way.
"If I tell her the truth, she'll be upset for five minutes."
Todd listened.
"Then she'll forget the conversation and tell the story again tomorrow."
His fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel.
I stared out at the passing trees.
"Why would I take that memory away from her?"
The question hung between us.
"Especially when it makes her happy."
Todd was quiet for so long that I glanced over at him.
He wasn't looking at me.
His attention remained fixed on the road.
But something about his expression had softened.
The teasing grin he'd worn most of the afternoon was gone.
"I never thought about it that way," he said finally.
I smiled.
"Most people don't."
"Doesn't it bother you?"
"What?"
"Watching someone you love remember things that never happened."
I swallowed.
Sometimes.
More than sometimes.
But not for the reasons people assumed.
"It bothers me when she's scared."
My voice came out soft.
"When she doesn't know where she is. When she doesn't recognize people. When she gets confused."
I paused.
"The skydiving story doesn't hurt anyone."
Todd nodded.
"So you let her keep it."
"I let her keep it."
Another stretch of silence settled between us.
Comfortable this time.
Easy.
The kind that seemed to happen more often whenever I was around him.
I wasn't sure how I felt about that.
Actually, that wasn't true.
I knew exactly how I felt about it.
That was the problem.
Fifteen minutes later, Todd turned onto my road.
A few minutes after that, my house came into view.
The sight of it should have made me feel relieved.
Instead, I felt strangely disappointed that the afternoon was ending.
Todd pulled into the driveway and shifted into park.
Neither of us immediately reached for a door handle.
"Thank you," I said.
"For lunch?"
"For everything."
His gaze met mine.
"You don't have to thank me."
"I do."
He smiled.
"No. I got to spend the afternoon with a pretty woman and meet the most entertaining person in North Carolina."
I laughed.
"Grammy would love that you just said that about her."
His grin widened.
The warmth in my chest expanded another inch.
Then something occurred to me.
I groaned.
Todd looked concerned.
"What?"
"We never talked about the flight plans."
He blinked.
Then laughed.
An actual laugh that was deep and genuine.
"We didn't."
"The entire reason we had lunch."
"We got distracted."
A smile tugged at my mouth.
"Clearly."
I glanced toward my front door.
Then back at him.
The professional thing would be to schedule another meeting.
Maybe a phone call tomorrow.
Maybe an email.
Instead, I heard myself say, "You can come inside if you want."
Todd's eyebrows lifted slightly.
My pulse immediately sped up.
"Just to go over the schedule," I added.
Smooth, Cici.
Very smooth.
His smile turned downright wicked.
"Of course."
Heat crawled up my neck.
I hated that he could do that to me with a single look.
I opened the car door before I embarrassed myself further.
"Flight plans."
"Flight plans," he agreed.
I got out of the car.
A second later, Todd joined me.
Together, we headed toward my front door.
And absolutely nothing about that felt professional.
Not even a little.