Chapter 34
DEB
THE SINGLE STICKY NOTE BILLY has written for himself says: I (Billy) have Alzheimer’s. Occasionally when he sees it, he juts out his chin defiantly and says, “Deb, April, Josie, Cameron, Leo, Sadie, Otto.” Then he shrugs proudly as though he really stuck it to that Alzheimer’s.
Sadie says Grandpa B takes “little vacations.” His bouts of confusion read to her as play. And when he confuses the grandchildren for the children, he sometimes references details from decades ago. Does it count as forgetting when he simply recalls a different form?
Memory loss doesn’t seem to be the most accurate description of this part of the disease.
It’s more like memory overload—he has so many that he can’t fit them into the correct slots of his mental Rolodex anymore.
It’s a disassembly of days, his life levitating at his fingertips, here yet out of order.
The study guide for his Dental Admission Test. Going to the movies with his college sweetheart, Patsy.
The blistering heat of climbing sand dunes with his mother.
Cameron’s broken toe. It’s a seasonless requiem where he can tell us what he wore decades ago but not what he was doing an hour ago.
Today I’m decorating the house for Otto’s first birthday party, and Billy has asked twice what the special occasion is.
Otto has no earthly idea what we’re doing, only that there are shiny streamers he would like to put in his mouth.
Gifts cover the hearth, wrapped in glossy blues and silver.
Confetti cupcakes are cooling on the counter, awaiting frosting.
A banner hangs like a smile in the kitchen doorway.
Slices of citrus float inside pitchers of water.
When I went so far as to rent a yard sign, April said, “Otto won’t even remember this. ”
I told her that wasn’t the point, and I got my camera ready.
Everyone arrives in a flurry. Brenda Miller from across the street brings a stuffed pony with a bow on it.
Dusty, who took over Billy’s practice, brings a “My First Flossies” kit.
Cameron and Rachel arrive with some board books after a morning of wedding cake tasting.
And finally Leo walks in, looking a little worse for wear.
I’ve sternly reminded Josie that huffing and grumbling about their divorce won’t make them stay married, that today is about her nephew.
Otto is napping upstairs, so in the meantime everyone admires baby photos and Billy’s thriving fiddle-leaf fig.
Not to mention Sadie’s newly mastered backbend and Josie’s latest ink.
April and I frost cupcakes, and by the time Leo brings Otto downstairs, it takes everyone a second to remember why we’ve gathered.
Then there’s a chorus of bubbly voices saying, “Good morning, sleepyhead!” “Happy birthday!” “Who’s a big boy?
!” Otto rubs his eyes and reaches for his grandfather, who knows exactly who he is.
Later, after an hour of cake and presents and saying goodbye to guests, Otto becomes infatuated with Billy’s keys, while his pile of gifts sits untouched beside him like an ofrenda. We are cleaning the kitchen when Josie, empty pitcher in hand, asks her siblings, “So, are y’all getting tested?”
I cough.
Rachel and Leo look at each other.
Cameron frowns. “Tested?”
Rachel leans toward him and whispers, “Alzheimer’s.”
Billy and the grandchildren are in the living room, out of earshot.
I pull the bag from the trash can and tie it off. “Early-onset doesn’t happen this early,” I say.
Looking down at a cupcake, April says gently, “She means genetic.”
Cameron answers quickly. “Definitely not.”
Rachel turns to him, startled. “Shouldn’t we talk about it?”
The young couple stare at each other, and I stare at the trash bag in my hand like I don’t know how it got there. I set it back down. “Have you all been thinking about this?”
Josie scoops dripping slices of fruit from the empty pitcher. “Didn’t mean to start a thing. I’m just getting tested, is all.”
April stops chewing her cupcake. “Seriously?”
At the same time, Cameron asks, “Why?”
“Because I want to know, why else?”
“What would it change?” Cameron avoids his fiancée’s eyes.
April sides with Cameron. “There’s no cure, Jo.”
Josie groans. “I promise I’ve thought it through. I talked to a geneticist, neurologist, and psychologist.” She pauses. “I don’t have to share the results if you don’t want to know.”
Rachel stares at her lap, and April draws closer to her sister. “You really want to know?”
“You really don’t?”
April rakes fingers through her hair. “It’s not like they can stop it or tell us when symptoms will show up, right?” She looks at her sister. “Think of how that could affect you mentally. I mean, what if you have the gene or mutation or whatever?”
“What if I don’t?”
There’s a moment of heavy silence, and I study my children: the caretaker, the pot-stirrer, and the status quo.
I can’t predict how Josie will react to this kind of test. But before I can build a case for her to take more time with this, she takes the trash bag from me and shrugs.
“To each his own.” And she leaves the room, a bit of chaos in her wake.
Cameron looks at April. “You going to find out her results?”
“Probably.”
“You want to?”
“Not especially, but she’ll want to talk.”
At this, he finally turns to his fiancée with a distinctly adult deference playing across his face. “Let’s go for a walk?”
Rachel nods. She would still marry him. Wouldn’t she? Should she?
Left in the kitchen with Leo and April, I scrunch my nose. “They’re awfully quiet in there.” The three of us go into the living room, where Billy is snoring on the couch, Otto is still engrossed in his grandfather’s keys, and Sadie is generously sorting her brother’s birthday plunder on his behalf.
April whispers, “How is he one? Feels like just yesterday I was winning his first laugh with a bad rendition of ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart.’ ”
Leo blinks. “I never knew about that.”
“Yeah,” April says, her eyes on Otto.
I have no idea what went wrong between those two.
April was vague when she told us they’re separating.
One thing I do know: she will stay with us as long as she thinks we need her.
Josie will follow her tours, and Cameron will go start his family, but April will carry this burden as long as I let her.
She came here because of the fire, but she won’t leave until I tell her to.
She needs to take care of people, to be needed, even if it’s at her own expense.
Above us, the banner droops, so I stretch to fix it.
There are etchings on this doorframe where the kids marked their heights over the years.
The notches have been here so long that I barely notice them.
But I run my fingers across them now, wondering what Billy needs.
He sleeps steadily in front of us, his mouth parted.
Does he need this house like a string around his finger, tethering him to his memories?
Would he decline faster in a new place, or would a community that’s designed for this be better?
Not to mention, a way to remove this burden from April, who is trying to end a marriage, and who might or might not have the disease herself.
Thinking about what’s ahead for Billy breaks my heart, but to think that any one of our kids could also have this?
I can barely breathe at the thought. For the first time, I even imagine the grandkids getting it.
I step forward to cover Billy with a blanket, and Otto raises the keys in his fist to show them off. I offer him a smile as I back up, leaning against the etched doorframe.
Life is a series of wild unknowns, and the past will always leave marks.