46
Beau’s hand is warm in mine, his grip tightening as a carer moves behind his chair. Outside the window, jacaranda blooms fade
to black in the last of the light as the familiar dread settles in my chest. It’s time.
“I’d better head off now,” I say gently, bracing for the worst part of my day.
His hand hooks onto my sleeve. “Yep,” he says. “I’ve got my shoes. We can go.”
My eyes drop to his bare feet poking out under the blanket. “Not tonight, my love. You’ve got to stay here. I’ll be back soon.”
His smile falters; his breathing becomes rapid. “Why can’t I come? Have I done something wrong, Griffy?”
“No, handsome, you haven’t. The doctor just wants you to rest here tonight.”
“Visiting hours are over,” Allison calls gruffly as she passes.
His honey eyes dart toward the corridor, where he’s watched me disappear again and again. “Griff, please don’t leave me. Please.
I don’t understand. I’m frightened.” His voice cracks on the last word, raw enough to scrape bone.
“It’s okay, Beau. You are safe here. Come on, let’s have a look at your Canberra map—see it on the wall there?”
He refuses to look, grabbing my shirt with both hands. “Please,” he whispers, eyes watering. “Please don’t go. I’m begging you. I’ll be good. I won’t forget. I’ll remember everything, I swear.”
I kiss the crown of his head, my mouth pressed to his hair so he can’t see my face or the tears that have begun to form. “You
are always good, Beau. Always. I’ve got to go to the bathroom now, hon. I’ll be back before you know it.” I whisper the line
I’ve used more times than I can count.
“Oh, okay. Promise you’ll come back?”
“I promise.” I turn before I can say more.
At the end of the hallway, I glance back. He’s on his feet, searching. “Griff? Griffy? Where are you?”
Dayna enters, voice low and steady with the measured rhythm she uses every night. It does nothing.
He twists away from her touch, panic sparking in his eyes as he backs off. “No—no, I’m not supposed to stay. He said he’d
come back—he said—” Beau’s voice catches. “Please,” he cries, “I don’t know where I am. I don’t understand. I need him. He’s
my person.” The young nurse kneels beside Beau, trying to calm him, but he curls in on himself, sinking to the floor. Loud
gulping sobs rip through the air. “He left. He left, and he didn’t come back. Griffy!” The sound carries the sorrow of every
goodbye we’ll have to endure.
I stop dead in my tracks, ready to run to him.
A hand clamps on my arm: Allison. “No. You have to go.”
“He’s falling apart—”
“They all do.”
“He’s terrified.”
“And he will be again tomorrow. This is how it is. You want to help him? Don’t make it worse.” Her gaze is sharp enough to
cut. I shift to move past her but she blocks me. “You’re not his carer anymore. We are. Go. You’ll get used to it.” She’s
said that many times before, and every time it’s a lie.
His cries follow me down the corridor, my footsteps trying and failing to drown them out. The automatic doors hiss shut behind
me, locking him in his prison and me in mine.
The loneliness greets me as I enter our home, as suffocating as it has been every night since he moved into care.
As always, I head straight to the bathroom, even though I don’t need to go, so I can keep telling myself I’m not technically lying to Beau.
I wash my hands, turn out the light, and go to bed in a house that still smells faintly of him, where every room feels like it’s waiting for someone who is never coming back.
The morning can’t come quick enough. I arrive five minutes before visiting hours, the early sun doing nothing to thaw me.
The smell hits first: bleach, boiled cabbage, and something sweet gone sour. My shoes squeak on the lino as I walk toward
the dementia ward.
I hear him before I see him. “Griff? Griff, where are you? Where have I parked the car?” The words tumble over each other,
raw and frantic.
I stop dead in the doorway to his room.
He sits hunched by the window, his stubbled face stained with tears, hair matted in damp clumps, a smear of dried food on
his T-shirt. He can’t see me yet, but his head jerks toward every sound in the corridor, eyes wild and wet. “Griff, please.”
My name fractures on his tongue.
Three steps, and I’m in front of him.
For a heartbeat he just stares, like I might be a trick of the light. And then it breaks over him—the relief so fierce it’s
almost dizzying to watch. His whole body slackens, the tremor in his shoulders stilling. “Griff,” he says, like my name alone
could hold the world together. I drop to my knees, and he reaches for me, both hands fisting in my sleeves, dragging me down
until his forehead rests against mine. “I thought you’d left me.”
“I’m here, Beau.”
He tucks his head into my neck, and I hold him, hard, bury my face in his hair, and breathe him in. The familiar scent of
his shampoo, even dulled by stale air, unravels me. Tears come without warning. Hot. Relentless. I let them soak into his
hair. “Don’t ever leave again,” he whispers.
The words land heavy, threading themselves into every raw place I’ve tried to seal. I just hold him tighter, because I know
if I open my mouth, I’ll break, and right now he needs my arms more than my false promises.