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The gravel crunches under my tires as I pull into their drive. The carer’s hatchback is parked in the driveway; Griff must
still be at the restaurant.
Through the kitchen window I see Beau pacing the room, his face crumpled in confusion. Julie stands close by in her white
uniform, hands half raised as if to steady him.
“Please, I don’t know who you are,” he says, voice rough with panic. “You are scaring me. Please leave! Griff? Griff! Where
are you?”
Julie glances up in relief as I step through the front door. “He’s been agitated all day; it’s getting worse, I’m afraid.
He only wants Griff.”
I cross the room quickly and crouch beside Beau. “It’s alright, sweetheart, it’s me. Lisa. You’re safe.”
His eyes lift, darting from mine back to the carer. “Lisa? Yes . . . Lisa.”
I squeeze his arm gently, forcing calm into my voice. “Thanks, Julie. I’ll stay with him until Griff comes home. You can go
now.”
She leaves with a grateful nod as Beau sits at the kitchen table. His eyes dance with joy, then flicker with confusion.
“Lisa? Hello, lovely. What are you doing here?”
My throat tightens, but I manage a smile as I take a seat opposite him.
“You asked me to come. We just spoke on the phone.”
He frowns.
“You said it was important,” I coax, recalling his frantic call to me less than an hour ago. “Something about . . . a dad.
You said we needed to talk about it in person.”
The word lands, and for a second he brightens. He nods, almost relieved. “Dad . . . yes, yes. Yours. Or Griff’s. Or was it
mine?” The words wobble out of him.
I lean over and rub his shoulder. “What about him?”
He stares at me with such effort, as though he’s chasing his thoughts down a dark corridor. His lips move, but nothing comes.
Finally, his voice breaks. “I shouldn’t. Griff said . . . no. He says no to a lot of things. But I think maybe I’m going somewhere—or
at least a part of me is—and I have to tell you before I leave.”
“Where are you going, Beau?”
“The same place as my dad.”
Beau’s dad had died of Alzheimer’s before we met. My mind drifts back to the phone call. Did he want to tell me more about
him?
“There was a very, very bad man, Lisa.”
“Where was he—the bad man?”
“The bad man . . . he’s gone, but he’s still living in Griff’s head.”
Poor Beau. He must mean Griff, and be trying, in his muddled way, to explain my brother’s temper. Worn ragged from the restaurant,
from being a caregiver, from everything pressing in on him. Still, the words cling like burrs. The bad man.
“What do you need to tell me, Beau? There’s no rush, take your time.”
“No. There’s no time. That’s what I need. I’m running out. See?” He reaches across the table and pulls out a scrawled shopping
list in small shaky handwriting.
Lemons
Butter
Tissues
Time
He taps the last word and laughs, a thin, broken sound, and presses a hand to his temple as if the memory itself hurts. “I
wanted to fix it. Thought I could still . . . but it’s gone. It’s gone.”
The silence is unbearable. The clock ticks loudly in the corner, steady and cruel.
He looks back at me, his expression naked with sorrow. “I’m sorry, Lisa. I wanted to tell you while I still could.”
“Tell me what, sweetheart? I’m here for you.”
“I . . . don’t know. I think maybe I’ve done the wrong thing. But I’m not sure. I’m so sorry. I tried to make it better.”
Something inside me splinters. He’s deteriorated rapidly since I saw him last; the flu kept me away for a month.
I reach across the table and wrap my hand around his. He squeezes tight, as if he might drift away if I let go. I smile, because
I don’t know what else to do, though it feels jagged on my face.
“It’s alright, Beau. Don’t worry about it.”
But it’s not alright. Nothing about this is alright.
My Beau. My best friend. Sitting across from me tonight, apologizing for words his mind can no longer hold. Looking at me
like he’d failed me, when the only thing to blame was this cruel disease stripping him away piece by piece.
The tears prick my eyes before I can stop them. I turn my face, biting down on my lip, desperate not to let him see. But it’s
useless—they spill anyway, hot and sudden.
His thumb brushes clumsily over my knuckles.
“What’s wrong, my darling Lisa? What’s happened?”
“I’m okay,” I whisper, shaking my head, forcing another smile. “I’ve just . . . lost something, or I’m losing it, that’s all.”
He frowns, earnest as a child. “Don’t worry, lovely, I’ll help you look for it.”
Beau bends down, searching under the table, as if his memories, our years of friendship, might be there like a dropped pen. He doesn’t even know what I’m missing, yet he’s still trying to give it back to me.
Daylight fades, swallowed whole by the waiting dark. But I don’t turn on the light and neither does Beau. At least he can’t
see my tears as I hold his fragile hand in both of mine and stay there with him, waiting for Griff to come home.