Page 31 of Capri

Now, she lives at Paloma Memory Care.

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot. Well, I can’t wait to see you. Beverly said you’ve been going on a lot of walks. That’s great, Mom.”

“Where’s Tucker?”Now, I’m Jones.

My mother developed dementia not long after my father passed. The process has been slow and gruesome, progressively getting worse. We’re at the tail end of the advanced stage, and it’s been so fucking hard to do it alone.

I feel guilty that she’s in a home while I’m on the other side of the world running my late father’s business—something he expected of me. I can’t be in two places at once, and that’s the hardest part.

I only hope that underneath it all, she knows I’m doing this for her.

I stay in the States for three months out of the year with my mother, renting a house a mile from her live-in facility. It gives me close access to her.

In the midst of working and traveling, you’d think the hardest part would be learning how to handle her shift in behavior and personality in a compassionate manner, but it’s not.

The hardest part is the longing.I miss her.

The mother who cared for every sick ache I had as a child, tucked me into bed at night, showed up cheering at every football game and practice, and once told me she loved me more times than necessary.

She can curse me, verbally abuse me, tell me I’m worthless and that I mean nothing to her; I’ll love her just the same.

Forgetting that she asked me where my father was, I tell her, “He’s on a trip, Mom. He’ll be back soon.”

“Ah, that’s good. That’s good,” she whispers to herself. “He’ll be here soon.” I can hear the smile in her voice and how happy it makes her thinking I’m him again. The back and forth is hard to understand, but I have to constantly remind myself that it’s not my job to understand her. It’s my job to love her and accept her in every way.

Fuck. This hurts.

No, Ma. He won’t be, and it breaks my fucking heart you don’t understand that. I’ll keep telling you he’ll be back if it makes this bitch of a disease that much more bearable for you.

My father treated her like garbage. If he were alive today, I’d find a way to make him pay for all he’s done. The more severe my mother’s memory loss has gotten, the more she’s revealed to me about my father’s…transgressions. More like torrential fuckups.

“Goodnight, Tucker.”

“Goodnight, Dolly. I love you.”

And she hangs up, making me wish for brighter, less lonely days.

* * *

One of themany perks of owning your own yacht is private quarters. Although other guests, including us, occupy the boat, the cabin has what resembles a small apartment just for me.

In this case, for me and my guests.

By the time we returned from the Grottos, it was almost nightfall. I planned ahead of time for the chef on board to prepare dinner for us as we sailed back to the mainland side of Capri to dock.

The five of us are nestled at the small, concave table near the cabin’s wet bar, finishing our seafood dinner.

“So, Romeo, what’s your job exactly? With the chartering, I mean,” Capri asks my friend.

“Depends on the day,” Romeo says. “Most of the time, it’s doing this guy’s bitch work.” He points at me and laughs.

“Funny,” I say. “Romeo runs our operations department.”

“What does that mean exactly?” Collie asks, seeming intrigued.

Romeo turns toward her. “I plan the sailing routes, schedule catering, and facilitate events onboard. Essentially, anything and everything to make sure our guests have an enjoyable experience,” he says in what I like to call his theme park voice.

“Makes sense,” Capri tells him. “Sounds kinda fun, actually.”

---