Page 103 of Capri

For being a medical home for dementia patients, Paloma Memory Care is inviting. There’s plants and warm colors, even noticeable in the dead of night. It doesn’t feel sterile, and I love that. This is a place I would want my loved ones to be if circumstances called for it.

We reach the end of the hallway, and my anxiety kicks in. Jones stops us in front of the single door that reads ‘Dolly Archer’ in a small gold frame.

“Jones, I’m nervous,” I tell him, my stomach in knots.

He grabs my hands, and my body responds to him with trust. “Who am I to you?” he asks with a tender smile.

Everything. You’re everything I could ever want.

“You’re Jones,” I say with a deep breath, contemplating how serious we’re getting here. His eyes beg me to dig further. “You’re the man I trust to keep my heart safe.”

If smiles could tell a story, Jones’ maps ours perfectly. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and runs his thumb across the slope of my cheek. “Now, ask me who you are to me.”

I feel my nerves settle. He’s using this moment to share his heart.

“Who am I to you, Jones Archer?” I smile deliriously.

“That’s simple. You’re Capri from Capri,” he says, pretending that’s it. My mouth gapes open and he chuckles. “You’re also the woman I’m fucking crazy about and have been since the moment we met.”

My heart soars, and I want nothing more than to kiss him and tell him how I feel. “Okay, I’m ready.” I take another deep breath, gathering the courage from his words to meet the woman who raised him.

Jones kisses me softly. “Atta girl.”

He reaches for the doorknob, but before we enter, he turns to me and says, “I…I’m not sure how she’ll be tonight. Please don’t take offense to anything off-the-wall she might say.”

My hand finds his forearm. “Hey. I’m sure she’ll be great, okay? I can’t wait to meet her.”

My smile is all he needs before ushering me into Dolly Archer’s room.

* * *

It seemsI had no reason to worry. Dolly is in her prime tonight, and I haven’t laughed this hard in ages.

Although it’s ten o’clock, she seems fully rested.

“Jones had an ass that looked like a peach. All the ladies in the church choir wouldn’t let him get past without pinching it.” She proceeds to pinch his butt and Jones scurries.

“What the fuck, Mom?”

Her chuckle is sinister and, frankly, hilarious.

The dynamic between the two of them is adorable. I can see the way Jones cares for his mother and the love she has for him, despite the side effects of her disease.

“Has Jones always been a workaholic, Mrs. Archer?” I ask her, sending Jones a sly grin.

Dolly lights some incense beside her, and my eyes follow the motion in worry, causing Jones to chuckle. “It’s Dolly. I’m too old for that Mrs. shit. Besides, I’m a widow, and Bernie next door has been frequenting my room lately. If you know what I mean.” Her brows rise suggestively, and I giggle, watching Jones become more and more uncomfortable by the second.

“Not necessary,” he bites out, looking anywhere else but at her.

“It’s only human nature,” she tells him before turning her attention back to me. “Am I repeating myself? It’s been a long day.”

This must be the break in her memory. Although lucid, there can still be blank spaces. Exhaustion seems to come in waves.

“Not at all.” I smile. “You were telling me about how hard Jones works.”

Jones sends me a look of thanks, and I tune into Dolly’s rambling. “Is he still workin’ like a damn dog? I told him he needs to find himself a lady.”“He is,” I say at the same time Jones replies, “I’m workin’ on it.”

“Good,” she exhales, closing her eyes for a moment. “These beds were a good investment, son. Great choice.”

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