Page 77 of Capri

I plant a kiss on her forehead and take the seat beside her bed.

“Fucking fantastic, son. I’m riding high.”She sounds high, too.

Not sure what that means, but okay. If it keeps her happy, I’ll drive her getaway car.

I chuckle. “I can see that.” She takes a puff of the chopstick beside her like it’s a cigarette. “Smoking too, I see.”

“Don’t go telling Beverly on me now. She gets bitter when I smoke.”

Beverly must be her assigned nurse today.

I love this version of her. Even though she doesn’t realize it’s a chopstick she’s smoking and not a Newport, it’s bringing her joy.

“Secret is safe with me.” I smile, patting my chest.

“Grab me that notebook over there, son.” She nods at the table on the other side of the room. I grab it and hand it over with the pencil beside it.

“You’ve been drawing?” I ask her.

She shoots me a look of audacity. “Close. Making a plan for how we’re gonna get out of this shithole.”

Oh.“Mom, you live here. Remember?”

“Right. But you’re my baby boy. Tommy, too. We need a plan if we want to be free of him,” she says confidently, her hand working overtime.

“Of who?” I know who she means, but I want to hear her say it. Maybe it’s twisted, but it confirms how I’ve felt my entire life about him. Before her disease, she defended him.

“Your father. Tucker can’t hurt us anymore. I’ll keep you safe, my boy.”

Fuck. Fuck.Why do I still feel like I owe that bastard something?

Because despite how terrible he was to me, I still loved him—love him.

“We’re safe, Mom. Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her calmly.

She’s too fixated on her current thought to move past it.

I took a therapy class on how to best help dementia patients, meeting them where they’re at. One of the most important things I learned was that when they become fixated on a thought, help them complete it. It diminishes the length of the fascination and helps build confidence and reassurance at the same time.

Helping them feel heard and independent enough to solve something.

“We don’t have time to waste,” she tells me, jotting down some notes.

My eyes find her paper and notice she’s drawing pictures.

Family pictures.

Even sick, her heart is still set on her family.

I entertain her thoughts. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

She looks at me and grins. “Let’s get started.” She proceeds to walk me through all the steps to our escape. She’s got bags packed for Tommy and me and a car parked on the other side of town. We leave at dawn when my father has his first deep sea charter of the day.

I’m not sure which makes me more sad: the fact that this disease has taken away the mother I’ve always known and loved or that my mother suffered for years without saying a word about it.

I’m not sure I’ll ever know the extent of it. Just like she’ll never know the extent of the pain he projected on me. But now that she’s confirmed what I always suspected, I’ll do everything in my capabilities to make this season of her life the best yet.

I can tell the weight of our conversation is tiring her, so I decide to let her rest and come back first thing tomorrow.

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