Page 8 of Find Me in California

CHAPTER 4

JULIA

Her stomach knotted like the tangled wad of bras she removed from the washer this morning, Julia tables her worries and knocks on her grandmother’s door in Rosemont’s memory care unit. She can’t discuss finances and brainstorm options with Mama Rose. Rarely does her grandmother remember who Julia is, and several months back, when Julia mentioned money to her, Mama Rose believed she still had a nest egg. She can’t comprehend it’s already been exhausted. Julia’s on her own with this dilemma.

“It’s open.” Her grandmother’s voice comes through the thick door. A soft chime sends a signal to the caretaker’s station when Julia enters. She quickly punches in a code on the keypad to silence the alarm and stops short with a look of horror when she sees her grandmother. Mama Rose stands amid a pile of blankets, her wheelchair on the other side of the room. She clutches a thick green-and-pink knit throw.

Panic explodes in Julia’s chest as a likely scene plays out in her head. Mama Rose will forget why she’s doing whatever she’s doing. She’ll forget about the blankets on the floor. Her foot will tangle in the wool and fleece. She’ll topple over and break her hip. Again. She’s been using the wheelchair because of a previous fall.

Dropping her shoulder bag on the table, Julia rushes to her grandmother’s side and gently grasps Mama Rose’s shoulders so she doesn’t lose her balance as she folds a blanket. Her grandmother’s face lights up at the sight of her.

“Have you come to get me out of this dreadful place?”

“You love it here,” Julia says. “You told me you wanted to stay.” It’s far more pleasant than other facilities.

“I said no such thing.”

Julia hums under her breath and resists getting sucked into this conversation. It’s old and repetitive, a symptom of Mama Rose’s condition. “What are you doing here?” She gestures to the pile on the floor.

“I’m ...” Mama Rose smiles apologetically. “Forgive me. I can’t remember your name.”

Julia deflates. She’ll never get used to Mama Rose not recognizing her. “Call me Jules.”

Mama Rose pats her arm. “Beautiful name. My granddaughter’s named Julia. Have you met her?”

“I haven’t, but I’m sure she’s lovely. May I help?” She breathes through the hollowness in her chest. Reassured that Mama Rose is steady on her feet, she picks up the other end of the blanket and helps her fold. “Were you looking for something?” Her grandmother is always searching for objects from her past, be they keys or seeds or mail.

“A book.”

“In your blanket chest?” Julia sweeps the blankets off the floor to get them out of the way and drops the pile on the bed to fold.

“I found a toothbrush in there, so it’s possible.” Mama Rose puts the folded green-and-pink knit blanket into the chest and shuffles to the table.

“Tell me about the book. Is it one of those?” Julia asks of the books shelved above the dresser. Paperback mysteries and romances, their covers and spines creased from age and love. Books her grandmother read repeatedly before her eyesight deteriorated and Julia introduced her to audiobooks.

“No, none of those.” Mama Rose digs through Julia’s shoulder bag.

“Now what are you looking for?”

“These.” Mama Rose jingles Julia’s keys like she won a round inThe Price Is Right. “We’re bugging out.”

“No, we’re not.”

“I’m driving.” Mama Rose shuffles to the door, or what she thinks is the door. The entire wall has been painted to look like a scene out of Monet’s garden, camouflaging the door. “I always get turned around. Where’s the door, love? You can’t keep me here forever. I’ll call the police. Soon as I get out of this dreadful place.” She runs her hands along the wall in search of the door, and the keys drop on the floor. “Oops.”

Julia is at her side and snags the keys before her grandmother has the chance.

“How about we go for a walk instead,” Julia says and gently takes her arm.

“I don’t want to go for a walk.” Mama Rose yanks her elbow away. “I want to go home.”

Moisture bites Julia’s eyes. “But you are home. You love it here. This is where you want to be.”

“Stop telling me what I want. Lies! All of them.” Mama Rose’s face flushes with her ire, and she wags a finger in Julia’s face. “I see right through them.”

“How about we see the garden instead? You always enjoy the gardens this time of evening.”

Mama Rose’s lips pinch. She rubs her thumbs across her fingertips over and over, her gaze darting around the room. “Yes, yes, you’re right. We’ll go see the garden. Maybe the book will be here after.”

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