The call of hot water and my new lavender body wash has me shoving overalls into the washer as quickly as is humanly possible and then darting upstairs. I barely notice the way I avoid the step that squeaks or skirt the sideboard with a simple sway of my hips, taking the most efficient path through the house. I don’t trip on the frayed hem of the rug and I don’t need to look for the string light in the bathroom; I just reach and tug.
I’d gotten used to living at the ranch house. More so than I might care to admit.
A half-hour later and I’m feeling significantly more human. My hair wrapped in a towel, I perform my now regular evening habit and steal a pair of Caleb’s boxer shorts from his drawers. Pairing them with a cami, I leave my feet bare.
When I step out into the hall, my belly growls and rolls over hungrily. The smell of chicken roasting with potato and lemon is wafting up from downstairs.
Like a cartoon character, floating along by the nose, I make it to the kitchen just in time for Caleb to set a plate laden with deliciousness in front of me.
“Oh my God,” I moan, breathing in the rich, flavorsome steam. “I love you…”
It takes until after I’ve shoveled in the first mouthful for me to register what I’ve just said. Caleb is staring at me, eyes wide and the corner of his mouth turning upward into what had to be an awkward grimace.
“I mean,” I say, around a cheek full of juicy chicken breast. “In a strictly platonic working relationship that includes fantastic sex kind of way.”
“Right,” Caleb says, his expression shutting down.
“Right.”
Having expected at least a little laugh over my attempts at humor, I watch as Caleb sets about his meal. He takes a sip of water, tries the meat, adds a little pepper from the shaker on the table, and samples again. Not once does he look at me.
“Everything alright, Caleb?”
“You’re asking that a lot today,” he says, still not looking at me.
“You’re giving me cause to.”
He glances up, but it’s quick and fleeting.
“It’s nothing.”
It doesn’t feel like ‘nothing’. What had I done to make him—
“I’m just… worried about Ma.”
Ah.Something inside me deflates.
Get over yourself Lizzie. Not everything is about you, you know.
“Is she okay?” I ask, cutting into fluffy roasted potatoes. Damn, the man can cook. Apparently, there’s nothing Caleb Walker isn’t good at when it comes to using his hands.
“I got a call while you were on your video call earlier. It’s all fine now, but she was delirious. Wasn’t sure where she was.”
“That has to be frightening.” I can’t imagine living in a mind that can’t remember where you live or who your loved ones are.
Then again… As images of Nick’s face and my father’s smile come to mind, I wonder if perhaps a little ignorance is sometimes a good thing. Perhaps that’s what I’m doing right now. Running to East River and removing all my reminders of home. Just so I don’t have to remember. Not until I’m ready, anyway.
“It’s why I want her moved to Kenwood. They’re more experienced with the disease and have a connection to a research hospital. They’re a registered facility for some new experimental drug the hospital is testing for dementia.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah. It’s still in the early stages at the moment, but when they get it authorized for human testing, Ma will be one of the first. She might get her memory back and be able to live a more normal life.”
Turning my attention to my food, I can’t help but worry. Where Caleb sees progress and Ellie returning to the woman he remembers, I see my dad. I see the way the medications changed him. The way they made him lose weight, made him angry, and had him in pain all the time. There were times when he’d been in such agony, he’d confessed to me that he wished he’d just slip away quietly.
What was the point in a few more months with his family, he’d said, if he couldn’t enjoy them?
“You ever thought of not trying to help your mom get her memories back?” I ask.