Unforgettable

Carrie Martin has a wonderful life—a loving husband, a sweet daughter and a feisty mother. But suddenly her mom can’t remember little things…then big things. Now, it’s as if the mother who was once warm and outrageous has become someone she barely recognizes. Feeling lost and alone, Carrie finds comfort in her friends who surprise her by collecting photos worth remembering and mementos worth cherishing. Slowly, Carrie learns that memories are made one day at a time and that treasuring today rather than dwelling on the pain and despair of her mother’s illness is what truly matters. And that hope and lovingkindness have been there all along…

During the writing of this book, our family suffered

the loss of my mother-in-law, Lorene Goodnight.

Lorene was more than a mother-in-law. She was

the Mom I didn’t have. I loved her and she loved

me—as mother and daughter. A Christian since the

age of twelve (like Frannie), Lorene’s steadfast faith

and unconditional love taught me a great deal about

being a woman of God, lessons I’m still learning.

During the last year of her life, this precious saint

suffered with a type of dementia. So this book is

dedicated to her memory because truly, she may

have forgotten many things, but God had not

forgotten her. Her name was written in the palms

of His hands.

I would also like to acknowledge the many

Alzheimer’s bloggers, both patients and caregivers,

who gave me insight into your devastating journey.

May God be with you the way He was with Frannie.

Unforgettable
Linda Goodnight

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Surely they may forget, yet I will not forget you.

See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands.

—Isaiah 49:15–16

CONTENTS

Cover

Back Cover Text

Acknowledgements

Title Page

Bible Verse

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Dear Reader

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

BPA

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

Funny how everything could be normal one minute and utter chaos the next.

For the rest of her life, Carrie Martin would remember that bright Saturday as a perfect spring day in a perfectly happy, settled, safe life.

At ten o’clock in the morning, while on her hands and knees in the front yard transplanting iris bulbs and waiting for her daughter and husband to show up with peat moss from Clifford’s Garden Center, Carrie was jolted by the onk-onk of a car horn. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was, but she did anyway, lifting a dirty gloved hand in greeting as the gold-colored Oldsmobile sailed into the driveway with one final blast of goodwill.

Her mother, the irrepressible Francis Adler—Frannie to her friends—hopped out of the Olds and crossed the grass, her short, green-clad legs pumping with the energy of a woman half her sixty-one years.

Frannie’s enormous hat, also green, formed an ever-advancing pool of shade across the sunny lawn. Today was St. Patrick’s Day and this was Mother’s method of announcing to the world that she was Irish. Even if she hadn’t been, she would have worn the hat.

Frannie never did anything halfway.

“Good morning, Mother.” Carrie rested back on her heels with a smile.

From behind a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses, Frannie looked her daughter up and down before extracting a stick-on shamrock from the pocket of her loose cotton jacket—green, of course. “You aren’t wearing green.”

Well, Mother certainly was.

Frannie slapped the shamrock onto the pocket of Carrie’s white camp shirt.

Carrie glanced down. “I am now.”

“I saved you from being pinched,” her mother said cheerfully. “How do you like my hat?” A pudgy, beringed hand patted the wide brim.

“Very Irish.” Like a plump leprechaun. Any minute now Carrie expected her to leap into the air and click her heels. She would do it, too, if the notion struck. As with holidays, Mother never missed an opportunity to have what she termed as fun. Carrie termed it embarrassing.

Take for instance, last year’s Gusher Day festivities, their small town’s celebration of its oil boom heritage. Mother and her Red Hat Society compatriots, a group of over-fifty ladies with a zest for life, marched in the parade tossing bright red wax lips into the crowd while belting, “Oh What a Beautiful Morning” in a slightly off-key, wobbly-voiced style.

Carrie, watching from the church craft booth, had inwardly cringed at Mother’s outrageous display. How could a Christian woman be so…boisterous? A better question, perhaps, was how had Francis Adler given birth and parented a daughter who was her total opposite?

Candace Ellis, the pastor’s unassuming wife had surprised everyone in the booth by saying, “As soon as I’m old enough, I’m going to join, too. Those ladies have a blast.”

Carrie had managed a tight-lipped smile. Not me, she thought. I wouldn’t be caught dead prancing in front of everyone in the Red Hat brigade.

She loved her mother, truly, but sometimes she wished her only parent was a little more low-key.

“So, where are you headed this morning, Mother?” Using the edge of her glove—the only clean spot—to brush hair out of her eyes, Carrie continued to trowel around another overgrown iris. “Or did you come by to help me separate these bulbs?”

“Oh, honey, why don’t you let them grow? Your yard would be beautiful filled with all the different-colored irises. Like a rainbow of flowers.”

“My yard is beautiful,” she answered a little stiffly. “Everyone admires the way my flowers border the walkways and line the drive in tidy rows.”

She lifted out a tangle of moist, earthy-scented soil and bulbs.

That was the thing about irises. If she wasn’t right on them in the spring, rooting them out, they took over. The blessing of course came in giving them away. What she viewed as pests, her friends considered coveted additions to their gardens. Carrie loved her gardens, but she loved them neat and orderly, although she had to admit a certain envy of Mother’s carefree attitude about her plants.

She added the uprooted bulbs to the bucket at her knee. Clods of dirt pattered like rain against the thick plastic.

“I think I’ll take these over to Sara Perneky.” The younger woman had raved about Carrie’s garden last spring.

“Wonderful idea.” Mother crouched down beside her to peer into the bucket. A fog of Avon cologne mingled with the scent of fresh, fertile earth. “After that nasty divorce, Sara could use a bright spot in her life. Poor girl. Don’t let any of these go to waste now. I know half a dozen ladies who would love a start, including me.”

“Mother, for goodness’ sake. Your garden is overrun now.” To Carrie’s way of thinking, Mother’s garden wasn’t a garden. It was a jungle.

“The more the merrier, I always say. Let ’em bloom.”

“A perfect nesting place for snakes.”

“That could have happened anywhere,” Mother said. “Besides, that little critter added a spark to the day. Lots of excitement when a snake comes a-calling.”

Dan, Carrie’s husband, had been called upon last fall to kill a copperhead found slithering from beneath the jungle of lilac and japonica and honeysuckle vines growing over the concrete top of Mother’s cellar. They’d all breathed a sigh of relief afterward when Frannie got out her giant hedge clippers and whacked away the worst of the bushes.

“I wonder where Dan and Lexi are?” Carrie said, shading her eyes to peer down the street. “I thought they’d be back by now.”

“Well, fiddle. Lexi’s not here?” Frannie adjusted her sunglasses. “I came by to see if she wanted to ride with me to the airport.”

Carrie froze. “The airport?”

Riverbend boasted a small airport for private planes. Mostly oilmen flew in and out of there, but occasionally someone gave flying lessons.

“You aren’t taking flying lessons, are you?” Frannie had threatened to do just that for years, but money was always an issue. Carrie thanked the good Lord it was. The thought of her mother barnstorming in a single-engine plane gave her hives. She could almost imagine Frannie decked out in Amelia Earhart helmet and goggles taking on a crop dusting job for the express purpose of swooping down to scare her daughter into apoplexy.

Frannie flapped a hand. “Mercy, no. Too expensive.”

Fingers gripping the top of the bucket, Carrie didn’t realize she was holding her breath until it seeped out in a whistle. “Then whatever for?”

“Skydiving.”

Carrie held up a stiff hand, stop sign style. “You aren’t going skydiving, Mother. You aren’t.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Carrie. The skydiving club is doing a jump today. I’m only going out to watch.” A sneaky little grin teased the corners of her vermilion lips. “This time.”

Frannie had been threatening to jump out of an airplane as long as Carrie could remember. The idea struck sheer terror in her height-phobic daughter. “Thank the Lord.”

Mother checked her watch. “Gotta run. I told Alice I’d stop to pick her up on the way.” Alice Sherman was Mother’s best friend.

“Are you coming by later?”

“Probably not, honey. I have bowling tonight.”

Carrie lifted an eyebrow. “With Ken?”

She liked teasing her mother about the rugged farmer. The pair had been friends long before Ken’s wife died, but now Carrie suspected a romance. Except for the fact that Ken had taught Frannie to drive a tractor and ride a horse, both a little silly for someone of her age, Carrie was glad. Mother had been alone for most of her life.

Fran flapped a hand and laughed, her cheeks shining pink as she headed toward the gold Olds, or as Lexi called it, The Tanker. “Tell Lexi she missed out.”

“Are you still coming for dinner tomorrow after church?”

Her mother stopped, turned and whipped off her aviator sunglasses. “I’d forgotten all about it.”

Carrie squelched a twinge of irritation that she was low man on Mother’s totem pole. “Are you coming? I’m baking a red velvet cake.”

“Wouldn’t miss it, then.” She shoved the sunglasses back in place. “And honey, why don’t you take those extra bulbs over to Sara Perneky? She could use some good cheer.”

Before Carrie could remind her mother that they’d already discussed doing exactly that, Frannie had slammed the car door and cranked the engine.

As the Olds roared away, Mother gave two final blasts of the horn.

Carrie waved, shaking her head. Mother was…well, Mother.

* * *

By the time Dan and Lexi returned with the peat moss along with a bag of burgers from Whopper World and a few other items Carrie didn’t remember needing, Carrie had gone inside for a break.

“Saw your mom at Wal-Mart.” Dan bent to kiss her cheek.

“That’s funny. Mother stopped by more than an hour ago and didn’t say a word about seeing you.” Carrie dipped to the side so as not to streak Dan’s green Henley with dirt and shoved her hands under the kitchen faucets. Her back ached a little from muscles atrophied by winter. “She wanted Lexi to go with her.”

“Where?” Lexi asked, though she continued rummaging through a Wal-Mart bag.

“The airport to watch skydiving.” Carrie rinsed her hands and reached toward the paper towel holder. “I didn’t know you were going to Wal-Mart.”

No wonder they’d been gone so long.

“Lexi needed some new earrings.”

“Oh right. Like my mother needs another hat.”

“I didn’t have any blue ones.” Lexi tilted her head to display a series of neon-colored hoops dangling below two gleaming studs. “Do you like them, Mom?”

They were hideous. Three holes in one ear. Good grief. “Great for spring.”

“You hate them.”

Carrie patted her daughter’s silky brown hair. At fifteen and all legs, Lexi was growing into a beauty with tastes of her own. She was a great kid. The only kid. Though Carrie and Dan had prayed for more, these prayers had gone unanswered. “If you like them, that’s all that matters.”

“I told Dad you’d say that.” Her daughter didn’t seem the least offended. Their tastes had never run along the same lines and lately the gulf had widened. Where Carrie preferred subtle and classic, Lexi gravitated toward bold colors and the hottest trends.

“Come on.” Lexi settled at the bar. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

Dan pulled a face. “This is after two doughnuts.”

Even with starbursts bracketing his eyes from years of working out in the sun, Dan Martin was a handsome man, fit and trim with hair as dark as ever. His worst flaw was that he didn’t attend church and in a small town like Riverbend, church membership was socially important. Though Dan claimed to be a believer, he also claimed to spend more time with God in the great outdoors than most people did in church. Carrie wasn’t much on the long-winded preaching, but she’d made plenty of friends and hopefully some brownie points with God by working in the nursery every single service for the past ten years.

“You stopped at the bakery, too?” Paper rustled as she took a fragrant burger from a sack and straddled a bar stool. “I’m starting to feel left out.”

Dan shot her a wink. “Brought you a surprise.”

Dan’s bakery surprise was always the same. “If it’s a chocolate éclair, you’ll be forgiven, although I may change my mind when I go shopping for an Easter dress.”

“You look good to me.”

Mouth full of burger and heart full of pleasure, Carrie was laughing with her lips closed when the telephone rang. Lexi exploded off the bar. “I got it.”

In seconds she was back, holding the cordless receiver toward her mother. “For you.”

At Carrie’s questioning look, she shrugged and mouthed, “I don’t know,” then poked another ketchup-laden French fry into her mouth.

Carrie quickly swallowed and put her sandwich down. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Martin?”

“Yes, who’s this?”

“Officer Shane Wallace with the Riverbend police department.”

Carrie’s nerves tensed. The bar’s granite felt cold against her elbow. “Hello, Shane. Is something wrong?”

Shane’s family attended her church. One of the perks of small town living was being acquainted with at least one person in every sector of business and government.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m afraid there is. I’m here with Mrs. Adler, your mother. I thought I should call you first.”

Carrie blinked. First? Before what?

Her hand tightened on the receiver. She looked at Dan, who had lowered his hamburger and now watched her with curiosity.

“Has she had an accident?”

“No, ma’am.” My, he was formal today. “At least, none that we can ascertain. You see, I found her sitting in her car on the shoulder of Highway 56. When I stopped to assist she didn’t recognize me.”

“Oh, well, that’s understandable. You look so grown-up in your uniform.”

“You don’t understand. Mrs. Adler seems confused. She didn’t know where she was, how she got here or where she was going.”

Carrie brushed a stray hair out of her eyes. Her shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit. “Are you sure Mother isn’t teasing you, Shane? You know how she loves to joke around.”

“I don’t think so, Mrs. Martin. Your mom seems pretty scared.”

Mother? Scared? Impossible. Mother was fearless. Nothing scared her. She’d raised two children single-handedly on a pauper’s wages. Two years ago she’d trekked the jungles of Honduras to take supplies and Bibles to a group of native churches. Mother had never expressed fear about anything. Ever.

“But she was here only a while ago and everything was fine. I just don’t understand…”

“Mrs. Martin,” the young officer’s voice intruded, this time with a respectful firmness. “I really think you should come.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, the call was too real. Something was wrong. “Okay. Yes. Of course I will. Tell me what to do.”

Carrie took note of Shane’s instructions and then replaced the receiver. She felt numb. Not scared. Numb.

“Carrie?” Dan had appeared from somewhere to touch her arm. “Who was that, honey? You’re as pale as paper.”

“We have to go. Let me get my purse. Something’s happened to Mother.” Her fingers clawed into Dan’s forearm. “Oh, Dan, I’m afraid Mother’s had a stroke.”

CHAPTER TWO

“It’s probably one of those mini strokes,” Carrie said for the tenth time. She sat in the waiting room outside the Emergency Room, shivering from nerves and the overhead air-conditioning vent. Her fingers twisted the handle of her purse into a knot. “I’ve heard of those. A person has a tiny lapse in memory. It’s not all that uncommon or even serious. Mother will be fine. I’m sure.”

Dan, his wide shoulders uncomfortably crammed onto a too-small swoop of green plastic the hospital considered seating, patted her knee. From the time they’d arrived, she’d prattled on like a magpie. He was probably sick of listening, but she couldn’t help it. Nothing could be wrong with Mother. She was invincible.

Carrie pulled air into her lungs, the clean, antiseptic smell reassuring in some bizarre way. Cleanliness was next to godliness. If she was clean, she was godly and nothing bad could happen.

Tempted to laugh aloud at the race of silly thoughts, Carrie wondered if she was getting hysterical. Heaven forbid.

“The doctor will write her one of those new prescriptions for cholesterol or blood thinners or whatever they are,” she went on, unable to stop the flow of words. “You see them advertised on TV all the time. A prescription and she’ll be fine.”

“We don’t even know if it is a stroke yet, Carrie.” Dan reminded her, his tone gentle. Maybe too gentle. It made her even more nervous. Her throat went as dry as a saltine.

“Of course it’s a stroke. What else could cause her to forget where she was?”

Shane, the police officer who’d called, had stayed around only long enough to be respectful and then he’d left. Business at the small town E.R. was surprisingly fast paced. Carrie couldn’t remember the last time she’d been here. Maybe when Lexi wrecked her bike and needed stitches, but that had been five years ago.

Times changed.

The thought frightened her. If times changed, people changed. They got sick. They died. She closed her eyes momentarily against the inevitable decline of human beings. Morbid thoughts. An overreaction, surely, to being in an emergency room. She hated hospitals.

Two nurses swished by in a rush, stethoscopes swaying. Croc shoes instead of white orthopedics squished softly on white tile that had been polished to a mirror finish. The intercom beeped for some doctor she’d never heard of. When had Riverbend grown large enough for strange doctors?

She angled toward her husband, deeply relieved that he’d come with her. “Do you think we should call Lexi?”

Dan swiveled his head in her direction, his eyes as calm and gray-blue as Lake Placid. “And tell her what?”

That was Dan. Solid. Quiet. Irritatingly calm. He hadn’t even gotten excited the day a tornado ripped the roof off their storage building.

“I don’t know. She must be worried.”

Though fifteen and well able to remain home alone, as the only grandchild living in the same state, Lexi was very close to her beloved “Grannie Frannie” and would be waiting by the telephone.

Without further comment, Dan took their shared cell phone from her purse and punched in numbers. They’d never seen any reason to own two. It seemed extravagant, as did the notion of using a cell phone to take camera photos or for text messaging. She’d learned from Frannie the importance of frugality, though as a teenager she had been humiliated by their tiny family’s poverty.

The three of them, including her younger brother, Robby, had struggled by on the minimum wages paid to a widow without a high school diploma. A few times, when things had gotten particularly difficult, Carrie suspected Mother had taken public assistance in order to provide for them, though she’d never admitted as much to her children. Carrie was humiliated just thinking about it, and had vowed never to let that happen to her.

The tightness in Carrie’s chest increased. Mother’s life had not been easy.

Dear God, let her be all right. Like all her thoughts today, the prayer was half-baked. If you’ll let her be all right, I promise to work harder at getting Dan into church. I promise—

An exam door opened. “Mr. and Mrs. Martin?” A smiling nurse looked in their direction and motioned them inside. “You can come in now. The doctor will be with you as soon as he can.”

Dan poked one thick finger at the phone, discontinuing the call to Lexi. “I’ll call her after we see Fran.”

Clutching her purse against her waist, Carrie jerked upright. With dismay, she realized she still wore the white camp blouse, complete with peeling shamrock and smudges of dirt. The knees of her old cotton gardening slacks were grass stained. Fervently, she hoped no one from work or church saw her here.

Dan touched her elbow. “Carrie?”

She nodded, swallowing. “She must be fine. The nurse is smiling.”

With Dan at her side, she rushed into the exam room. Frannie sat on the side of a paper-covered table humming, high-heeled feet swinging as if she had not a care in the world.

Carrie stopped short. “Mother, are you all right? What in the world happened? You scared us half to death. Shane said you were confused, didn’t know where you were or how you got there.”

Her mother stopped humming. Head tilted to one side, a tiny frown puckered between well-penciled eyebrows, she asked, “Shane? Was that who that was? Shane Wallace? I thought he looked familiar but I couldn’t place him. Such a nice young man.”

“You’ve known Shane since he was born, Mother.”

“Hand me my hat. I feel naked.” Frannie’s green, broad-brimmed hat occupied the only chair in the room. Carrie took up the monstrosity and handed it over. “I had a senior moment, that’s all. I’m fine and dandy now.” She perched the wide felt atop her fluffed hair and gave it a pat for emphasis. “Let’s go home.”

“Not until we talk to the doctor.”

“I talked to him. No need for you to bother.” Frannie hopped down from the table and glanced at her watch. “Fiddle. I’ve missed the skydiving. Alice will be disappointed. She’s sweet on Rick Chambers, you know, and he looks really cute in his jumpsuit.” She pumped her eyebrows up and down.

“Mother, for goodness’ sake. Something happened to you today and we are not going to sweep it under the rug.” But as she spoke, her anxiety eased toward relief. Maybe nothing had happened. Maybe the episode really was just a senior moment. Sometimes she jumped to conclusions. She had a tendency to expect the worst because she’d learned the hard way that life usually handed out lemons and no one she knew had a lemonade stand. “Tell me what the doctor said?”

“He said I’m a hoot and he liked my hat. I gave him a shamrock. All that white-coat business hurt my eyes.”

“Mother! I am not leaving here until I talk to him.” Carrie spun toward the door, willing and able to block the entrance if her mother tried to leave before that doctor arrived. “Where is he anyway?”

“Carrie.” Dan’s voice held a note of warning. He was always like that, reminding his impatient wife to wait and see. Sometimes, like today, his accepting attitude was downright annoying.

A rebuke boiled up on her tongue but died away when the physician, looking young enough to be in high school, sailed into the room. In a crisp white lab coat and a blue tie, he carried a large brown envelope tucked beneath one arm. Frannie’s shamrock was squarely in place over his heart.

“Where’s Dr. Morrison?” Carrie asked, caught off guard and not at all comfortable with a green-behind-the-ears college boy. Dr. Morrison had cared for her family for fifteen years. He knew Frannie and all her idiosyncrasies. He would know if something was seriously wrong.

“Taking some time off. I’m Dr. Wilson.” He extended his hand, first to her and then to Dan. “And yes, I graduated from medical school. I’m not as young as I look.”

Mollified but a bit embarrassed, Carrie nodded stiffly.

“What’s wrong with my mother? Did she have a stroke?” Her stomach rumbled in memory of the half-eaten hamburger. Carrie pressed a hand to her midsection.

Dr. Wilson hitched the leg of his expertly creased slacks and perched on the edge of the gurney. The doctor gazed at Frannie standing next to him like a chubby green bird about to take flight. She winked at him. He smiled and turned his attention to Carrie. “I’ve already discussed my concerns with Ms. Adler—”

“Mother, why didn’t you just tell us?”

“Tell you what, honey?”

With a heavy, exasperated sigh to let Fran know she was annoyed, Carrie looked to the doctor for clarity. “What is it, Doctor?”

“I want to run some further tests and consult with a neurologist.”

Prickles rose on the back of Carrie’s neck. “A neurologist? For what?”

Frannie answered for him. “Alzheimer’s, honey. The doctor thinks I’m losing my mind.”

* * *

Three weeks and many clinic visits later Fran sat across the desk from a neurologist who looked as if he’d flavored his coffee with pickle juice.

Carrie sat next to her, face stony and pale as the doctor confirmed the diagnosis. She’d known he would. That’s why she hadn’t wanted Carrie to come, but here she was, shaking like a leaf and looking the way she had when she was ten and ate too many green blackberries. Sick and hollow-eyed.

Fran understood the feeling. She was feeling a little sick herself. Jittery, too. No one wanted to be told that she would eventually disappear into a fog and break her family’s hearts.

“Isn’t there a medicine for it?” Carrie’s fingers trembled as she pushed her hair behind one ear.

Of all the things Fran had dreaded about today, this was the worst, to know her family would suffer because of her, and there was so little she could do about it.

Dr. Pickle Juice made a few more comments, then excused himself and left. A nurse came in, smiling more than the doctor, and handed them both a card about the Alzheimer’s Association. Frannie gave her a Jesus Loves You smiley sticker, and slid the card into her I Love NY purse. She’d never been to New York, but she’d always wanted to go. Maybe she would do that now. Someday was no longer an option.

“I don’t know what to do,” Carrie said when they were alone.

Fran placed a hand on her daughter’s arm. “We do what we’ve always done. We put it in the Lord’s hands and trust Him.”

The look Carrie gave her said she didn’t buy that answer in the least.

* * *

The ugly diagnosis haunted Carrie day and night. She could think of little else. Mother’s casual attitude didn’t help, either. Carrie wondered if denial, nonchalance and a foolish determination to put a happy face on a devastating diagnosis were symptoms of the disease. An hour after they’d arrived home from the clinic Mother changed into a rhinestone cowboy hat and red boots and went to her weekly guitar lesson. How foolish was that?

Robby, Carrie’s brother, was no help. Though concerned, he lived in Michigan and couldn’t grasp the seriousness of the situation. He’d said Mom sounded fine to him when they’d spoken on the phone. She knew how he felt. Denial was easier than reality.

“Until now, I never even realized anything was wrong,” Carrie told Dan one night as they sat on the patio staring up at an April moon. The evening air was chilly so they huddled under a fleece throw. Instead of the usual romantic snuggle, the air hung heavy with Carrie’s worry. “She’s always been outrageous and silly. Who would notice if she forgot an appointment or repeated herself? I forgot to call the insurance company about that wind damage to the roof and there’s nothing wrong with me.”

She said the last as if it worried her, because it did.

“Everyone forgets things,” Dan agreed, his thick, calloused fingertips making lazy circles on her shoulder.

“The neurologist says she may not get bad for a long time. No one can really predict. In fact, he can’t even be one hundred percent sure she has Alzheimer’s disease. Mother keeps saying she’s fine, that she and God will beat this thing.”

“Your mom is a strong woman.”

Carrie made a little noise in the back of her throat. “You can say that again. No one ties down the irrepressible Frannie.”

No person could, but this ugly disease with a German name eventually would. Bile rose in the back of Carrie’s throat, as bitter as the feeling in her soul.

“I don’t understand God,” she muttered, gazing up at the marbled-cheese moon. She had grown up without a father, and now she was going to lose her mother in the most heinous manner. Where was God in any of that? “Old lady Smith across the street is a mean, bitter old hag who never contributes to anything and wouldn’t call 9-1-1 if you died in her living room. But she’s still sharp as a tack and making everyone miserable while a vibrant, giving woman like Mother is struck down in her prime. If there was any justice, Ms. Smith would get Alzheimer’s. Not Mother.”

Dan squeezed the side of her neck but said nothing. That was Dan. Sometimes she longed for him to hash things out with her, to argue or debate or just talk something into the ground, but he never did. No matter how big the problem, Dan kept his thoughts to himself. It was a wonder the man didn’t explode. She would have.