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The front of the center is exactly how it looks from the street, and after walking through an overgrown path surrounded by dead brush, Jace speaks to a woman behind the front desk, and she gives us both a visitor’s pass. We wait in the foyer, surrounded by cheap art prints behind dusty glass frames. The carpet is faded, so is the paint on the walls, and there’s nothing about the place that screamswelcoming. But then again, I don’t really know what to expect.
A moment later, a middle-aged woman with a blonde bob comes out and greets Jace with a warm smile. She introduces herself to me as Robyn, a counselor at the facility, then leads us down a corridor and into a large room with small seating areas. There are a few groups of people clustered about—others going through the same treatment as Marty Payne, all meeting with their loved ones. “I’ll go get your grandpa, Jace,” Robyn says, rubbing his arm. “Y’all sit down. I’ll be right back.”
Jace moves to the corner of the room, right by the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook a garden similar to the front of the clinic. Overgrown, and yet half-dead. I sit down when Jace does, and in my mind, I think about how depressing the place is. Out loud, I say, “I’m really looking forward to meeting him.”
Jace stares out the window, his face passive, eyes void again. I don’t think he hears me, because he says, “It’s not the best place, but it was the only one that could take him on such short notice.”
“Has he had anything since he’s been here?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Then it’s serving its purpose, right?”
His gaze trails to mine, a forced smile playing on his lips. “I guess.” His attention switches to somewhere behind me, and I turn to his grandpa and Robyn walking toward us. His grandpa stands taller than I’ve seen him in the past. Dressed in cream slacks and a tan sweater, he looks like your quintessential grandpa… not the one who raised Jace. There’s more color in his cheeks now, morelife. “He looks so much better,” I murmur.
“Right?”
I stand, wiping my sweaty palms on my dress. I’m nervous, obviously, and I don’t know why.
Robyn rubs Jace’s grandpa’s arm, the way she did with Jace. “Just yell out if you need anything. Okay, Marty?”
“Okay.” He nods, then looks between Jace and me, over and over again. He has Jace’s eyes. Not the color or depth, but… the emptiness. “Can I help you?”
My stomach drops, and I slowly turn to Jace, who’s wearing the same forced smile he gave me earlier. “Hi, Grandpa,” he says. “It’s me, Jace.”
“Jace?”
“Yeah,” Jace replies, helping his grandpa into one of the leather bucket seats. “I brought a friend with me today. This is Harlow.”
“Harlow?” Marty asks, searching my face.
I put my hand out between us. “Hi, sir. It’s so nice to finally meet you. Jace has told me so much about you.”
He takes my hand, his palm rough and cold against mine. “I haven’t met you before?”
“No, sir. First time,” I lie. Jace isn’t the only one who can research things. After he told me that his grandpa might have dementia, I spenthoursonline reading about it. Put simply, dementia is a literal form of brain damage, and that damage can affect areas that create and retrieve memories. It’s a horrible disease—one I wouldn’t wish upon anyone. Even someone I once thought to beevil.
“And sorry, who are you again?” Marty asks, looking up at Jace. Fora man who caused such intense and horrid pain to a boy who deserved nothing but love, Marty seems so small now, so fragile.
So broken.
“Jace. I’m your grandson.”
“Kiera’s boy?”
Jace smiles, genuine for the first time. “Yes, sir.”
“How is she?”
“She’s good,” Jace lies. “She said she’s sorry she couldn’t make it. She had stuff to do at home.”
“And Isaac too?”
Jace’s throat moves with his swallow. “Yes, Grandpa.”
I sit down when Jace does, and Marty looks out the window. I don’t know what he sees out there, but it can’t be much.
“You want something to eat or drink?” Jace asks after a moment. “I can get something from the vending machine?”