Page 16 of Delay of Game (Norwalk Breakers #4)

SIXTEEN

ROB

Astrid wrung her hands in her light blue dress, the gauzy fabric wrinkling and her knuckles turning white. I pulled into a parking space at the memory care facility and tapped the steering wheel, hesitating before I reached across the car to cover her hand with mine.

“Relax,” I muttered as my thumb slid over her knuckles. “It’ll be fine.”

Touching Astrid came to me easily. Way too easily.

And after the hug, I couldn’t seem to stop searching for ways to touch her.

A hand to the small of her back while navigating past her in the furniture-laden hallways of her aunt’s house.

Fingertips brushing her hair under the pretense of holding a door for her. And now.

“You don’t have to come,” she said for about the millionth time since I’d suggested meeting her aunt.

“I know. I want to. Are you gonna let me? If you’re uncomfortable, we can go back to your place, replace some fuses,” I teased.

She exhaled, closing her eyes. Her fingers fluttered under mine, palm turning up to interlace our hands for a fraction of a second before she pulled away.

She shook her head. “No. I want you to meet her. I just…if she’s not having a good day…”

She faltered, shooting me a weak smile.

“We’ll leave,” I said. “We’re not going to do anything to upset her.”

“Okay. This is fine. This will be fine.”

Before she talked herself out of the visit, I pushed open the driver’s side door and stepped out into the mid-morning heat.

Empty rocking chairs peppered the wraparound porch surrounding the brick building. A man in scrubs followed a woman pushing a walker as she made her way around the porch, stopping at intervals to admire the flowers cascading out of hanging planters.

Astrid exited the car, drawing her shoulders back and plastering a tight smile on her face. She clung to a pink box filled with cannoli, her Aunt Mercy’s favorite from a bakery downtown.

“Good morning, Ms. Evans,” a woman in pink scrubs greeted us as we walked into the building.

“Good morning, Brenda.” Astrid shot her a shy smile as she signed us in. “This is my friend, Rob.”

“Nice to meet you, Rob,” Brenda greeted me with a bright, open smile. “You two have a great visit.”

I’d never been to a nursing home before, let alone one specifically for people with memory loss.

I envisioned locked doors and soulless white hallways.

A complete contrast to the airy living area just beyond the desk, with wooden floors, floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and even a pool table.

Patients and staff mingled around the main room as Astrid searched for her aunt.

“Oh! Aunt Mercy!” Astrid gripped my elbow, drawing me toward a woman playing solitaire on a small oak table from a plush recliner.

She dragged her eyes from the game to us, eyes narrowing in confusion. I spotted the similarities immediately: the ski slope nose, the round cheeks, the mint green eyes. Her expression cleared when those eyes locked on mine.

I held out a hand. “Hi, Aunt Mercy. I’m R–”

“Jimmy. I didn’t know you were in town!” She stood up, gripping the recliner with one hand, unsteady on her feet. I took her elbow to steady her as she pulled me into a hug. “You’ve gotten so big!”

A plume of perfume enveloped me as she pulled me tight. Astrid’s face shuttered, her fake smile drooping into a tight line. Aunt Mercy released me enough to pull back, her eyes searching my body. “I can’t believe Kathy didn’t tell me you’d be here.”

“Aunt Mercy.” Astrid touched her aunt’s shoulder, drawing her attention away from me. “That’s not Jimmy. This is my friend, Rob. I’m Gracie, your niece.”

“Oh.” Mercy cocked her head. “You must be confused. I don’t have a niece.”

Astrid’s mouth twitched. “You do. Your sister, Linda, got married and had a little girl, Alice. And Alice had two children: Jackson and Gracie. I’m Gracie.”

“You must be mistaken.” Aunt Mercy’s laugh pitched up as her hands rested on my chest. “Now, if you don’t mind letting Jimmy and I catch up.”

Astrid’s lips flattened, tears prickling the corner of her eyes. “Right. Of course. Do you mind if I sit with you while I wait for my aunt?”

Mercy eyed Astrid suspiciously.

“Of course. That’d be great,” I said, forcing unnatural levity into my voice. Aunt Mercy didn’t seem to notice. “We’d love for you to join us. What do you have there?”

I sat down, and Mercy and Astrid followed suit. Astrid set the box on the table. “Cannoli. Do you like cannoli?”

“Love ‘em,” I said.

“I suppose I’ll have one,” Aunt Mercy said, glaring at Astrid as she opened the box. Cannoli in hand, Mercy shifted in toward me, blocking Astrid from the conversation. “Jimmy, tell me about Chicago. I want to hear all about it.”

“Boring,” I scrambled, my attention split between the two women. “I’d rather hear about you. Tell me about your new place. How do you like it here?”

Mercy sniffed, surveying the room with her nose upturned. “It’s fine. Not as nice as my house.”

Astrid’s head dipped, and her shoulders heaved. I reached under the table, gripping her hand. “Have you made any new friends?”

“A few. Maude lives next door. She’s nice. Also, Dot. She’s a little forgetful but means well.”

“And are they keeping you busy? It looks like there’s a lot of activity going on.”

A tear rolled down Astrid’s cheek, and my chest tightened.

“There’s bingo and shows. We went to Las Vegas last week. Horrible place.” Aunt Mercy reached across the table for another dessert. She grabbed two and handed me one. “And there’s the man that steals from me at night.”

“I think that’s one of the nurses, Aunt Mercy,” Astrid whispered, untangling our fingers to wipe the tear off her face. She managed a tight smile.

“He’s trying to take my jewels,” Mercy snapped, her voice high and shrill. Several heads turned toward us.

A staff member stopped by our table. Her brow furrowed in concern. “Everything okay here?”

“We’re fine. Mercy is just concerned that someone is breaking into her room to steal her jewelry at night,” I said.

Astrid grew rigid, eyes wide, but the staff member nodded. “Oh, that’s unacceptable.”

“It really is. Would it be possible to have a staff member stop by her room more frequently to make sure no one is breaking in?” I asked.

She nodded. “Of course. We’ll take care of that right away.”

Mercy beamed at me, grabbing my hand and pulling it to her cheek. “Oh, Jimmy. I knew you’d take care of everything. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me, too. And I’m glad Astrid agreed to join us. Astrid was telling me she started school this week.”

“You look a little old to go to school,” Mercy said with a frown.

“I teach kindergarten and classes started two weeks ago.” Her voice came out tight, but the tension left her shoulders.

“It’s awful late in the year for classes to start, don’t you think, Jimmy?” Mercy said. “It was just Christmas last week.”

“Aren’t most of the schools year-round nowadays?” I grinned across the table toward Astrid, determined to draw her into conversation even if Mercy made it difficult. “You look so familiar. Are you from Norwalk? Where do you live?”

“I grew up out of state, but I live on Rose Street now,” Astrid said tentatively.

“Rose Street?” Mercy gasped. “That’s where I live! Where on Rose Street?”

“One hundred ninety…seven.” She ad-libbed the last digit, but her aunt didn’t seem to notice.

“I live in one-ninety-one. We’re practically neighbors!” Her face twisted into a frown. “Don’t the Kensington’s live in one-ninety-seven, though?”

“I heard they moved to Florida last year. After he retired.” I’d never attempted acting before, but damn, could I ad lib.

“Hm,” Mercy said. “If you say so.”

The heat set in by the time we left Aunt Mercy. I kept the conversation going, hoping that maybe she’d recognize Astrid, but she remained convinced that I was Jimmy and Astrid was an interloper. Astrid spent the rest of the visit on the verge of tears, back growing straighter with each snub.

I reached for her hand under the table, but she pulled it away, grimly taking the stony silence from her aunt in stride.

Finally, I couldn’t take the tension and called the visit to a close.

I stepped away while Astrid said goodbye to her aunt and talked to the nurse for a few minutes, busying myself by flipping through the stacked pamphlets at the entrance.

A Family’s Guide to Memory Loss, Tips for Managing Agitation, Aggression and Sundowning, Memory Books for Dementia.

I pocketed a handful before Astrid walked past on her way to the car.

“That went well,” Astrid said, teeth gritted and eyes locked on the passenger door, waiting for me to unlock the car.

“You think that went well?” I asked, unable to keep the disbelief from my voice. “Does it usually go worse?”

She pulled on the handle experimentally, and I unlocked the door. She slid inside without answering.

“Did I fuck that up?” I asked as I shut the driver’s side door behind me.

She raked a hand down her face, body shifted toward the window. “No. It’s fine. She has a disease, and it’s hard to tell day-to-day what I’ll walk into. At least she was nice to you.”

“That doesn’t mean it was fine.” I held out a hand to rub her back and dropped it again, trying to think up a way to make everything better. I might have an innate talent for ad-libbing but I couldn’t comfort worth shit.

“I really appreciate you playing along. Thank you.” She pressed her forehead against the window, her entire body deflating.

“No, that sucked. You were miserable,” I said, jamming the keys in the ignition.

“I’ll live.”

What the hell did I do when my day sucked? Not that it compared to a family member forgetting my name, but I usually hit weights, punched a bag, tackled something. None of that would help Astrid now.

But I also had one other coping mechanism in my back pocket.

“What are your plans for the rest of the afternoon?”

She drew her eyes from the window to me. “Don’t you have practice or to pick up Mila or something?”

“Mom has Mila. I have weights. I can do those at home just as easily as I can at the stadium. No one will give a shit.”

“I’m not in the mood for home renovations,” she sighed, her eyes turning glossy.

“Nope. No home renovations.” I shifted the car into drive and pointed us back to my house. “I’m gonna show you how I cope when things suck.”