Page 6 of Wall

“Psalms, I believe.”

A wistful smile softens the deep lines around her mouth. “My husband hated Psalms. Not enough action for him.”

“More of an Exodus kind of guy?”

“Oh, yes. Daniel. Judges. Both Samuels. He was a boy at heart. He loved the stories.” Her eyes get even dreamier, remembering.

I start to read, and she lets herself drift off. I keep going despites the snores. It’s peaceful in the warmth, and fat snowflakes are starting to fall outside the window.

I don’t notice so much when Janice is awake because she’s so lucid and animated, but she’s not doing so well. She’s lost a lot of muscle mass lately. She’s so tiny in her huge chair, mostly bifocals and a cloud of wispy white hair.

I read through another psalm until I figure she’s passed out, and I shelve the Bible. Then I go on a hunt for the quilt she favors.

Sometimes I wonder if my parents will want me to fuss over them when they’re old enough for a place like Shady Acres. They’ve never had much use for me to this point, but a facility like this is a lonely place despite the constant bustle and noise.

I find the quilt on the top shelf in the wardrobe—how was she supposed to get it all the way up there?—and I lay it on her lap. Before I can sneak out, she rouses and reaches out for my hand.

I grab it and squeeze gently.

Her eyes are muzzy with sleep. “Lloyd?”

Lloyd was her husband. “He’s not here, Miss Janice.”

Tears well in her eyes. “I miss him.”

I sit on the edge of her bed so we’re face-to-face, and I grab her other hand. “I know.”

My action draws her attention to her lap. “Where’s my ring?”

My heart cracks. “It’s at home. Your grandson’s going to bring it.”

She closes her eyes, and tears stream down her ruddy cheeks. “I never take my ring off. Where’s Lloyd? Why am I here? I need my ring.”

She pleads, gripping my hands with a strength I didn’t think she had.

“This is Shady Acres Adult Living. I’m Mona. You’re okay. It’s going to be okay.”

She so distraught, she’s shaking. “I need my ring. Will you get it for me? I never take it off.”

“Your grandson, Tommy, he says he’ll bring it the next time he visits.” I hate lying, and I hate that even with the sundowners, it’s obvious that Janice knows I’m full of crap, too.

“No.Yougo get my ring. We’re friends, aren’t we?” She sounds so young, like a little girl wheedling her playmate.

I don’t know what to say. “Of course, we’re friends.”

“Then, please go get my ring. I need it.” She rubs her bare finger with her thumb. “It’s an old mine-cut diamond with blue sapphires. Gold band. I left it on my bureau, in the jewelry box shaped like a piano. I didn’t want anyone to steal it.”

“I’m sure Tommy will bring it next time he comes.”

Her sweet face becomes severe, and she clutches my hands even harder. There’s an alertness to her now that had been absent. “You and I both know that boy is irresponsible. I need you to go and get it.Please.”

She reaches for a tissue, but she knocks the box onto the floor. I scoop it up and offer her one.

“You don’t understand.” She dabs at her eyes. “I don’t have anything here that he gave me. He’s been gone so long.”

That barrage of awful feelings that I shook off earlier comes barreling back, full steam. It’s such a nasty brew, bad memories and pain that does nothing but rot and fester, ignored but never gone. Never healed.

There’s grief, first and foremost. Rage. Humiliation. Shame. Disappointment, although that word’s nowhere near strong enough. Andmissing, the worst part of it all.

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