Page 47 of Hold Still

McKenna

“WHAT WAS Ithinking last night?”

I toss a maxi dress over my head and shake out my hair. “I’m playing with fire, and I always get burned.” I step into a pair of sandals.

“The ladies love it,” I mimic his tone.

Planting myself at my makeup table, I make quick work of powder, eyeshadow, mascara and blush. “I’ll only get hurt if I spend any more time alone with him.” I select red lipstick and blot it. I continue my soliloquy, “I have responsibilities, which don’t include childish pursuits of tattooed men with piercings on all parts of their bodies. No matter how hot they are. Or how creative.”

As I’m clipping my hair into a funky style, something shatters in the kitchen. Closing my eyes, I mutter, “Here we go.”

I go to find out what broke. Mom stands in the middle of the kitchen, her arms around her waist. A broken crystal decanter, if I’m not mistaken, lies by her naked feet. “Mom! Stay right there. Don’t move,” I order and rush for the dustpan.

“I’m so sorry, Sissie. It was so pretty I couldn’t help myself.”

Sissie. Her sister was killed by a drunk driver when she was eighteen. Moderating my voice, I respond, “Everything’s okay. I’ll get this cleaned up in no time.” I sweep the broken shards.

She takes a step to the right.

“No! Don’t move,” I bark. Tears well up in her eyes. After taking a cleansing breath, I say, “I don’t want you to get hurt, okay?”

She nods. “Thank you, Sissie. You always look out for me.”

I work in silence. “There. I think I got it all, but stay here for a moment while I get your slippers. Can you do that for me, Mom?”

Her head cocks to the right. “Mom’s not here, right? I don’t want to get in trouble.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “No, ah, Janice. Mom’s not here. Now, stay put for me, okay?”

She nods. I race to her room and pull out a pair of slippers. When I return to the kitchen, Mom’s not where I left her but is standing at the counter next to the coffeemaker. “Oh, there you are. I was about to make some coffee. Want some?”

Unsure of who she’s speaking to, I answer with a simple, “Yes.” Placing her slippers at her feet, I tell her to put them on, which she does.

Once our coffees are made, and I’ve scrubbed the floor, she makes omelets for us. “So tell me, what were you up to last night, McKenna? I heard you come in late.”

Relieved she knows she’s talking with me—her daughter—and she remembers last night, I take my last bite of omelet and stand. “I dropped off some of the Tres Leches cake at a friend’s house as a Thanksgiving treat.” Close enough to the truth.

As I’m putting our plates into the dishwasher, she says, “I like the dress you have on. Your hair, on the other hand, looks like a witch’s nest.”

I walk over to the mirror and realize she’s correct. Giggling, I say, “You’re right, Mom. Like usual.” I remove some of the clips. “I’m going to fix it now.”

With my hair in a much more becoming style, I walk Mom into the living room just as Elaine steps in for her shift. I pull the nurse to the side and explain what happened earlier.

She puts her hand on my arm. “She’s back to herself now. As you know, this disease is brutal and she’ll flip from decade to decade and memory to memory at the drop of a hat. My advice to you is to enjoy her while she’s with us.”

I look over at Mom, who is competing with the contestants onThe Price is Right.Smiling, I decide not to go to Ozzy’s today and spend the day with her, while she’s still mentally here. I take a seat next to her and join the game. Mom wins both showcases and gloats for five full minutes.

“Well, loser makes the winner pastries. How does that sound?”

“Oh, yeah. Can you make me the ones with the cheese inside?” She licks her lips.

Laughing, I agree and start toward the kitchen. A knock at the front door derails me. “I’ll get it.”

Our neighbor Becky stands at the front porch. “I was hoping Janice would be okay today. I miss her. Just wanted to drop in and say hello like old times.”

I nod. “She had a rough morning, but she seems to be perfectly fine now.” I open the door wider. “Come on in, she’s in the living room.”

“Great,” she says, breezing by me to join Mom, who adopts her polite mask that I know hides her inability to remember the person in front of her.

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