Page 1 of The Marriage Sham
Chapter One
Frances
Atlanta, Georgia
“Are-are you sure?” I ask the doctor, a white-knuckle grip on the phone. Which is a stupid thing to ask. I mean, he’s a doctor. Of course he’s sure.
“Yes, ma’am. Your grandfather is stable and resting. We’ll keep him here for a few days at the very least to monitor him and have our therapists work with him on his function. It’s too soon to say for sure, but we think the stroke was caught early. That’s very good news indeed.” I breathe a sigh of relief as the doctor keeps talking. “However, I’d like to ask you a few questions regarding his dementia. Has it been getting worse?”
My head spins, trying to keep up with everything he’s saying. I’d been in the middle of sorting my receipts to get my business documents ready for my quarterly tax payment. To shift from spreadsheets to medical speak was proving difficult for my brain so early this morning. I clearly need another cup of coffee.
“I’m sorry, you’ve lost me. What dementia?” I sink back down to my office chair, thinking perhaps the doctor really did have the wrong patient.
“Earl is presenting with moderately severe dementia. According to his friend, Harold, who brought him in last night, he’s been suffering with it to some degree for some time now. When was the last time you saw your grandfather?” The doctor’s voice is gentle, but the words sting just the same.
My shoulders slump as the shame slams down like a ton of weight. I always mean to visit, but my business is finally getting off the ground and there’s just no time to go back home. “It’s been about a year since I saw him in person, but we talk on the phone at least once a month. He’s always been alert. Maybe a little fuzzy on some details, but never confused.”
I hear a soft sigh over the phone. “Well, his primary care doctor attested to it this morning that he does indeed have dementia, and combined with the stroke, I really think a visit is in order if you can at all swing it. You’re his only living relative, so we need you up to speed on his condition so you can make some important decisions.”
That sounds ominous, which makes my pulse quicken, thinking Granddaddy might not be doing so well. The man raised me, the only adult to stick around and take care of an innocent baby. He’d been my only parent growing up, and my best friend now that I’m an adult. He understood when I said I needed to head to Atlanta and make something of myself right after high school. In reality I swore on my life that I’d never move back to that podunk town. The years passed in a blink of an eye. Just shy of ten years since I left, it’s obviously past time to come visit and tend to the greatest man I know.
“Okay. Give me a day to tie up loose ends. I’ll be there tomorrow morning. Thank you, Doctor.” My voice is firm, resolute, carrying on despite my brain scrambling to think of how I’ll be able to keep all the balls in the air.
My job is a corporate juggler. Okay, not an actual juggler, but I’m an event planner, which is the same thing. I keep a million details going at the same time, all culminating in a successful event for my clients. It isn’t easy convincing a large corporation to take a chance on a one-woman shop. But I have worked my butt off over the years, forgoing sleep to make sure my clients are happy. I always under promise and over deliver. And I’m just now at a point where I can not only pay all my bills every month, but I’m putting some away to build a nest egg.
“My laptop and my phone,” I mutter to myself as I stare at my adorable living room. My business can be done from anywhere as long as I have my two most important tools. Theoretically, I should be able to do the exact same job from Love, Georgia, that I do from here in Atlanta. What I won’t have is high speed internet and the comfort of my own space.
I’m proud of the life I’ve made for myself in the big city. My apartment has the most comfortable loveseat that matches the club chair, which sets off the white, fluffy rug quite nicely. I always keep colorful flowers blooming in a vase on the coffee table. Because appearances matter. When one’s environment is neat and tidy, one is neat and tidy with the other details in life.
Going back to Granddaddy’s house is like stepping back into the ‘70s with his wood paneling and patchwork couch. He always keeps the place clean, but he doesn’t give two hoots about keeping up with the latest in decor. Everything is exactly how it had been when I went to high school in Love.
Which is a whole ‘nother can of worms I’m not going to think about just yet.
Right now, I need to pack a suitcase, grab my files and my laptop and chargers, and hit the road for the four-hour drive to Love. I just had the oil changed on my six-year-old Honda, and the tires have plenty of tread. See? Attention to detail means you’re always ready at a moment’s notice.
* * *
Love,Georgia
“Frances?I’m Dr. Bonner. Lovely to meet you.” He extends his hand, and I give it a quick shake. I attempt to look awake and alert even though I only got a couple hours of sleep at Granddaddy’s house last night when I got in.
Cruella de Vil, aka my current nightmare client, called while I was driving, griping in my ear for more than an hour while I tried to take notes and keep my wheels on the road. By the time I reached Granddaddy’s house, I couldn’t shut my brain off and sleep. Coupled with work stress, I also had no idea what condition I’d find Granddaddy in today. A sense of dread settled into my stomach like it planned to stay awhile.
I blink rapidly, pulling my attention back to what the good doctor is saying. “…so we think he’ll need only a few days here, but will need physical therapy to come in at home. The social worker was in last night and evaluated him. She thinks he’ll need ‘round the clock care, so we’ll have her come back in today to talk to you about those arrangements.”
I continue to blink, probably making Dr. Bonner think I have my own mental health problems, but I’m having a hard time getting my brain to catch-up.
“I’m sorry. Around the clock care?” I’m frozen to the spot, the implication of those words spinning through my head and leaving me speechless. I can’t even begin to imagine how much that costs.
He pats me on the shoulder, like the problem is easily surmountable. Like his words haven’t completely put me in a tailspin. “The social worker will go over all those details with you later today. But for now, I know a certain patient who’d love to see you.” He sweeps his hand toward the door behind him.
I nod my head and take a deep breath. No need to be nervous. It’s Granddaddy.
Pushing open the door, I take a step inside and plaster a smile on my face.
“Is that you, my sweet girl?” A frail, old man calls out from the bed, the voice familiar and the nickname precious. I thank my lucky stars for the smile on my face, masking my shock at the deterioration of his health. The shame blooms in my chest, stealing my breath and prickling my eyes with tears I refuse to shed in his presence.
“Granddaddy!” I rush forward to his bedside but stop short at the last second. There’s a tube of oxygen in his nose and an IV line going to his frail hand. I want to hug him, but I’m afraid of messing something up or hurting him in my enthusiasm. His skin looks paper thin, blue-red bruises marring his arms.
