“Hi, Lolly,” I say. Liv and Rae echo me.
“Good morning,” she replies.
Even though I’m used to her brain not understanding time anymore, it still makes me kind of sad to—
“Can I help you?”
My heart sinks at her polite question.
Be calm. You can do this.
Funny, the voice in my head kind of sounds like Liv’s.
“We just came to see you for a minute,” I answer, trying not to seem feeble and uncertain.
I exchange looks with her caregiver, who nods encouragingly before she steps out of the room—I know she’s telling me to remind Lolly of who I am, so I look at her again and do it.
“I’m Landon, your grandson, and this is Liv and Rae.” They wave at her.
Lolly smiles sympathetically. “Oh, honey, no. I’m sorry, but you have the wrong room.”
Shit, shit, shit.
I’m not supposed to argue. I’m not supposed to correct. But whatamI supposed to say to that? Am I supposed to agree that she’s right and then walk away?
Before I can figure out what to do, Rae walks up to Lolly, hands out. “Do you want to see my pink nails?”
Lolly’s smile turns kind. “Oh, pink! I like that! My goodness, what happened to your fingers?”
Liv goes over, too.
“You like pink, too, huh?” she asks, surreptitiously pulling Rae into a side-hug. “Your shirt has lots of it.”
I watch the kid hide her hands behind her back as she adds, “And purple.”
Lolly looks down at her tie-dyed shirt. She’s owned it for years, but she says, “Yes, that’s right!” like the colors have surprised her.
Rae says something else to her, but I don’t hear what because Liv looks back at me, eyes soft, and holds out her hand. I can read,‘Come talk,’on her face. An equally soft smile curves along her lips.
And I see what she and Rae are doing: just being easy. They’re not stressing, not overthinking.
You can do it, too,says the voice that sounds like both her and me.You can float through this.
I walk over, close my hand around hers, and see what the conversation is like now.
It’s still light, I find. Lolly is no longer thinking about not knowing us. She’s talking to Rae about the picture on the front of her book on birds.
After maybe thirty seconds of chatter about that, Liv asks if Lolly has a favorite animal. She mentions the cat she’s certain she has, even though she admits she hasn’t seen him in a long time. It’s something we’ve all heard her talk about, but we listen patiently anyway.
Then I decide to be brave and say, “I remember the cat we had when I was younger.”
Lolly looks at me interestedly. “Was it a sweet cat?”
She doesn’t realize she’s part of that‘we.’She thinks I’m talking about myself and another family.
So after I clear my throat, I dare to elaborate. “Yep. You and I had to go to the store and get some tea because Poplovedyour iced tea and we were out of it. We found that scared little kitten in the parking lot and took him home. He lived to be fifteen years old. He liked to sit on your lap.”
For an eternal moment, I wait for this to backfire.