Page 52 of Feels Like Forever

I stare out my windshield. I don’t know for how long.

When I start to feel dizzy, I realize I’m gasping for air. I grip the steering wheel and put my forehead on the backs of my hands.

“Calm down,” I order myself shakily. “Calm down. Breathe. Holy shit, Landon, breathe. Come on.”

She doesn’t know who I am.

Anguish stabs through me and makes breathing that much harder.

She doesn’t think she has a grandson. She doesn’t remember that she raised me. She doesn’t remember me.

There was no preparing for this.

The decline I’ve already seen, the outbursts, the knowledge of how the disease works…none of it prepared me for how this feels.

I had absolutely no idea how disappearing from Lolly’s mind was going to feel.

I don’t know what to do about the nauseating, world-stopping reality of it.

A face drifts into my mind—a voice, a promise. But I force it back out because she’s not an option. No. I can’t talk to her.

Bill. Call Bill.

I start to fumble my phone out of my pocket, but then I remember the Kinleys are out of town. They’re busy.

I think of Robbie next, then remember how busy he is today, too.

Tyler? Matt?

But they don’t know anywhere near enough about Lolly to understand the shredded state I’m in.

I think of her again: Liv.

She said to let her know when I’m upset about Lolly. She said she’d listen.

But that was before I did who-goddamn-knows-what and made her mad. Back when she cared what I had to say and how I felt.

I shove a hand through my hair, then draw in a deep, deep breath and let it out slowly. Then I do it again.

I’m on my own with this.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

I have to deal with this by myself.

“I can do it,” I whisper. “This isn’t forever. It’s just one morning. Lolly hasn’t forgotten me for good. I can handle this.”

I repeat that to myself until my lungs are calm and my heartbeat is steady. Then I turn on my car and drive home so I can get ready to open the bar in Bill’s stead.

‘A positive mind is a healthy mind.’

I can do this.

*

I’m two hours into my eight-hour shift when I realize Ican’tdo this.

I’ve never felt despair this sharp.

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