“Hi, Pop. Where are you headed?” The sun was setting, sending their shadows sliding along the sidewalk. Libby noticed how different his shadow was to the man she used to know. It was slightly hunched, large at the shoulders, but also at the waist. Hugh hadn’t answered, so she reworded the question. “Where are you going?” she asked gently.
“I… I…” He looked around at the various storefronts.
“Will you walk with me?” she said, gingerly taking his arm by his shrunken bicep. “I need to pick up some paint from Wentworth’s. Perhaps that’s where you were going? To get paint with me?”
Hugh nodded.
“Excellent. I’m so glad you found me.” She pulled out her phone and texted Pete, telling him that she’d bring Pop back and not to worry.
Hugh insisted on helping Libby carry the paint and put it in her car. He had yet to call her by name, and she wondered if he could remember anything about her at all. It was bad enough that he had gotten lost; she didn’t want to burden him with making him remember her name, so she just opened the door of the rental without saying a word and allowed him to get in.
In silence, they made the short drive to Pete’s house. On the drive, she thought of those five nails jutting out of the cottage walls. On that wall had been a collage of photos, one nail for every person in the family: Pop, Nana, Helen, Pete, and Ryan. She remembered the pictures. They were snapshots that had been blown up to a larger size. Each one was a different occasion. She remembered the one with Pop in the middle. It was on one of his birthdays. He was in a chair, a silly, paper cone hat on his head opening a present while Ryan and Pete watched on the floor beside him. She wondered where those pictures were. Were they packed away somewhere unreachable like Pop’s memory?
“I remember now where I was going,” he said as she pulled into the drive. “I was going to get a cup of coffee.” He looked down at his lap.
“I’ll get you a cup. You just go on in and relax,” she smiled, but her insides were turning over. He was so much worse than when she’d first seen him, and it was terrifying for her. It must be doubly terrifying for him.
Pete opened the door as Hugh walked up the few porch steps. Libby noticed how tired Pete looked. She met him on the porch after Hugh had gone inside. “I’ll get you a cup of coffee, Pop. You just kick back,” she called inside to him.
“Thank you,” Pete said. He had his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slumped as if in defeat. “I was working in the office. I didn’t even hear the door open.”
“He looks bad, Pete,” she worried aloud.
“It comes and goes.”
The idea of living with Hugh and never knowing when he’d snap into that state or snap out of it had to be exhausting. How long had Pete been dealing with that stage of the disease?
“I promised him I’d make him a cup of coffee. Do you have any here?”
“Yeah,” he said, placing his hand on Libby’s back and walking her inside.
She put her arm around his waist in return. It wasn’t entirely an embrace, but more a support, as if she were keeping him from crumbling. He looked so drained. She wanted to stay there and help both him and Pop.
Pete pulled a bag of decaf ground coffee from the cabinet and set it in front of the coffeemaker. He followed it with filters and a measuring spoon.
“Want some for yourself?” she asked.
“No. I think I’ll have a beer. Want one?”
“You twisted my arm.” She tried to sound cheery to lighten the mood.
As she filled the coffeemaker and set it to percolate, Pete popped the tops off two bottles, setting hers down with an empty glass. She smiled, knowing he remembered how she only likes to drink from a glass, and poured it in.
Libby thought about the man she’d known in Hugh Roberts. He was spectacularly charismatic, funny, generous, strong. She could string adjectives together all day long about him. He was so smart that she had felt she could ask him anything and he’d have the answer on his lips. Pop had always made her feel safe and cared for. He’d been a supportive husband to Anne, showing his wife affection, sneaking up behind her as she cooked, putting his arms around her and kissing her cheek right in front of Libby and Pete. And now, she’d seen a hollow man, a lost soul in and out of reality, his brain and body failing him.
“You’re quiet,” Pete noted.
“Just thinking.” She sipped her beer as she tried to put her thoughts together. “Can you do this alone? I mean, can’t Ryan help? Or your mom?”
“I thought I could. I’m the best one for him. I work from home, I have a spare room for him, a yard for walks. It’s getting harder though,” he said quietly.