“Pete, I’m so sorry. I feel just terrible that this is happening to him.”
“I’m okay with all of it as long as he remembers us, but when he starts to forget who we are, it’s going to be very hard to handle.”
“You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not here,” Hugh snapped from the doorway, and both their heads turned in his direction.
“We weren’t, Pop,” Pete said, standing. “I’d say the same thing to you if you were sitting with us.”
“You’d better. Don’t sugarcoat things on my account. I know what’s going on in my head, and I can’t stand it any more than you can.”
She followed both of them into the kitchen. Libby had never seen Pop that ill-tempered. He’d always been the calm, cool one. He could outsmart, outtalk anyone in any argument, and he never even had to raise his voice. That’s what had made him a great salesman. But now he seemed paranoid and frustrated. She could only imagine what it must feel like to not have control of her own thoughts.
“Is there anything to eat in this house?” Hugh asked, rummaging in the fridge.
“Jeanie said she’d make you a casserole,” Libby smiled, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
“That would probably be a good idea since no one else seems to be cooking,” he barked.
Libby’s eyes went right to Pete, her cheeks burning with protectiveness. It wasn’t Pete’s fault. He’d been doing a wonderful job with Pop. Now Pop was spitting insults at him. Pete’s face was stoic, emotionless as he watched him putter around the kitchen huffing and puffing. He caught Libby’s eye, and nodded as if to say, “It’s okay,” but she didn’t feel okay. She felt awful. How could Pop speak to his grandson like that after he’d nearly exhausted himself over his care?
“Pop, Libby and I are going outside on the beach if you need us,” he said.
Pop didn’t answer. He just continued to pull dishes from cabinets and food from the pantry.
Pete took Libby’s hand, and reluctantly she left Pop in the kitchen and followed him outside. “How dare he speak to you like that,” she said once the door had shut behind them. The sun was in her eyes, making them water.
“It isn’t him. It’s the disease. It makes people touchy. Don’t worry. When he’s just Pop again, he’s very agreeable.”
“My gosh, how can you stand to hear that, though?”
“I have this memory of him at the beach when we had one of our family parties. He and Nana were sitting under the umbrella in their beach chairs. He had a Bloody Mary in one hand and a cigar in the other, and he was wearing a straw hat. I can’t remember the joke he told, but it had made everyone laugh, including him. I just recall that image every time this disease takes him over. It’s my way of coping, I suppose.”
They made it to the beach and stepped onto the shore. The warm sand beneath her feet and the sea air did its best to block out the heaviness of the state of affairs. It was nice to just be with Pete. It was an awful thought to have, but she was glad to have a reprieve from the situation.
At the edge of the beach, where the sand met the grass, Pete had built a circular, stone fire pit. He began tossing twigs into it and Libby thought to herself how it would be perfect for roasting marshmallows. There he was with this massive cottage with extra rooms, a large yard, a fire pit for marshmallows, and a hundred trees with large branches just waiting for a swing. He had everything he needed to have a family there, yet he didn’t have anyone but Pop. The sadness of this hit her in that moment. What was he waiting for? And what would he do when Pop passed? What good was all of it if he had no one with whom to share it?
With a spark, he lit a match and threw it in, the fire consuming the kindling inside. Then he pulled two wooden Adirondack chairs over next to it, the heat from the fire dancing into the sky. Libby sat down and watched the flames shimmy upward and then dissipate.
“I’m glad we’re not taking a walk today,” she said, holding her hair back with her hand to keep it from blowing into her face.
“Why?” he said as he took a seat beside her.
“I don’t want you anywhere near that tire swing,” she huffed out a laugh.
He smiled, the lines around his temples just starting to show, his eyes on her as if he were waiting for a response. “I’ll be honest: I imagined both of us in the water, just the two of us, like we used to do all those years ago… Silly, really.” He shook his head, his thoughts clearly occupied.
Libby felt as though a weight were pressing on her chest. She did care for Pete. She just couldn’t imagine how they could fit in each other’s lives. What would she do if she didn’t have something to work for, a goal to reach? In New York, she was never still, always moving from one thing to the next. She didn’t know how to slow down. For so many years, there was no other choice, no other option but to move fast and push harder. Now she’d taken the new job and the apartment was ready. It was done. She had to return to the only life she knew. The sadness was welling up, against her will.