Second Chances(56)

"We have that on tomorrow's schedule, don't we?" Sarah said.

"How about I take over for a bit and you get yourself a cup of coffee," Julie said as she stood up. "You up for a little stroll around the grounds?"

Jason nodded once more.

"I don't know that he is up for..."

"Oh I don't mean a walk. I'll push him in the wheelchair. I promise nothing more straining then a possible transfer to one of the benches. What do you say?" Even though she was asking Sarah, Jason still nodded his agreement.

"You sure you don't want some help?"

She patted Sarah on the shoulder.

"Nah, I think I can handle it. We won't go far. Promise."

Sarah nodded. "Okay, he's all yours."

Julie moved around until she was behind the wheelchair and began to push it towards the front door. Doris looked at Sarah, who was frowning.

"What's wrong? Do you think she'll need your help?"

"No, I am sure she can handle him. He's not that bad today."

"Then what's wrong? He seems happy to see her."

Sarah nodded. "No question about that. And no question how deeply she cares for him, but I kind of wish..."

"What?"

"This is going to sound horrible," Sarah said, looking down at her feet. "Part of me wishes she would stop coming to see him."

"Sarah Mathews!"

Sarah flashed her a look and Doris was horrified to realize how loud she'd spoken.

"It's just that her visits always seem so hard on him."

"What do you mean?"

"Well you saw how he responded, right?"

Doris nodded and said, "Yes and isn't that wonderful? It's horrible for such a young man to experience such an advanced case of Alzheimer's."

Sarah smirked and Doris knew what her smile meant.

"Well he's younger than me so that makes him young," Doris said.

"Yeah, but that's it. You saw him responding to her and that is wonderful. I remember when they used to be able to talk together a bit."

"Her devotion is admirable."

"I agree, but still I wish it weren't."

"Have a crush on him, Sarah?"

She laughed. "Maybe a little, but that isn't it. He usually perks up a little when she arrives, but the next day..." She shook her head. "That next day he always seems worse. As ridiculous as it sounds, it's almost like her visits make his disease worse." She frowned as she watched the front door close.





CHAPTER FORTY-ONE



Julie rolled the wheelchair down the ramp and then turned right, continuing along the pathway that threaded its way around much of the property. She did her best to maintain a slow, steady pace. She made small talk as she pushed him further from the house. She stopped every so often and pointed at one thing or another, using the opportunities to look around.

She did not see anyone observing them. Nor did she see any cameras, but she was quite certain there were some scattered around the facility. Whether they had been placed by Cameron or by Ocean View itself, Julie wasn't sure. She wouldn't have put it passed Kassar to have had the grounds wired for sound.

When they were nearing the end of the path, Julie brought them to a stop next to one of the many wooden benches scattered around the grounds. She made sure that Jason's back was to the facility and then sat down.

She reached out and took his hands in hers.

"Hey sweetheart," she said. Leaning forward, she looked into his eyes and waited until she was certain he was focused on her. She smiled and then gently kissed him. "Are you in there Jason? Please, be in there." She spoke in a whisper. She didn't actually believe she could be overheard, but she refused to ignore the paranoia she felt. She had learned long ago not to underestimate Cameron.

They sat in silence for a moment. Julie had almost given up hope when she felt the gentle squeeze. Relief flooded her and she couldn't hide her smile.

"Thank you, God," she said and squeezed back, leaning in close to him again. "I wasn't sure I had cut back enough to make a difference. Had I known things would escalate the way they seem to have, I would have started earlier or maybe even risked cutting back the dosage even more."

She felt him squeeze her hands again and smiled, not simply because he was responding much quicker then she had anticipated, but because she realized she could actually feel the differences in his squeezes. It had been a questioning squeeze. He was asking her what was going on.

She let go of his hands and placed hers together as if praying and tapped the tips of her index fingers against her lips, lost in thought. How much should she tell him? How much might he understand? Just how there was he really? He certainly deserved the truth, but could he understand it? Would it matter to him? Did it matter to him?