Say You'll Remember Me(24)

I backed into the driveway and lowered the white canvas top. Push button. At least there was that.

I parked it by the porch and went in to get Mom.

She was in her usual chair in the living room.

Dad worked during the day, so the rest of us watched her while he was gone. It was mostly Grandma on the day shift, but I’d set up my laptop and worked from the recliner next to Mom when Grandma needed to run an errand or take a nap. I’d tried bringing Mom up to my apartment once, but she got too distracted by Pooter. She kept asking whose cat it was. I’d tell her, she’d forget, and a minute later she’d ask again. She did this ten, twenty times before I got frustrated and took her back to the living room.

“Mom?” I said, coming in the front door slowly. “What do you think of taking a car ride?” I asked. “I put the top down on the convertible. We can go get Frappuccinos.”

She looked at me confused. “What?”

“Coffee.”

Jeneva told me to explain everything I’m going to do before I do it, so I walked her through the steps.

“First we’ll get our shoes on, then we’ll go outside and drive around a bit. Then we’ll stop and get a latte. Come on.”

She didn’t move.

I crossed the room and helped her up. “You need some time outside. It’ll be fun,” I said, walking her to the door.

She let me put her shoes on, and I got her out to the porch.

Then she saw the Dart. She lit up.

It was the first sign of life I’d seen in her since I got here. I could barely believe it.

The dementia and the medications she was on made her flat. She spoke in monotones like someone drugged, but the second she saw the Dodge she came alive.

“The car!” She beamed.

I smiled. “Yeah. You remember it?”

“Of course, it’s my car.”

I watched her for a moment. The pure joy on her usually expressionless face.

I wondered if the dementia felt like walking through a gray version of the world. And then all of a sudden a bright blue car from your youth appears and you know something again. You remember, and it’s the only thing in color.

Right now my world was also a little gray. The last time I saw color was that night in the escape room.

The promise of something can be so vibrant. And everything feels so dull after it’s gone.

Mom let go of my arm and went down the stairs ahead of me—and got into the driver’s side.

“Oh, Mom? I need to drive—”

She slammed the door.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit. The keys were in it and the engine was running.

I jiggled the handle to the driver’s door. It was locked. I tried pulling up the lock but it was flush to the door.

“Mom, I have to drive. You can’t drive anymore.”

“Don’t be silly. I drive all the time.” Then she put the car in reverse and started backing toward the street.

Full panic.

“Stop!”

She kept going.

“Mom…” I was jogging next to the door trampling the flowerbeds. “Mom!”

Nothing.

“We have to put the top up! It’s going to rain!”

Please stop, please.

“Mom! RAIN!” I shouted.

She slammed on the brakes. I have no idea why she did it, if she heard me and understood or if it was some deeply ingrained reflex to protect her old car from weather, but she stopped.

The back of the Dart was already halfway in the street. I was panting.

She looked confused for a moment, like she didn’t know where she was. She probably didn’t.

She peered blankly around the cab of the car, then put it in park. I dove across her lap and pulled the key from the ignition.

I slumped on the curb, gasping for air. Holy hell that could have been bad. I was having a heart attack.

Where would she have gone? Would she have just driven off and crashed somewhere? Backed straight out into the house across the street? I was shaking.

I’d have to lock up the keys. I could never let this happen again.

I wondered what kind of things Jeneva had seen like this. Is this why there was a lock on the medicine cabinet? Child dials on the oven? I thought it was for the boys when they were smaller, but now…

Grandma always had candles burning. My whole life there’d been a Virgin Mary candle on the stove. There was no candle now, I realized. Was this because of Mom?

It was.

She was dangerous. Obliviously dangerous. And I was just oblivious in general. What had I almost done?

I had no idea what she was capable of. If I took her driving, would she jump from the vehicle while it was moving? Get scared and grab the wheel? I mean, at best we should be in something with a roof and child safety locks.

She could never ride in this car again. That part of her life was over.

She would never feel the wind in her hair with the top down, see the open sky while her music played in the car she grew up in.

I don’t think I’d realized how small Mom’s world had gotten in my absence. How bad this really was.

I licked my lips. “Mom, let’s go inside and get some lunch, okay?”

She let me take her out of the car. She never even asked what happened to the plans.

She didn’t remember we’d made them.