Sewanee and Blah sat down. Blah rocked in her chair with a rhythm established over a lifetime. She’d been nursed in that chair and had nursed Henry in that chair and now she appeared ageless in it. Sewanee watched her go back and forth, seeing simultaneously a little girl whose feet didn’t touch the ground and an old woman who carried that little girl through all of her ninety-two years.
“Are you hungry? Do you want something?”
“No, thank you. I’m stuffed.”
“Me too, me too.”
“The chicken salad was pretty good today.”
“I hate chicken salad. I like tuna.”
“Right, I forgot.”
“Your memory is shot, Doll.” Blah winked.
They both smiled again, and Sewanee felt the lull in conversation begin. Blah’s jokes aside, the conversation didn’t flow as it once had.
Sewanee had first noticed the change about a year ago. Blah would forget they’d talked on the phone. Then she’d forget the movie they’d gone to see, or the art exhibit, or Adaku’s birthday party. Then she had trouble remembering why she’d moved into Seasons. Sewanee would remind her that her sister had died and that Blah had needed to move out of the house so Bitsy’s kids could sell it. Interestingly, all her memories of being in the house were as a guest, even though she’d lived there for over thirty years. Henry considered this wishful thinking: in Blah’s mind, she preferred the version of herself with the elegant party home in Beverlywood, not as a lodger in her sister’s petite Sherman Oaks ranch. Maybe he was right.
“Are you hungry, Doll? Do you want something to eat?” Blah repeated for a third time.
“I’m good.” The slow deterioration had been challenging, but this recent acceleration was terrifying. She had to find out if Blah was aware it was happening to her. “How’s your memory these days?”
“I don’t know, what’s today?”
Sewanee gave her a smile, but said, “Seriously. Is it difficult to remember things?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m old, everything’s difficult.”
Sewanee wished she didn’t have to ask the next question. “Do you remember what happened on Friday night?”
Blah got a good rock going. “Did something happen?”
“Carlos found you in the common room in the middle of the night.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“He did, Blah. According to him, you thought you were in Tennessee, getting ready for your debutante ball.”
Blah went silent. Sewanee went silent. The look that traveled between them was everything Sewanee needed to know.
Blah made her way to her feet. “Want a Mallomar, Doll?”
“No.”
She whispered, “Did you see Mitzi’s face-lift?”
“Blah–”
“How’s your mother?” She retrieved a Mallomar from the package sitting on top of the minifridge in the corner. “She should come for lunch sometime.”
Sewanee watched Blah nibble at a corner of the cookie. “She doesn’t live here anymore.”
Blah stopped nibbling. “Since when?”
“Since the divorce.”
“What divorce?”
Was she serious? “Mom and Dad’s.”
“Of course, of course. There are so many these days!” Blah laughed. She took another cookie and returned to her rocker. “Did she go home?”
“For about a year. To take care of Nana before she died. Then she met Stu.”
BlahBlah nodded and nibbled. “Stu’s an unfortunate name, but Stus are always nice. How did they meet?”
“It’s a good story. Wanna hear it?”
BlahBlah set her half-eaten first cookie down on the coffee table, keeping the second one in her other hand. She sat back. “I love how you tell stories.”
Sewanee sat back, too, fingering the fraying arm of the couch. “So after Nana died, Mom cleaned out the house and had a garage sale. And in the middle of making change, she noticed a man loitering by an old Victrola in the driveway.”
“Marv’s old Victrola?”
“No, Nana’s. But you’re right, you had a Victrola, too. Anyway, she went–”
“What happened to mine?”
“I–I don’t know.” Sewanee hadn’t seen it since Bitsy’s house. She could ask Henry about it.
But Blah didn’t seem bothered by the mystery. She took a bite of the Mallomar she was holding, the half-eaten one forgotten on the coffee table.