Allie, of course, has her own problems, too, problems that will probably grow worse over time. She is terribly afraid in the mornings and cries inconsolably. She sees tiny people, like gnomes, I think, watching her, and she screams at them to get away. She bathes willingly but will not eat regularly. She is thin now, much too thin, in my opinion, and on good days I do my best to fatten her up.
But this is where the similarity ends. This is why Allie is considered a miracle, because sometimes, just sometimes, after I read to her, her condition isn’t so bad. There is no explanation for this. “It’s impossible,” the doctors say. “She must not have Alzheimer’s.” But she does. On most days and every morning there can be no doubt. On this there is agreement.
But why, then, is her condition different? Why does she sometimes change after I read? I tell the doctors the reason—I know it in my heart, but I am not believed. Instead they look to science. Four times specialists have traveled from Chapel Hill to find the answer. Four times they have left without understanding. I tell them, “You can’t possibly understand it if you use only your training and your books,” but they shake their heads and answer: “Alzheimer’s does not work like this. With her condition, it’s just not possible to have a conversation or improve as the day goes on. Ever.”
But she does. Not every day, not most of the time, and definitely less than she used to. But sometimes. And all that is gone on these days is her memory, as if she has amnesia. But her emotions are normal, her thoughts are normal. And these are the days that I know I am doing right.
Dinner is waiting in her room when we return. It has been arranged for us to eat here, as it always is on days like these, and once again I could ask for no more. The people here take care of everything. They are good to me, and I am thankful.
The lights are dimmed, the room is lit by two candles on the table where we will sit, and music is playing softly in the background. The cups and plates are plastic, and the carafe is filled with apple juice, but rules are rules and she doesn’t seem to care. She inhales slightly at the sight. Her eyes are wide.
“Did you do this?”
I nod and she walks in the room.
“It looks beautiful.”
I offer my arm in escort and lead her to the window. She doesn’t release it when we get there. Her touch is nice, and we stand close together on this crystal springtime evening. The window is open slightly, and I feel a breeze as it fans my cheek. The moon has risen, and we watch for a long time as the evening sky unfolds.
“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful, I’m sure of it,” she says, and I agree with her.
“I haven’t, either,” I say, but I am looking at her. She knows what I mean, and I see her smile. A moment later she whispers:
“I think I know who Allie went with at the end of the story,” she says.
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“She went with Noah.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.”
I smile and nod. “Yes, she did,” I say softly, and she smiles back. Her face is radiant.
I pull out her chair with some effort. She sits and I sit opposite her. She offers her hand across the table, and I take it in mine, and I feel her thumb begin to move as it did so many years ago. Without speaking, I stare at her for a long time, living and reliving the moments of my life, remembering it all and making it real. I feel my throat begin to tighten, and once again I realize how much I love her. My voice is shaky when I finally speak.
“You’re so beautiful,” I say. I can see in her eyes that she knows how I feel about her and what I really mean by my words.
She does not respond. Instead she lowers her eyes and I wonder what she’s thinking. She gives me no clues, and I gently squeeze her hand. I wait. With all my dreams, I know her heart, and I know I’m almost there.
And then, a miracle that proves me right.
As Glenn Miller plays softly in a candlelit room, I watch as she gradually gives in to the feelings inside her. I see a warm smile begin to form on her lips, the kind that makes it all worthwhile, and I watch as she raises her hazy eyes to mine. She pulls my hand toward her.
“You’re wonderful. . . .” she says softly, trailing off, and at that moment she falls in love with me, too; this I know, for I have seen the signs a thousand times.
She says nothing else right away, she doesn’t have to, and she gives me a look from another lifetime that makes me whole again. I smile back, with as much passion as I can muster, and we stare at each other with the feelings inside us rolling like ocean waves. I look around the room, then up to the ceiling, then back at Allie, and the way she’s looking at me makes me warm. And suddenly I feel young again. I’m no longer cold or aching, or hunched over or deformed, or almost blind with cataractal eyes.