The next evening, Annie’s at Rob’s house again, and as I mop up the remainder of the mess in the kitchen after work, I find myself thinking of Mamie, who always used to know how to fix disasters. It’s been two weeks since I last visited her, I realize. I should be a better granddaughter, I think with a swell of guilt. I should be a better person. Yet one more area in which I seem to be eternally falling short.
With a lump in my throat, I finish mopping, put some lipstick on in the hall mirror, and grab my keys. Annie’s right; I need to go see my grandmother. Visiting Mamie always makes me want to cry, because although the home she’s in is cheerful and friendly, it’s terrible to see her slipping away. It’s like standing on the deck of a boat, watching the waves suck someone under, and knowing that there’s no life preserver to throw in.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m walking through the doors of Mamie’s assisted living facility, a huge home that’s painted buttercream yellow and filled with pictures of flowers and woodland creatures. The top floor is the memory care unit, where visitors are required to enter a pass code on a digital pad at the door.
I walk down the hallway toward Mamie’s room, which sits at the far end of the west wing. The residents’ rooms are all private and apartment-style, although they eat all their meals in the dining room, and staff members all have master keys so that they can check on residents and give them their daily medications. Mamie’s on an antidepressant, two heart medications, and an experimental drug for Alzheimer’s that doesn’t seem to be helping; I meet with the staff doctor once a month to get a status report. He said at our last meeting that her mental faculties have been going sharply downhill in the last few months.
“The worst part is,” he’d said, looking over his glasses at me, “she’s lucid enough to know it. This is one of the hardest stages to watch; she knows her memory will be all but gone soon, which is very unsettling and sad for patients in this state.”
I swallow back a lump as I ring the doorbell beside her name: Rose McKenna. I can hear her shuffling around inside, probably getting up from her recliner with some effort, moving toward the door with the cane she’s been using since she fell and broke her hip two years ago.
The door opens, and I resist the urge to throw myself into her arms for a hug, the way I used to do when I was a little girl. Up until this moment, I’d thought I’d come here for her, but now I realize it’s for me. I need this. I need to see someone who loves me, even if it’s an imperfect love.
“Hello,” Mamie says, smiling at me. Her hair looks whiter than the last time I saw her, the lines in her face deeper. But as always, she’s wearing her burgundy lipstick, and her eyes are rimmed in kohl and mascara. “What a surprise, dear.”
Her words are tinged with the hint of a French accent that has all but disappeared. She’s been in the United States since the early 1940s, but the traces of her long-ago past still shroud her words like one of the feather-light French scarves she almost always has wrapped around her neck.
I reach forward to hug her. When I was younger, she was solid and strong. Now, as she leans into the embrace, I can feel the bones of her spine, the sharpness of her shoulders.
“Hi, Mamie,” I say softly, blinking back tears as I pull away.
She stares at me through gray eyes that are clouded over. “You will have to forgive me,” she says. “I get a little forgetful sometimes. Which one are you, dear? I know I should remember.”
I swallow hard. “I’m Hope, Mamie. Your granddaughter.”
“Of course.” She smiles at me, but her gray eyes are foggy. “I knew that. I just need a reminder sometimes. Please, come in.”
I follow her inside her dimly lit apartment, where she leads me to the living room window.
“I was just watching the sunset, my dear,” she says. “In a moment, we’ll be able to see the evening star.”
Chapter Three
North Star Vanilla Cupcakes
CUPCAKES
INGREDIENTS
1 cup unsalted butter, room temperature
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
4 large eggs
1 tsp. pure vanilla extract
3 cups flour
3 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 cup milk
DIRECTIONS
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line 24 muffin cups with paper liners.
2. In a large bowl, cream together butter and sugar using electric mixer. Beat until light and fluffy, then beat in eggs one at a time. Beat in vanilla extract and mix well.
3. Sift together flour, baking powder and salt, and add to the butter mixture, about a cup at a time, alternating with milk.