“Fine.” I leaned out of view, to avoid confusion. My mother-in-law’s Alzheimer’s was in Stage IV, moderately severe. Every illness was awful, but Alzheimer’s had a unique sort of staged cruelty. Lucinda felt as if she were losing her mother bit by bit, like a death in life, a purgatory no different from hell. Stage V was the final stage of the illness, but the neurologist had no idea when she would enter that stage.
Dom motioned to us, holding another phone to his ear. “Okay, they’re ready. Call, and Special Agent Lingermann will answer.”
“Thank you.” Lucinda pressed the button, and the phone rang once, then connected.
“Hello, Mrs. Bennett,” answered Special Agent Lingermann, and I leaned over to see what she looked like. Tall and youngish, with an angular face, horn-rimmed glasses, and a professional smile. She was wearing a stiff white shirt and a dressy suit that female lawyers hadn’t worn for a while, but it was a good effort.
“Yes, hi, is she there?”
“Yes, and she’s sitting at the desk. I explained to her that you’re going to be on FaceTime, but I’m not sure she gets the concept.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“Okay, here we go.”
I moved away as my mother-in-law popped onto the phone screen, still lovely despite her advancing illness. She kept her feathered haircut coiffed by weekly visits to Bay Horse’s beauty salon and maintained its dark blond color, so there was practically no gray. She had on a navy blue cardigan with a gold necklace, and the only jarring note was the plastic doll she cradled, as if it were a real infant. The doll’s head was of grimy plastic, with blue eyes and painted-on blond curls, and its trunk was made of flesh-colored fabric.
My heart lurched when I remembered where the doll had come from. Allison always had a special relationship with her grandmother, so good we called her The Muggy Whisperer. It had been Allison’s idea to give Muggy her old Bitty Baby, since we had seen that other patients in the wings had stuffed animals.
“Mom, hi, it’s your daughter Lucinda!” Lucinda was saying, and I returned to the present. I wondered if memories were good things, if they came embedded in grief, and Lucinda had more than her share. My father-in-law had fallen ill with leukemia right after he retired, and the disease had taken him a year later. Then Caitlin had come down with breast cancer, enduring chemo, radiation, and surgery that Lucinda had seen her through until her death. Then after Caitlin’s passing, my mother-in-law began to show signs of forgetfulness, in a cascade of calamity that would’ve been hard to believe if I hadn’t lived it. Lucinda handled it all, though I knew it had taken a toll.
“Cindy, I don’t see you.” My mother-in-law was looking around the room, her cloudy gaze jittery. Deep folds creased her forehead and bracketed her mouth.
“Look at the screen, Mom. See me now?” Lucinda waved, smiling. “I’m on the screen. I can’t come in person, but we can visit this way.”
“I don’t understand,” my mother-in-law said, frowning. The doll slipped, throttled under her forearm. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m on the phone. I know it’s confusing.”
Lucinda was mirroring the patient’s feelings, one of the guidelines her doctor had given us.
“I don’t know what we’re doing.” My mother-in-law tugged a strand of her hair on the side, a gesture when she became agitated.
Lucida shot me a worried glance. My mother-in-law’s anxiety had worsened lately, so the doctors had tweaked her dosages. Her mood had returned to her typical temperament, cheerful and agreeable but off, somehow. She laughed easily but at nothing, emitting an odd chuckle. Still it was easier than the anger I had seen in other patients.
Special Agent Lingermann reappeared behind my mother-in-law, pointing at the phone screen. “Mrs. Romarin, here’s your daughter, right here. That’s her, right now.”
“Don’t be silly!” My mother-in-law chuckled. “Oho! That’s just a picture!”
“No, it looks like a picture but it’s not.” Special Agent Lingermann pointed again. “Your daughter is on the phone right now. You can talk to her.”
“Stop! I think you’re being silly. Oho!”
“Mrs. Romarin, all you have to do is talk. She’ll talk to you. You’ll see. Just talk.”
Suddenly my mother-in-law refocused on the phone, bursting into a smile, a brief flash of her old self. “Cindy!”
“Yes, it’s me, I’m here!” Lucinda’s face lit up, and I felt a surge of happiness for them both. The bond between mother and daughter was palpable, and my mother-in-law was still the only person who called my wife Cindy.
“Mom, I’m here. It’s so good to see you. I miss you, Mom!”
“I miss you, too, dear! Oho, how funny to see you! How funny!”
“I want to hear how you’re doing. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine, dear!”
“Are you having a nice day?”
“Yes! Very nice! Everyone is very nice here! Oho! Oho!”
“I’m good, and everybody here is good, too.” Lucinda smiled, and my throat caught, watching her. I had no idea where my wife found the strength to pretend Allison was alive.
“That’s good! It’s good to be with you, dear!”
“The sweater looks so nice on you, Mom. Navy blue is your color.”
“Thank you!” My mother-in-law beamed, smoothing her sweater. The doll slipped down farther, its blue plastic eyes fixed on us. “I think it’s very smart, myself. Navy blue is a very smart color.”
“Yes, you look very pretty today.”
“Oho! Thank you! You’re very nice! You’re very nice!”
“So are you. You taught me to be very nice. I’m your daughter. You’re my mother.”
“Yes!” My mother-in-law burst into laughter, as if Lucinda had said something hysterically funny. Lucinda smiled anyway, her eyes shining with love and pain. She told me once that she was grieving her mother while her mother was still alive, then we found out it was called pre-grief.
“Mom, do you have your book? Your special book?”
My mother-in-law blinked. “No.”
“It should be there on the desk. Do you see it? You know, your special book?”
“I don’t see it. It’s not here. It’s gone.”
Lucinda pursed her lips. The special book was a construction paper booklet that had photos of us, with captions explaining who we are. The kids had made it when my mother-in-law first moved into Memory Care, and the special book was the way of introducing Ethan and me into the visit, suggested by her doctors.
Lucinda motioned to me. “Mom, I’m here with my husband Jason. Would you like to say hello to Jason? He’d love to say hello to you.”
“Oho! Oho! Yes, yes, I’d love to say hello.”
I leaned in, waving. “Claire, how are you, you gorgeous lady?”
“Oho! Oh my, you’re silly, you’re so silly!” My mother-in-law giggled, which gave me a bittersweet kick. My father had adored her, saying she had class, and they’d share a cigarette like two naughty kids. It was the only time I saw her smoke, since my starchy father-in-law disapproved.