Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Caine cleared his throat, but his voice was still gravelly. “You have nothing to be nervous about. Now come on, I’m looking forward to watching you kick ass.”
Umberto was with his ladies, Lydia and Carol. He was smiling and laughing as we walked to their table in the visitor’s lounge.
I whispered who was who to Caine as we approached. “His wife’s across and his girlfriend is next to him.”
Caine whispered back. “Umberto’s got some racket going on.”
I elbowed him in the abs to shh.
“Hi, Umberto.”
“Hi.”
Every week was like starting all over. One thing I’d learned is that Umberto was good at pretending he knew who people were.
“Did Max go?” he asked.
“Umm. Yes.” I whispered to Caine. “Max was his dog—a black lab. For some reason, he frequently asks people if Max went to the bathroom. He thinks we were out walking him or something.”
I turned to the ladies. “Hi, Lydia. Hi, Carol.”
Lydia stood and kissed my cheek. We’d become good friends over the last year. I was just about to introduce Caine when Carol took it upon herself.
“Who’s the handsome fella? You a new doctor here?”
I laughed. “This is Caine West, Carol. He’s a music professor at Brooklyn College, where I’m a graduate student.”
Caine delivered a dazzling smile as he extended his hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, Carol.”
We joined the three of them as they chatted about the movie that had been shown last night. Carol’s Alzheimer’s was less advanced than Umberto’s, so she tended to remember more.
She put her hand on Umberto’s arm. “The Hunt for Red October. Remember, honey? It had that Sean Connery in it.”
“Oh, yeah. Yeah.”
I was certain Umberto didn’t recollect anything about the movie.
Throughout our conversation, Caine was mostly quiet, just observing. I caught his eyes moving back and forth between Lydia’s face and where Carol’s hand touched Umberto a few times. I’d grown used to the unusual trio, but it was definitely something interesting to watch the first time. A woman who didn’t want to claw another woman’s eyes out when she caught her touching the man she loved—a man she had spent fifty-one years being faithful to. Caine was definitely watching for a reaction. But the only one he’d see from Lydia was contentment. She’d come to terms with whatever allowed her husband to feel some happiness.
Eventually, the nurse came to collect Carol for an activity. Lydia had insisted we never begin therapy while Carol was present. She didn’t want her husband to have a memory that made him reach for her and upset Carol. There was a special place in Heaven for Lydia someday.
After Umberto hugged Carol goodbye, he sat back down with us, but seemed agitated.
Lydia reached across the table and covered her husband’s hand. “Umberto, Rachel is going to play you some music. Do you remember that Rachel plays you music sometimes?”
“Oh, yeah. Yeah.”
That was Umberto’s way of saying, I have no idea, but I’m not telling you that.
She squeezed. “Rachel’s going to put some headphones on you. Okay?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
I placed a set of wireless headphones over Umberto’s ears while Lydia dug into her purse and took out a small case of earbuds she’d started to carry. It wasn’t necessary for her to listen, but she liked to keep in tune with her husband. Realizing for the first time that I hadn’t brought an extra set of wireless buds, I offered to share mine with Caine. It wasn’t necessarily a hardship having to inch up directly next to him so we could each listen through one bud.
I started the music, and Umberto immediately closed his eyes. Within seconds, the tension etched in his face seemed to flee. I glanced over at Caine, who was watching Umberto, and he nodded his head and smiled. At some point during the song, Umberto reached out and took his wife’s hand. It was such a small gesture, but those tiny moments of recognition made a world of difference to a family dealing with advanced Alzheimer’s.
We played two songs, and then I removed the headset from Umberto’s head.
“How are you feeling today, Umberto?”
“Good. Good.” I wasn’t sure if he felt any different than before, but the agitation from ten minutes earlier was gone.
Lydia tried to build on the effect of the music. “Umberto? Do you remember when Francesca used to play this song?”
“Sure.” He nodded. Then he pursed all five of his fingers together in the universal Italian grandmother hand language and said, “Belle parole non pascon I gatti.”
Lydia laughed. She looked to me. “It means Fine words don’t feed cats. My mother-in-law, Francesca, used to say it all the time. I never really understood what it meant.”
We stayed for a few hours, even breaking for lunch and then coming back afterward. But that was the extent of Umberto’s brief burst of memories that day. A second round of music in the afternoon didn’t bring back any specific recollections, but I hoped the music had something to do with the smiles everyone wore.