Carrie Martin has a wonderful life—a loving husband, a sweet daughter and a feisty mother. But suddenly her mom can’t remember little things…then big things. Now, it’s as if the mother who was once warm and outrageous has become someone she barely recognizes. Feeling lost and alone, Carrie finds comfort in her friends who surprise her by collecting photos worth remembering and mementos worth cherishing. Slowly, Carrie learns that memories are made one day at a time and that treasuring today rather than dwelling on the pain and despair of her mother’s illness is what truly matters. And that hope and lovingkindness have been there all along…

During the writing of this book, our family suffered

the loss of my mother-in-law, Lorene Goodnight.

Lorene was more than a mother-in-law. She was

the Mom I didn’t have. I loved her and she loved

me—as mother and daughter. A Christian since the

age of twelve (like Frannie), Lorene’s steadfast faith

and unconditional love taught me a great deal about

being a woman of God, lessons I’m still learning.

During the last year of her life, this precious saint

suffered with a type of dementia. So this book is

dedicated to her memory because truly, she may

have forgotten many things, but God had not

forgotten her. Her name was written in the palms

of His hands.

I would also like to acknowledge the many

Alzheimer’s bloggers, both patients and caregivers,

who gave me insight into your devastating journey.

May God be with you the way He was with Frannie.

Unforgettable
Linda Goodnight

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Surely they may forget, yet I will not forget you.

See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands.

—Isaiah 49:15–16

CONTENTS

Cover

Back Cover Text

Acknowledgements

Title Page

Bible Verse

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Dear Reader

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

BPA

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

Funny how everything could be normal one minute and utter chaos the next.

For the rest of her life, Carrie Martin would remember that bright Saturday as a perfect spring day in a perfectly happy, settled, safe life.

At ten o’clock in the morning, while on her hands and knees in the front yard transplanting iris bulbs and waiting for her daughter and husband to show up with peat moss from Clifford’s Garden Center, Carrie was jolted by the onk-onk of a car horn. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was, but she did anyway, lifting a dirty gloved hand in greeting as the gold-colored Oldsmobile sailed into the driveway with one final blast of goodwill.

Her mother, the irrepressible Francis Adler—Frannie to her friends—hopped out of the Olds and crossed the grass, her short, green-clad legs pumping with the energy of a woman half her sixty-one years.

Frannie’s enormous hat, also green, formed an ever-advancing pool of shade across the sunny lawn. Today was St. Patrick’s Day and this was Mother’s method of announcing to the world that she was Irish. Even if she hadn’t been, she would have worn the hat.

Frannie never did anything halfway.

“Good morning, Mother.” Carrie rested back on her heels with a smile.

From behind a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses, Frannie looked her daughter up and down before extracting a stick-on shamrock from the pocket of her loose cotton jacket—green, of course. “You aren’t wearing green.”

Well, Mother certainly was.

Frannie slapped the shamrock onto the pocket of Carrie’s white camp shirt.

Carrie glanced down. “I am now.”

“I saved you from being pinched,” her mother said cheerfully. “How do you like my hat?” A pudgy, beringed hand patted the wide brim.

“Very Irish.” Like a plump leprechaun. Any minute now Carrie expected her to leap into the air and click her heels. She would do it, too, if the notion struck. As with holidays, Mother never missed an opportunity to have what she termed as fun. Carrie termed it embarrassing.

Take for instance, last year’s Gusher Day festivities, their small town’s celebration of its oil boom heritage. Mother and her Red Hat Society compatriots, a group of over-fifty ladies with a zest for life, marched in the parade tossing bright red wax lips into the crowd while belting, “Oh What a Beautiful Morning” in a slightly off-key, wobbly-voiced style.

Carrie, watching from the church craft booth, had inwardly cringed at Mother’s outrageous display. How could a Christian woman be so…boisterous? A better question, perhaps, was how had Francis Adler given birth and parented a daughter who was her total opposite?

Candace Ellis, the pastor’s unassuming wife had surprised everyone in the booth by saying, “As soon as I’m old enough, I’m going to join, too. Those ladies have a blast.”

Carrie had managed a tight-lipped smile. Not me, she thought. I wouldn’t be caught dead prancing in front of everyone in the Red Hat brigade.

She loved her mother, truly, but sometimes she wished her only parent was a little more low-key.

“So, where are you headed this morning, Mother?” Using the edge of her glove—the only clean spot—to brush hair out of her eyes, Carrie continued to trowel around another overgrown iris. “Or did you come by to help me separate these bulbs?”

“Oh, honey, why don’t you let them grow? Your yard would be beautiful filled with all the different-colored irises. Like a rainbow of flowers.”

“My yard is beautiful,” she answered a little stiffly. “Everyone admires the way my flowers border the walkways and line the drive in tidy rows.”

She lifted out a tangle of moist, earthy-scented soil and bulbs.

That was the thing about irises. If she wasn’t right on them in the spring, rooting them out, they took over. The blessing of course came in giving them away. What she viewed as pests, her friends considered coveted additions to their gardens. Carrie loved her gardens, but she loved them neat and orderly, although she had to admit a certain envy of Mother’s carefree attitude about her plants.

She added the uprooted bulbs to the bucket at her knee. Clods of dirt pattered like rain against the thick plastic.

“I think I’ll take these over to Sara Perneky.” The younger woman had raved about Carrie’s garden last spring.

“Wonderful idea.” Mother crouched down beside her to peer into the bucket. A fog of Avon cologne mingled with the scent of fresh, fertile earth. “After that nasty divorce, Sara could use a bright spot in her life. Poor girl. Don’t let any of these go to waste now. I know half a dozen ladies who would love a start, including me.”

“Mother, for goodness’ sake. Your garden is overrun now.” To Carrie’s way of thinking, Mother’s garden wasn’t a garden. It was a jungle.

“The more the merrier, I always say. Let ’em bloom.”

“A perfect nesting place for snakes.”

“That could have happened anywhere,” Mother said. “Besides, that little critter added a spark to the day. Lots of excitement when a snake comes a-calling.”

Dan, Carrie’s husband, had been called upon last fall to kill a copperhead found slithering from beneath the jungle of lilac and japonica and honeysuckle vines growing over the concrete top of Mother’s cellar. They’d all breathed a sigh of relief afterward when Frannie got out her giant hedge clippers and whacked away the worst of the bushes.

“I wonder where Dan and Lexi are?” Carrie said, shading her eyes to peer down the street. “I thought they’d be back by now.”

“Well, fiddle. Lexi’s not here?” Frannie adjusted her sunglasses. “I came by to see if she wanted to ride with me to the airport.”

Carrie froze. “The airport?”

Riverbend boasted a small airport for private planes. Mostly oilmen flew in and out of there, but occasionally someone gave flying lessons.

“You aren’t taking flying lessons, are you?” Frannie had threatened to do just that for years, but money was always an issue. Carrie thanked the good Lord it was. The thought of her mother barnstorming in a single-engine plane gave her hives. She could almost imagine Frannie decked out in Amelia Earhart helmet and goggles taking on a crop dusting job for the express purpose of swooping down to scare her daughter into apoplexy.

Frannie flapped a hand. “Mercy, no. Too expensive.”

Fingers gripping the top of the bucket, Carrie didn’t realize she was holding her breath until it seeped out in a whistle. “Then whatever for?”

“Skydiving.”

Carrie held up a stiff hand, stop sign style. “You aren’t going skydiving, Mother. You aren’t.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Carrie. The skydiving club is doing a jump today. I’m only going out to watch.” A sneaky little grin teased the corners of her vermilion lips. “This time.”

Frannie had been threatening to jump out of an airplane as long as Carrie could remember. The idea struck sheer terror in her height-phobic daughter. “Thank the Lord.”

Mother checked her watch. “Gotta run. I told Alice I’d stop to pick her up on the way.” Alice Sherman was Mother’s best friend.

“Are you coming by later?”

“Probably not, honey. I have bowling tonight.”

Carrie lifted an eyebrow. “With Ken?”

She liked teasing her mother about the rugged farmer. The pair had been friends long before Ken’s wife died, but now Carrie suspected a romance. Except for the fact that Ken had taught Frannie to drive a tractor and ride a horse, both a little silly for someone of her age, Carrie was glad. Mother had been alone for most of her life.

Fran flapped a hand and laughed, her cheeks shining pink as she headed toward the gold Olds, or as Lexi called it, The Tanker. “Tell Lexi she missed out.”

“Are you still coming for dinner tomorrow after church?”

Her mother stopped, turned and whipped off her aviator sunglasses. “I’d forgotten all about it.”

Carrie squelched a twinge of irritation that she was low man on Mother’s totem pole. “Are you coming? I’m baking a red velvet cake.”

“Wouldn’t miss it, then.” She shoved the sunglasses back in place. “And honey, why don’t you take those extra bulbs over to Sara Perneky? She could use some good cheer.”

Before Carrie could remind her mother that they’d already discussed doing exactly that, Frannie had slammed the car door and cranked the engine.

As the Olds roared away, Mother gave two final blasts of the horn.

Carrie waved, shaking her head. Mother was…well, Mother.

* * *

By the time Dan and Lexi returned with the peat moss along with a bag of burgers from Whopper World and a few other items Carrie didn’t remember needing, Carrie had gone inside for a break.

“Saw your mom at Wal-Mart.” Dan bent to kiss her cheek.

“That’s funny. Mother stopped by more than an hour ago and didn’t say a word about seeing you.” Carrie dipped to the side so as not to streak Dan’s green Henley with dirt and shoved her hands under the kitchen faucets. Her back ached a little from muscles atrophied by winter. “She wanted Lexi to go with her.”

“Where?” Lexi asked, though she continued rummaging through a Wal-Mart bag.

“The airport to watch skydiving.” Carrie rinsed her hands and reached toward the paper towel holder. “I didn’t know you were going to Wal-Mart.”

No wonder they’d been gone so long.

“Lexi needed some new earrings.”

“Oh right. Like my mother needs another hat.”

“I didn’t have any blue ones.” Lexi tilted her head to display a series of neon-colored hoops dangling below two gleaming studs. “Do you like them, Mom?”

They were hideous. Three holes in one ear. Good grief. “Great for spring.”

“You hate them.”

Carrie patted her daughter’s silky brown hair. At fifteen and all legs, Lexi was growing into a beauty with tastes of her own. She was a great kid. The only kid. Though Carrie and Dan had prayed for more, these prayers had gone unanswered. “If you like them, that’s all that matters.”

“I told Dad you’d say that.” Her daughter didn’t seem the least offended. Their tastes had never run along the same lines and lately the gulf had widened. Where Carrie preferred subtle and classic, Lexi gravitated toward bold colors and the hottest trends.

“Come on.” Lexi settled at the bar. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

Dan pulled a face. “This is after two doughnuts.”

Even with starbursts bracketing his eyes from years of working out in the sun, Dan Martin was a handsome man, fit and trim with hair as dark as ever. His worst flaw was that he didn’t attend church and in a small town like Riverbend, church membership was socially important. Though Dan claimed to be a believer, he also claimed to spend more time with God in the great outdoors than most people did in church. Carrie wasn’t much on the long-winded preaching, but she’d made plenty of friends and hopefully some brownie points with God by working in the nursery every single service for the past ten years.

“You stopped at the bakery, too?” Paper rustled as she took a fragrant burger from a sack and straddled a bar stool. “I’m starting to feel left out.”

Dan shot her a wink. “Brought you a surprise.”

Dan’s bakery surprise was always the same. “If it’s a chocolate éclair, you’ll be forgiven, although I may change my mind when I go shopping for an Easter dress.”

“You look good to me.”

Mouth full of burger and heart full of pleasure, Carrie was laughing with her lips closed when the telephone rang. Lexi exploded off the bar. “I got it.”

In seconds she was back, holding the cordless receiver toward her mother. “For you.”

At Carrie’s questioning look, she shrugged and mouthed, “I don’t know,” then poked another ketchup-laden French fry into her mouth.

Carrie quickly swallowed and put her sandwich down. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Martin?”

“Yes, who’s this?”

“Officer Shane Wallace with the Riverbend police department.”

Carrie’s nerves tensed. The bar’s granite felt cold against her elbow. “Hello, Shane. Is something wrong?”

Shane’s family attended her church. One of the perks of small town living was being acquainted with at least one person in every sector of business and government.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m afraid there is. I’m here with Mrs. Adler, your mother. I thought I should call you first.”

Carrie blinked. First? Before what?

Her hand tightened on the receiver. She looked at Dan, who had lowered his hamburger and now watched her with curiosity.

“Has she had an accident?”

“No, ma’am.” My, he was formal today. “At least, none that we can ascertain. You see, I found her sitting in her car on the shoulder of Highway 56. When I stopped to assist she didn’t recognize me.”

“Oh, well, that’s understandable. You look so grown-up in your uniform.”

“You don’t understand. Mrs. Adler seems confused. She didn’t know where she was, how she got here or where she was going.”

Carrie brushed a stray hair out of her eyes. Her shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit. “Are you sure Mother isn’t teasing you, Shane? You know how she loves to joke around.”

“I don’t think so, Mrs. Martin. Your mom seems pretty scared.”

Mother? Scared? Impossible. Mother was fearless. Nothing scared her. She’d raised two children single-handedly on a pauper’s wages. Two years ago she’d trekked the jungles of Honduras to take supplies and Bibles to a group of native churches. Mother had never expressed fear about anything. Ever.

“But she was here only a while ago and everything was fine. I just don’t understand…”

“Mrs. Martin,” the young officer’s voice intruded, this time with a respectful firmness. “I really think you should come.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, the call was too real. Something was wrong. “Okay. Yes. Of course I will. Tell me what to do.”

Carrie took note of Shane’s instructions and then replaced the receiver. She felt numb. Not scared. Numb.

“Carrie?” Dan had appeared from somewhere to touch her arm. “Who was that, honey? You’re as pale as paper.”

“We have to go. Let me get my purse. Something’s happened to Mother.” Her fingers clawed into Dan’s forearm. “Oh, Dan, I’m afraid Mother’s had a stroke.”

CHAPTER TWO

“It’s probably one of those mini strokes,” Carrie said for the tenth time. She sat in the waiting room outside the Emergency Room, shivering from nerves and the overhead air-conditioning vent. Her fingers twisted the handle of her purse into a knot. “I’ve heard of those. A person has a tiny lapse in memory. It’s not all that uncommon or even serious. Mother will be fine. I’m sure.”

Dan, his wide shoulders uncomfortably crammed onto a too-small swoop of green plastic the hospital considered seating, patted her knee. From the time they’d arrived, she’d prattled on like a magpie. He was probably sick of listening, but she couldn’t help it. Nothing could be wrong with Mother. She was invincible.

Carrie pulled air into her lungs, the clean, antiseptic smell reassuring in some bizarre way. Cleanliness was next to godliness. If she was clean, she was godly and nothing bad could happen.

Tempted to laugh aloud at the race of silly thoughts, Carrie wondered if she was getting hysterical. Heaven forbid.

“The doctor will write her one of those new prescriptions for cholesterol or blood thinners or whatever they are,” she went on, unable to stop the flow of words. “You see them advertised on TV all the time. A prescription and she’ll be fine.”

“We don’t even know if it is a stroke yet, Carrie.” Dan reminded her, his tone gentle. Maybe too gentle. It made her even more nervous. Her throat went as dry as a saltine.

“Of course it’s a stroke. What else could cause her to forget where she was?”

Shane, the police officer who’d called, had stayed around only long enough to be respectful and then he’d left. Business at the small town E.R. was surprisingly fast paced. Carrie couldn’t remember the last time she’d been here. Maybe when Lexi wrecked her bike and needed stitches, but that had been five years ago.

Times changed.

The thought frightened her. If times changed, people changed. They got sick. They died. She closed her eyes momentarily against the inevitable decline of human beings. Morbid thoughts. An overreaction, surely, to being in an emergency room. She hated hospitals.

Two nurses swished by in a rush, stethoscopes swaying. Croc shoes instead of white orthopedics squished softly on white tile that had been polished to a mirror finish. The intercom beeped for some doctor she’d never heard of. When had Riverbend grown large enough for strange doctors?

She angled toward her husband, deeply relieved that he’d come with her. “Do you think we should call Lexi?”

Dan swiveled his head in her direction, his eyes as calm and gray-blue as Lake Placid. “And tell her what?”

That was Dan. Solid. Quiet. Irritatingly calm. He hadn’t even gotten excited the day a tornado ripped the roof off their storage building.

“I don’t know. She must be worried.”

Though fifteen and well able to remain home alone, as the only grandchild living in the same state, Lexi was very close to her beloved “Grannie Frannie” and would be waiting by the telephone.

Without further comment, Dan took their shared cell phone from her purse and punched in numbers. They’d never seen any reason to own two. It seemed extravagant, as did the notion of using a cell phone to take camera photos or for text messaging. She’d learned from Frannie the importance of frugality, though as a teenager she had been humiliated by their tiny family’s poverty.

The three of them, including her younger brother, Robby, had struggled by on the minimum wages paid to a widow without a high school diploma. A few times, when things had gotten particularly difficult, Carrie suspected Mother had taken public assistance in order to provide for them, though she’d never admitted as much to her children. Carrie was humiliated just thinking about it, and had vowed never to let that happen to her.

The tightness in Carrie’s chest increased. Mother’s life had not been easy.

Dear God, let her be all right. Like all her thoughts today, the prayer was half-baked. If you’ll let her be all right, I promise to work harder at getting Dan into church. I promise—

An exam door opened. “Mr. and Mrs. Martin?” A smiling nurse looked in their direction and motioned them inside. “You can come in now. The doctor will be with you as soon as he can.”

Dan poked one thick finger at the phone, discontinuing the call to Lexi. “I’ll call her after we see Fran.”

Clutching her purse against her waist, Carrie jerked upright. With dismay, she realized she still wore the white camp blouse, complete with peeling shamrock and smudges of dirt. The knees of her old cotton gardening slacks were grass stained. Fervently, she hoped no one from work or church saw her here.

Dan touched her elbow. “Carrie?”

She nodded, swallowing. “She must be fine. The nurse is smiling.”

With Dan at her side, she rushed into the exam room. Frannie sat on the side of a paper-covered table humming, high-heeled feet swinging as if she had not a care in the world.

Carrie stopped short. “Mother, are you all right? What in the world happened? You scared us half to death. Shane said you were confused, didn’t know where you were or how you got there.”

Her mother stopped humming. Head tilted to one side, a tiny frown puckered between well-penciled eyebrows, she asked, “Shane? Was that who that was? Shane Wallace? I thought he looked familiar but I couldn’t place him. Such a nice young man.”

“You’ve known Shane since he was born, Mother.”

“Hand me my hat. I feel naked.” Frannie’s green, broad-brimmed hat occupied the only chair in the room. Carrie took up the monstrosity and handed it over. “I had a senior moment, that’s all. I’m fine and dandy now.” She perched the wide felt atop her fluffed hair and gave it a pat for emphasis. “Let’s go home.”

“Not until we talk to the doctor.”

“I talked to him. No need for you to bother.” Frannie hopped down from the table and glanced at her watch. “Fiddle. I’ve missed the skydiving. Alice will be disappointed. She’s sweet on Rick Chambers, you know, and he looks really cute in his jumpsuit.” She pumped her eyebrows up and down.

“Mother, for goodness’ sake. Something happened to you today and we are not going to sweep it under the rug.” But as she spoke, her anxiety eased toward relief. Maybe nothing had happened. Maybe the episode really was just a senior moment. Sometimes she jumped to conclusions. She had a tendency to expect the worst because she’d learned the hard way that life usually handed out lemons and no one she knew had a lemonade stand. “Tell me what the doctor said?”

“He said I’m a hoot and he liked my hat. I gave him a shamrock. All that white-coat business hurt my eyes.”

“Mother! I am not leaving here until I talk to him.” Carrie spun toward the door, willing and able to block the entrance if her mother tried to leave before that doctor arrived. “Where is he anyway?”

“Carrie.” Dan’s voice held a note of warning. He was always like that, reminding his impatient wife to wait and see. Sometimes, like today, his accepting attitude was downright annoying.

A rebuke boiled up on her tongue but died away when the physician, looking young enough to be in high school, sailed into the room. In a crisp white lab coat and a blue tie, he carried a large brown envelope tucked beneath one arm. Frannie’s shamrock was squarely in place over his heart.

“Where’s Dr. Morrison?” Carrie asked, caught off guard and not at all comfortable with a green-behind-the-ears college boy. Dr. Morrison had cared for her family for fifteen years. He knew Frannie and all her idiosyncrasies. He would know if something was seriously wrong.

“Taking some time off. I’m Dr. Wilson.” He extended his hand, first to her and then to Dan. “And yes, I graduated from medical school. I’m not as young as I look.”

Mollified but a bit embarrassed, Carrie nodded stiffly.

“What’s wrong with my mother? Did she have a stroke?” Her stomach rumbled in memory of the half-eaten hamburger. Carrie pressed a hand to her midsection.

Dr. Wilson hitched the leg of his expertly creased slacks and perched on the edge of the gurney. The doctor gazed at Frannie standing next to him like a chubby green bird about to take flight. She winked at him. He smiled and turned his attention to Carrie. “I’ve already discussed my concerns with Ms. Adler—”

“Mother, why didn’t you just tell us?”

“Tell you what, honey?”

With a heavy, exasperated sigh to let Fran know she was annoyed, Carrie looked to the doctor for clarity. “What is it, Doctor?”

“I want to run some further tests and consult with a neurologist.”

Prickles rose on the back of Carrie’s neck. “A neurologist? For what?”

Frannie answered for him. “Alzheimer’s, honey. The doctor thinks I’m losing my mind.”

* * *

Three weeks and many clinic visits later Fran sat across the desk from a neurologist who looked as if he’d flavored his coffee with pickle juice.

Carrie sat next to her, face stony and pale as the doctor confirmed the diagnosis. She’d known he would. That’s why she hadn’t wanted Carrie to come, but here she was, shaking like a leaf and looking the way she had when she was ten and ate too many green blackberries. Sick and hollow-eyed.

Fran understood the feeling. She was feeling a little sick herself. Jittery, too. No one wanted to be told that she would eventually disappear into a fog and break her family’s hearts.

“Isn’t there a medicine for it?” Carrie’s fingers trembled as she pushed her hair behind one ear.

Of all the things Fran had dreaded about today, this was the worst, to know her family would suffer because of her, and there was so little she could do about it.

Dr. Pickle Juice made a few more comments, then excused himself and left. A nurse came in, smiling more than the doctor, and handed them both a card about the Alzheimer’s Association. Frannie gave her a Jesus Loves You smiley sticker, and slid the card into her I Love NY purse. She’d never been to New York, but she’d always wanted to go. Maybe she would do that now. Someday was no longer an option.

“I don’t know what to do,” Carrie said when they were alone.

Fran placed a hand on her daughter’s arm. “We do what we’ve always done. We put it in the Lord’s hands and trust Him.”

The look Carrie gave her said she didn’t buy that answer in the least.

* * *

The ugly diagnosis haunted Carrie day and night. She could think of little else. Mother’s casual attitude didn’t help, either. Carrie wondered if denial, nonchalance and a foolish determination to put a happy face on a devastating diagnosis were symptoms of the disease. An hour after they’d arrived home from the clinic Mother changed into a rhinestone cowboy hat and red boots and went to her weekly guitar lesson. How foolish was that?

Robby, Carrie’s brother, was no help. Though concerned, he lived in Michigan and couldn’t grasp the seriousness of the situation. He’d said Mom sounded fine to him when they’d spoken on the phone. She knew how he felt. Denial was easier than reality.

“Until now, I never even realized anything was wrong,” Carrie told Dan one night as they sat on the patio staring up at an April moon. The evening air was chilly so they huddled under a fleece throw. Instead of the usual romantic snuggle, the air hung heavy with Carrie’s worry. “She’s always been outrageous and silly. Who would notice if she forgot an appointment or repeated herself? I forgot to call the insurance company about that wind damage to the roof and there’s nothing wrong with me.”

She said the last as if it worried her, because it did.

“Everyone forgets things,” Dan agreed, his thick, calloused fingertips making lazy circles on her shoulder.

“The neurologist says she may not get bad for a long time. No one can really predict. In fact, he can’t even be one hundred percent sure she has Alzheimer’s disease. Mother keeps saying she’s fine, that she and God will beat this thing.”

“Your mom is a strong woman.”

Carrie made a little noise in the back of her throat. “You can say that again. No one ties down the irrepressible Frannie.”

No person could, but this ugly disease with a German name eventually would. Bile rose in the back of Carrie’s throat, as bitter as the feeling in her soul.

“I don’t understand God,” she muttered, gazing up at the marbled-cheese moon. She had grown up without a father, and now she was going to lose her mother in the most heinous manner. Where was God in any of that? “Old lady Smith across the street is a mean, bitter old hag who never contributes to anything and wouldn’t call 9-1-1 if you died in her living room. But she’s still sharp as a tack and making everyone miserable while a vibrant, giving woman like Mother is struck down in her prime. If there was any justice, Ms. Smith would get Alzheimer’s. Not Mother.”

Dan squeezed the side of her neck but said nothing. That was Dan. Sometimes she longed for him to hash things out with her, to argue or debate or just talk something into the ground, but he never did. No matter how big the problem, Dan kept his thoughts to himself. It was a wonder the man didn’t explode. She would have.

Especially now when she was angry and confused and depressed.

Mother’s life had never been easy. Only in the last few years had everything settled into a pleasant rhythm. Mother loved her job as church secretary. Her house, though only a small frame structure with two bedrooms, was paid for and she’d been saving money for another missions adventure, as she called them. This time to help with a Bible camp for orphans.

Yes, after all Mother had done for the Lord, Alzheimer’s disease was a lousy method of repayment.

CHAPTER THREE

Ken Markovich’s farm smelled like fresh-mowed grass with just the hint of the red, muddy river which gave Riverbend its name. Bottomland, people around here called the area. Rich, fertile farmland that would grow about anything. Fran loved coming out here where the birds pecked at plowed ground, and it wasn’t unusual to see a red fox chasing mice across the fields. Once she’d lain on her belly in the grass and watched a mama coyote teach her young to catch grasshoppers. It was the cutest thing.

“You’re quiet today.” Ken walked beside her toward the horse corral. He didn’t have a lot of animals, but he loved buckskin horses and kept several to ride for enjoyment and in parades. He looked so handsome decked out in cowboy hat and chaps riding astride a big, muscled gelding. “Anything wrong?”

The feeling of dread that had hovered over her all day settled low in her belly.

“I’ve been praying about something.” As hard as this was, she had to tell him. He deserved to know. She’d barely slept last night, praying and thinking and trying to decide the best way to break the news.

“Need any help?” The question was one of the many things she loved about Ken. They shared a common dependence on the Lord. For both of them, God was a friend as well as their Lord and Savior. Talking to Him was as natural as breathing.

“I need to tell you something. Something important.”

She followed him through the gate, thinking what a good man he was. He wasn’t hard to look at, either. His hair had gone white a long time ago along with his mustache, but his eyebrows and lashes were a gorgeous contrast in black.

“I’m listening.”

A mare plodded forward to greet them. Ken crooked an arm over her back and leaned on the shiny coat. Frannie rubbed the soft muzzle, felt the moist breath from the mare’s velvety nostrils against her skin.

Every sensation seemed more precious now that she knew she’d someday forget the simple pleasures.

“I’ve been seeing a doctor.”

Ken straightened, his arm dropping to his side. She could see the wheels turning, could almost smell his anxiety. “Is it—”

She shook her head. “Not cancer.”

A visible quiver of relief ran through him. “Thank the Lord Jesus.”

“Yes. I’m grateful for that, too, but the news is not very good.” She swallowed, nervous again, her stomach pitching like sea waves. She’d meant to say something funny and make him laugh first, but nothing came to mind. “Remember those times I’ve had difficulty talking? And that night at clogging when I got upset because I’d lost my purse but it was right where I’d left it?”

“I remember.” His curious concern was edged with wariness. “What’s going on, Fran?”

“I have early-onset Alzheimer’s, the forgetting disease.”

Shock registered on his face. Shock and fear.

A tractor rumbled and rattled in a distant field, stirring up a cloud of dust. A horsefly buzzed the mare. She stomped her foot and the fly buzzed off. Frannie wanted to do the same. Stomp her foot and shoo away the truth.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Not a thing except be my friend.” She’d settle for friendship now, though they’d been more for a long time.

Ken nodded, looking as if the mare had kicked him in the gut. She knew the feeling.

“Get that sad look off your face, Ken Markovich.” She swatted his arm, playfully, and forced cheer into her words. “I’ve always been a little crazy, so what’s the big deal, right?”

He managed a sickly smile. “Right.”

A pulse quivered in her throat, making her breathless. He was upset, as she’d known he would be, but she also felt him pulling back, retreating from her, as though she’d announced a case of leprosy. The notion ached inside her.

She straightened her hat, a wide-brimmed bonnet in turquoise with peacock feathers arching from the back. “I’ll need your prayers, you know.”

“Sure, sure. You got ’em.” He shifted uncomfortably. “This is a hard thing, Frannie. I’m sorry. You’re too good for this.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know what to say.”

Nor did she.

The two of them had never been at a loss for words, but now they stood with the painful news throbbing between, both lost in thought, and neither able to say what the other needed to hear. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from Ken, but she had no words of reassurance and neither did he.

Frannie waved away an imaginary gnat, sick at heart. Sick in mind. “Well, I guess I should go. Lexi has a ball game tonight.”

Ken scratched at his mustache. “Can’t miss that.”

“You coming?”

“This time of year is really busy, the hay and all.” His eyes slid away from hers. “You know how it is.”

A beat passed while Fran studied his beloved burnished face. He was afraid. So was she. Maybe he just needed time to think, to process the news.

Lord, losing my mind is hard. Don’t let me lose my friends, too.

“Yes,” she said finally. “I know how it is.”

Heart heavy, Fran walked away.

* * *

Hands deep in suds, squeezing Woolite in and out of her favorite sweaters, Carrie heard a car pull up. Wednesday was her day off from the library, and she’d determined to get all her winter things cleaned and organized into clear storage boxes today. Using her shoulder to scratch the inevitable nose itch, she stuck her head between the snow-white Cape Cod swags.

Frannie popped out of The Tanker and slammed the door, the metallic echo coming right through the walls. Dressed in snug blue capris that turned her hips to anvils and a bluer baseball cap, her short legs pumped across Dan’s manicured lawn like squatty pistons.

As happened every time she saw her mother since that awful day at the neurologist’s office, Carrie’s stomach nose-dived. The more she tried not to consider what was to come, the worse her imaginings.

Mother tried to put on a happy face and pretend all was well, an obvious act that angered Carrie. Not that she was angry with her mother, but she was most definitely angry.

She squinted into the sunlight. What was Mother carrying? Papers?

The question was answered before she could rinse her hands and reach for a paper towel. Frannie breezed in and slapped a thick stack of eight and a half-by-fourteen documents onto the granite bar. Legal documents.

“All done,” she announced, jaw unusually set in a face normally as mobile as a child’s.

Carrie crossed the kitchen and rounded the bar to peer over her mother’s shoulder. “What is all this?”

“My house is officially in order,” she said, as matter-of-fact as if announcing she’d bought a bunch of broccoli for dinner. “Power of attorney goes to you, of course. Robby lives too far away. Everything is done so you won’t have to make the decisions—right down to my funeral. I want a trumpet to play ‘When the Saints Go Marching In,’ lots of laughs and hallelujahs, a real joy-of-the-Lord send-off. None of that whining, snot-slinging business.”

“Mother, what are you talking about?” She would love to have blamed the onset of dementia for her mother’s chatter, but Fran Adler had been this way as long as Carrie could remember.

“While I still have my senses about me, I want to make the decisions. So I did. The papers are here. Put them up somewhere until you need them. You’ll know when. The copies are in my safe-deposit box, which is now in your name as well as mine, along with my house, car, and the little dab of money stuck away in savings.”

“Oh.” The cold chill of reality seeped deep into Carrie’s bones as she flipped through the stack of papers. Mother had left no stone unturned, including a do-not-resuscitate order. Carrie jerked her hand away from that one. “You didn’t need to do this yet, Mother. For goodness’ sake! You’re still in command of your faculties.”

“For the most part, yes, but I’m slipping.”

“You are not. Stop talking about it.” Carrie whirled away from the bar and started opening and shutting cabinet doors with more force than necessary. Throat tight and thick, she fought down the fury that hovered on the edge of her emotions all the time lately. This whole Alzheimer’s thing was wrong. Unfair.

Life stunk. No matter how hard a person worked and tried, there was always something lurking around the corner to knock the wind out of you.

Reaching inside a cabinet, she yanked at a Tupperware bowl. A flood of plastic lids tumbled out, splatting all over the floor and counter and even into the sink where one floated atop her pink silk twin set.

“Carrie Ann, listen to me, honey.” Mother’s voice came from behind. “Quit flitting around the kitchen like a housefly afraid of getting swatted. I’m trying to be sensible while I can. Neither of us can escape the truth.”

Carrie gripped the countertop with both hands and stared at the diamond pattern of the tiled backsplash. The grout needed cleaning. She bent to the cabinet below and reached for the Tilex. “We don’t have to talk about it all the time.”

Mother’s hands, strong from a lifetime of busyness, gripped her shoulders and forced her up. “Your grout is fine, Carrie Ann, as spotless as everything in your life except me. And Tilex will not fix what’s happening in my brain. Sit down. Every time I try to bring up the subject, you start cleaning something. Today we’re talking. No cleaning. Do you have any Mountain Dew?”

“No.” Carrie slumped into one of the Queen Anne side chairs.

“No Mountain Dew?” Mother huffed as if insulted. “Iced tea then.”

She retrieved the filled pitcher Carrie kept available in case of company, poured two glasses, plunked them down and then sat, too.

“I’ve known something was wrong for a long time,” Mother said without preamble. “Now the problem has a name. We can plan for it and deal with it.”

Carrie stared into the amber-colored tea and absently slid a finger and thumb up and down the damp glass. She didn’t want to hear this, but she was too old to run away and hide in the back of the closet to avoid facing unpleasantness. Hiding hadn’t worked for her at ten, and it wouldn’t work at forty-two.

“You never said a word.”

“What could I say? I hoped I was experiencing normal forgetfulness. Where were my keys, my reading glasses, that kind of thing. Then I started getting confused at work, mixing up files and phone numbers. One day I was talking on the telephone and got so confused, I hung up. I knew what I wanted to say but the words wouldn’t come out right.”

“I didn’t know,” Carrie said past the ache in her throat. Her mother had been in trouble and she hadn’t even noticed. “I thought you were being your usual goofy yourself.”

Frannie’s eyes widened in mirth. “It helps being crazy in advance.”

“Don’t, Mother. Please don’t.”

Fannie patted the back of her hand. “Okay, if it makes you feel better. Laughter’s good medicine, though. That’s Bible. Wise old King Solomon himself said that. Anyway, back to this forgetting thing. I thought I was overdoing, tired, whatever, so I tried getting more sleep, taking vitamins. I even started taking cod-liver oil because it’s supposed to be brain food. Can you imagine?”

Carrie squinched her eyes and shuddered. “Yuck.”

“Yuck is right, and the nasty stuff didn’t do anything but make the cat want to lick my face.” Frannie grinned, but the emotion didn’t reach her eyes. Her lipstick had faded with the day, leaving the rim of red liner.

Carrie had a horrible thought that her mother would be like this. All the color and vibrance fading away with only the outer shadow left behind.

She took a sip of the cold drink in an effort to wash down the dark taste of sorrow. Mother may be putting on a happy face but Carrie couldn’t.

The ice maker rumbled and the clock on the stove ticked once. Her mother took a deep breath, held it, held it, held it and then slowly exhaled.

“I was in the hardware store yesterday and not only forgot why I was there but what kind of store it was. I kept looking around at tools and light fixtures and wondering if someone was having a garage sale.” She made a self-deprecating sound through her nose. “Isn’t that silly? It’s like this cloud comes over my brain, then after a while moves on, letting the sun back in. It’s the weirdest feeling.” Her voice dwindled to a stop like a car slowly running out of gas.

“Oh, Mother.” Carrie leaned her forehead onto the heel of her hand. Why God? Why are You doing this?

Frannie sipped at her tea and grimaced. “Unsweetened. You should have warned me.” She plunked the glass down and swiped at the condensation ring on the table. “You know what I discovered in my cupboards last night?”

Carrie shook her head. “I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Twenty-two cans of chicken noodle soup.” Frannie slapped her thigh and cackled. “What do you think? Maybe I was expecting a flu epidemic?”

How could Mother laugh when Carrie wanted to run screaming from the kitchen. “How did that happen?”

“I don’t know. Well, I do, actually. When I would go shopping, I’d wonder if I was out of soup, but I wasn’t sure so I bought more. Guess what else I stocked up on?”

“Do I dare ask?”

“Eight bottles of ketchup, nine giant jars of dill pickles and—get this—sixteen cans of creamed corn.”

“You don’t even like creamed corn.”

“No, but Lexi does. That child can eat creamed corn like most kids eat peanut butter and jelly. I guess I didn’t want to disappoint her by running out.”

“Oh, Mother,” Carrie said again, voice as heavy as her heart.

“I know, honey,” Frannie said, patting her shoulder. “At least I know today. I may forget in ten minutes but I know right now. Someday I’ll be able to hide my own Easter eggs.”

“Stop it! Stop joking about this. There is nothing funny about Alzheimer’s disease.”

Expression mild, Frannie answered, “No, there isn’t, but this is my new reality. I can face it with a smile or a frown, but I have to face it. The Lord has always taken care of us, Carrie. We have to trust that He’s in this, too.”

Yeah, well, if He was in this thing, Carrie would like to know where. How could Mother go on blithely trusting a God who was letting her down in the worst possible way? If He cared at all, He could stop this awful thing from happening to a woman who had served Him all the days of her life. If He cared.

Carrie shoved away from the table and stalked to the kitchen sink to yank the drain plug.

Frannie followed her, heeled slides tip-tapping on the tile. “I told Dr. Morrison to put me on the list for trials and drugs tests and anything experimental.”

“Oh, like that’s going to cheer me up.”

Swishing the pink sweaters up and down while running a blast of cold rinse water, Carrie had a vision of her mother with probes and electrodes poking from her head like Frankenstein. Knowing Frannie, she’d probably wear the conglomeration like a hat and march down the street in the Independence Day Parade.

“If I have to have this silly forgetting disease, I want somebody to get some good out of it. If not me, someone else. God can take this bad thing and bring something good from it the way He always does. Besides, I like the idea of being a pioneer,” she said, cheerfully. “Just think, Carrie, if they could find a cure through me. Wouldn’t that be magnificent?”

Magnificent would be if Mother didn’t have this disease in the first place.

“Would you hand me that towel over there?” And stop talking about this. “I want to get these sweaters laid out to dry before Lexi comes home from school.”

The front door banged opened. “Mom!”

“Too late.” Frannie smiled, handing over the thick, terry towel. “Our girl is home.” Cupping her hands around her mouth like parentheses, she called, “In here, rosebud.”

Dropping books and a one-strap backpack as she came, Lexi rounded the bar. “Hi, Grannie Frannie.”

Frannie produced a cheek for smooching, and Carrie did the same. Lexi looped her arms around Carrie’s shoulders for a hug, her slim-as-a-rail body pressed into her mother’s back. She smelled of Sea Island Cotton by Bath & Body Works along with freshly applied strawberry lip gloss and that special scent found only in public schools. Her sleek brown hair, lightened like a halo around her angelic face, brushed softly against Carrie’s cheek.

For the first time all afternoon, Carrie’s mood lifted. Dear Lord, she loved this child. While other mothers bemoaned their teenagers, Carrie felt almost smug about her close-to-perfect daughter. She was good at mothering, a fact that still caused a yearning for the children she’d never had.

“Do you have softball practice today?” Frannie asked.

Lexi smooched Carrie’s cheek again and straightened. “Yes. Want to take me out for pizza first?”

Mother’s baseball cap bobbed. “Sounds like fun.”

Carrie tensed. Given this afternoon’s talk, the idea of her mother venturing off with her only child was not welcome. Yes, they’d run around together for years like two best friends, but things were different now.

Lexi opened the fridge, took out a carrot and crunched. “Is it okay if we pick up Courtney?”

“You bet. Tell her to bring that bong-bong CD.”

Carrie turned from the sink, hands dripping. “Bong-bong?”

Lexi’s shoulders hunched into giggle. “That’s what Grannie Frannie calls hip-hop.”

“Ah.”

“Go change clothes and get your gear.” Mother’s hands made a shooing motion. “I’m raring to go.”

“You’re the best granny ever.” After a final, quick hug, Lexi started out of the kitchen, half-eaten carrot in hand. “Wait’ll you see my new batting gloves, Grannie Frannie. They’re so cool. Hot pink and purple. Courtney has the same ones.”

Carrie waited until Lexi was out of hearing range. “I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”

Mother, still smiling in Lexi’s direction, slowly turned to face Carrie. “Why not?”

Carrie clutched the wet towel in her hands like a life preserver. “Did the doctor say you could continue to drive?”

“Of course. He said I’d know when to stop.”

That wasn’t too reassuring. “What if you have another lapse?”

Mother’s smile dwindled away. “Carrie, I’ve driven all over the county since the diagnosis. No problems at all. Besides, Lexi will be with me.”

That’s what worried her. She bit her bottom lip in an effort to keep her mouth shut.

But Mother knew her too well. “I’d never do anything to endanger our girl.”

“Not intentionally.”

“All right, I hear that tone of voice. You don’t want her to ride with me, do you?”

Feeling small, Carrie nodded. “I’m sorry, Mother. I’d rather she didn’t.”

She should have expected the hurt on her mother’s face, but the look of betrayal hit her hard.

Frannie’s mouth sagged, then tightened with decision. “I’ll go talk to her.”

As she watched her mother leave the kitchen with less than the usual zip in her step, Carrie felt like the worst daughter on earth. But what else could she do? She had to protect her only child.

CHAPTER FOUR

“Lord, I’m worried about Carrie.”

Fran knelt beside her bed. Her tomcat, Tux, lay curled on the pillow above her head, listening with sleepy-eyed disinterest. She’d been here more than usual lately and God always met her, His sweet spirit pouring strength and love into her often frightened being.

For the last thirty minutes, she’d prayed for Ken. He hadn’t called, hadn’t come by. So she prayed not to be hurt or angry, prayed for understanding. Understanding had finally come when the Lord brought to mind Emily Markovich and her ravaging cancer. For three years Ken had helplessly watched disease eat away at his wife. No man deserved to go through that twice. Though sad to lose his love and friendship, Fran accepted that he simply could not face such an uncertain future.

Now she’d turned her thoughts to her family, particularly Carrie.

“She’s having such a hard time with this little problem of mine. Lord, my fondest wish has always been to see her full of Your joy and living in Your extravagant love and grace. But she’s unhappy, angry even, and I fear she’s angry with You. Forgive her, Jesus, and help her. Somehow I’ve failed her. Failed to be the example I should have been. Failed to show her that Your grace is everywhere if she’ll only look. Forgive me, Lord Jesus, forgive me, and teach me how to help her before it’s too late, before my mind is gone and I’m no good to anyone.”