Truth

“Thank you, Mr. Roach.” She extended her right hand. After only a moment’s hesitation, he accepted. “I’ve had a marvelous teacher. I believe we have a deal, am I correct?”

“Yes, Ms. Nichols, we have a deal. I certainly hope you’ve enjoyed your relaxing stay in San Antonio.”

“Thank you, I have. Oh, Mr. Roach. If you’re considering tampering with the GPS in my rental car, let me save you the trouble. The data’s been permanently deleted. Shall we begin tomorrow with breakfast, let’s say 7:30?”

Phillip thought how helpful that information would have been earlier this evening, before he spent forty five minutes trying to extract recent destinations from the built-in Global Positioning System within her Chrysler 200. There was no question in his mind – he’d seriously underestimated this woman. He wondered if he were the only person to make that mistake. He truly doubted it. “I’ll be lurking in the shadows at 7:30. Forgive me; I don’t want to be included in future photos.”

“Then we’ve never met.” Claire turned to leave then glanced back, “Until tomorrow.”

He nodded and watched her walk away. Her posture exuded confidence, straight spine and slightly raised chin. The backless dress exposed her feminine lean body. A faint white line from a slender bathing suit strap was visible across her ta

The body of Mr. Roach’s email was short and simple:

Mr. Rawlings, I apologize for the inconvenience and delay. My laptop decided to reject the SD card from my camera. I’m glad to say the kinks have been resolved. As you will see, I have multiple photos of Ms. Nichols from throughout her four day holiday. I honestly expected to see her with someone. However, it seems this was truly a four day get-a-way meant only for her personal rest and revitalization.

I have a return ticket on her plane. We should arrive in San Francisco at approximately 5 PM PST, 7 PM CST. I’ll be available by telephone after that, if you need to reach me. Again, I’ll remain dedicated to this assignment until I learn otherwise. Thank you, Phillip Roach

Tony clicked the attachment. A parade of pictures: Claire eating breakfast, lounging at the pool, at di

A man growing old becomes a child again. 

—Sophocles

Chapter 14

1984...

Marie combed Ms. Sharron’s thi

It would seem that after a year and a half, Marie would have run out of things to say, but she hadn’t. She could ramble at length about nothing. Truthfully, she hadn’t pla

In the begi

Marie never had formal caregiving training. Then again, is someone formally trained to care? Wasn’t it as simple as being observant to needs and fulfilling them? If Ms. Sharron looked toward her cup, she needed a drink. If she fidgeted in her bed or seat, she needed to get up and move. It wasn’t rocket science, yet other than Mrs. Amanda Rawls, whose presence for some reason agitated Ms. Sharron, the men in this family were hopelessly incapable. Even when they tried, they were often too self-absorbed to notice the slight clues Ms. Sharron put forth.

Marie’s duties transformed as Ms. Sharron’s disease progressed. In the begi

Mr. Nathaniel Rawls spent a lot of time with his wife. It broke Marie’s heart, to see the look in his eyes as he attempted to make conversation. For the most part, Ms. Sharron was beyond speech. However, if her eyes saw the real world, which rarely occurred, they lit-up when she saw her husband or grandson. Marie learned early that Anton looked remarkably similar to Nathaniel as a young man.

When she was more lucid, Ms. Sharron enjoyed passing the hours looking through old photo albums. Marie learned a great deal about the Rawls’ family history from those albums.

Marie also researched dementia and Alzheimer’s disease and learned recalling memories from the ancient past was somehow easier than recent memories. That inability to recall recent events aided Marie’s monotonous dialogues. It wasn’t like she needed to talk about new things every day or every hour. Ms. Sharron likes the sound; content was unimportant.

There were only so many stories a twenty-three year old could tell. At first she talked about books and movies. For someone so young, her mature interests made good stories. She enjoyed foreign films and biographies. Marie found learning about people and why they did what they did, fascinating. Sometimes instead of telling stories, Marie would read aloud. The mansion had a large library. Marie could find book after book that filled her interests and needs. With time, she also talked about her past. It wasn’t like it mattered. Ms. Sharron couldn’t remember or repeat her sordid story.