Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 75720 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75720 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Maybe we can set aside some time at the end of our meetings to toss around a couple of theories,” Jess suggested, moving her glasses so that they sat higher up her face, the tiny diamond stud glittering on her nose.
“Yeah, I’ll bring a whiteboard next time,” Eric offered. He looked the most excited out of all of us. “We can list out possible suspects along with potential motives, try to figure out any links we may be missing.”
It made my heart warm, even though the cool tendrils of anxiety clamping around my chest were trying hard to snuff that warmth out. I always felt loved and appreciated by my friends, but this just brought it up to an entirely new level. I wasn’t just looking around at friends; I was looking around at my family, each of them ready to do whatever it took to keep me safe.
It nearly brought tears to my eyes, but the emotional train of thought was abruptly derailed by a ringing cell phone, the couch underneath Jake and me beginning to vibrate.
He pulled his phone out and looked at the screen. I could instantly sense a shift in his demeanor. He looked worried, his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched tight enough to show a twitching muscle that went down his neck.
“Sorry, guys, I have to take this.”
He stood and excused himself, phone to his ear before the door was even shut. I could have sworn I heard him say, “Hi, Mom,” but I wasn’t entirely sure. All I knew was that whoever called had sent him into a panicked frenzy, and I had no idea why.
The conversation in the room shifted back to the threat, but my mind remained with Jake, wondering if he was okay out there and if there was any way I could help my friend as much as he wanted to help me.
10
JAKE PEREZ
“Jake, please hurry home. No se. I don’t know. I can’t remember how I got here. Ay, Jake.”
My mom’s voice was like taking a shotgun blast to the chest. Hearing how fearful she was and how pained she felt at not being able to remember made me feel like I was dropped into a wood chipper. It hurt. I hated this with every fiber of my being. A disease that took away your loved one little by little but only taking their mind and leaving their body seemingly intact. It was twisted, and the fact that there was no cure, no way to hold on to hope except by hoping for a miracle— that was one of the most fucked-up things about Alzheimer’s.
“It’s okay, Ma. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Okay, Jake. Okay. Thank you.” She started to cry as she hung up the phone—I could hear the sniffling before the line went dead.
I turned away from the house and leaned on my car, and I started to cry, too. Silent streams of tears went down my cheeks as my chest heaved while I tried my hardest to control the sobs that wrenched themselves free from somewhere inside of me. Like bats falling from the shadows of a dark cave, rising up through my throat, rattling against my lips. I put a fist up to my mouth.
Why? Why her? My mom was one of the kindest, most caring, most warm people to ever exist. All she did was work to make sure everyone around her was happy. She donated her money, and she volunteered her time, and she was an incredible mother, even when my father seemed intent on breaking us both down. When they divorced—about five years ago—I thought my mom would have a hard time, but she took it in stride and blossomed even more, finding a group of friends in a local gardening club. She and her green-thumbed gals would go on movie dates and beach vacays and throw big birthday parties. I didn’t think I’d ever seen my mom so happy before.
And then she started to forget things. Little things at first. Where she left the remote, where she left her keys, what she was making for lunch. Then it got worse. She’d forget where she parked her car, why she was at the grocery store, which turn to make to get home. That one was the tipping point—when my mom called me in gasping tears as she pulled over at an intersection just down the street from her home. We went to the doctors that day and got the official diagnosis soon after.
It did more than rattle my world. It destroyed it. Sundered it. Split it in half and crushed it between a planet-sized boot. And it created a dark haze over my head that clouded my thoughts, snuffed out any enjoyment, dragging me down in a seemingly endless well of depression.