Free The Sweet Spot by Laura Drake Page A

spouse can still be
     recalled, but less frequent visitors may not.
    —
Your Loved One and Alzheimer’s
,
Gillespie County Board of Health
    D addy, just relax. How about sitting in the rocker? You always liked—ouch!” Char ignored
     the sting on her forearm from her father’s flailing hand. He’d been fine through dinner,
     but since then he’d gotten agitated. Now he stood in the living room, yelling gibberish
     at his own reflection in the patio door. Wanting the nurse to meet him, Char had held
     off giving him the pill that would relax him to sleep.
    She stepped in front of him to distract his focus. “How about if I read to you?”
    He roared and shoved her aside. Her shins smackedthe edge of the coffee table, and after a teetering moment, she grabbed the corner,
     caught her balance and her breath. Rubbing her shin, she gaped at him. A memory flashed
     of the man from her childhood. Daddy, arms akimbo and knees bent, squeezed into her
     kid-sized chair, an invited guest to her teddy bear tea party. Her heart ached more
     than her bruised shin. How could this be the same person?
    The doorbell rang. Char limped to the door, keeping a wary eye on Dad as he continued
     berating the window. She unlocked it and tugged. It didn’t budge.
Jimmy. Dancripity! He should have taken care of this.
The doorbell rang again.
    I’m not asking the nurse to go to the back door.
Char wrapped her fingers around the doorknob, mad enough to rip the devil right off
     the hinges. Bracing her foot against the jamb, she gave a mighty jerk. Something pulled
     in her shoulder, but the door let loose all at once, and she just caught herself from
     tumbling backward.
    A round-faced, mahogany-skinned woman stood in the pool of light on the porch.
    “Missus Denny? I’m Rosa Castillo, from Health Services.”
    “Please come in.” Char smoothed her hair with one hand, opening the screen door with
     the other. “I’m afraid we’re—” When her father hollered from the other room, Char’s
     welcoming smile wobbled.
    The nurse stepped in and looked around Char to the living room, then shrugged out
     of her wool coat. She held it out and let go, not caring if Char caught it or it ended
     up on the floor, then bustled down the hall.
    A cauldron of emotion churning in her chest, Char opened the coat closet door with
     a shaking hand. She wasmortified, for her father and for herself, for being embarrassed. Char only hoped
     the nurse wouldn’t get the wrong impression after stepping into this melee. Suddenly
     aware of the silence, she closed the closet door and stalked to the living room.
    Her daddy sat, eyes closed, in her mother’s rocker. Rosa Castillo knelt beside it,
     singing. Amazed at the transformation, Char rested her butt on the back of the couch
     and listened. More a chant than singing, the tonal notes rose and fell, and her dad
     rocked gently in cadence. There weren’t words, just guttural sounds in the rhythmic
     repetition. Char felt her own muscles loosening.
    The woman seemed unaware of Char’s presence but, after a few minutes, whispered without
     turning, “Would you bring his medication? I’m sure he’s tired.”
    Her words broke the spell. Char rose and walked to the kitchen for his pill.
    A half hour later, her dad settled in bed, Char and the nurse sat in the kitchen,
     sipping from steaming cups of tea. While Char had taken care of her father, Rosa had
     made herself at home in the kitchen, brewing chamomile tea that Char didn’t know she
     owned.
    She studied the little woman over the lip of her mom’s china cup. Rosa’s round, lined
     face reminded Char of dolls in the tourist shops, their heads made from dried apples.
     In blue surgical scrubs with cartoon cows on them, she looked like a grandma in pajamas.
     “That was amazing. I had no idea that singing would calm him like that.”
    “There have been studies done on the effect of music therapy with Alzheimer’s patients.”
    “Well, it sure