The Rule of Threes by Marcy Campbell (android e book reader txt) 📕

Grandma lived almost an hour away, but the assisted living facility my mom was interested in was on the edge of our town, which would make it easier for us to visit Grandma.

“I have some news, actually, Maggie, about Grandma,” Mom said, and I could tell by her voice what was coming next. “Remember when we talked about Alzheimer’s the other day?”

I drew in a quick breath. Obviously, I remembered. How could I forget? Mom didn’t wait for me to answer.

“Well, the disease has different stages. Early on, a person might just seem forgetful, like they can’t always remember where they are or can’t remember people’s names.”

Margie, I thought. I’d heard Grandma right after all.

“Or they might have trouble planning or organizing things, too.”

“I can help Grandma organize! I’m great at that!” I said.

“Oh, baby, that is so sweet of you.” We were stopped at a red light that was taking what seemed like an hour to turn green. Mom glanced back at me. “But I’m afraid it’s beyond what you, or any of us, can help with.”

I felt my hand tighten around the birthday card and had to force myself to relax. I didn’t want to bend the card. It was the most recent thing I had with Grandma’s handwriting—that big, curvy M for Mittens, for Maggie.

“Can’t they cure it?”

“No, there isn’t a cure for it, not yet. Doctors are working on it.”

“They should work faster,” I said quietly. “And besides, doctors can be wrong. It could just be old people stuff. Like, Dad forgets his keys all the time. He always comes back in the house to get his coat or his keys or briefcase, or whatever.”

“This is different,” Mom said. “And it’s getting worse. The doctor thinks she’s getting into the moderate, middle, stage of the disease, which means she’s going to have trouble with her day-to-day activities. She might get more frustrated, more angry, for no reason—”

“How could she be in the middle stage when I’m just finding out about it? It doesn’t make sense!”

“Maggie, please, I know it’s hard to understand. There’s a lot you haven’t seen. Grandma has been having these kinds of lapses for a while now. It’s just not something we’ve talked about with you.”

I threw my head back against my seat. “You should have,” I said, gritting my teeth. I stared out the window as we passed a big billboard for an insurance company that showed a flooded basement. Call now, before it’s too late! it said. Yeah, right, I thought. My family seemed to have an unwritten rule that they’d only tell me things once they’d become disasters.

“Maggie!” Grandma said and gave me a big hug.

I’d never been so glad to see her, or so glad to hear my name. She was wearing one of my favorite scarves, pink with all different types of birds on it. I tucked the cat card into the book I was bringing along since it didn’t appear I would need it.

After she got situated in the passenger seat, Grandma pulled out a peanut butter sandwich from her purse. “In case I get hungry,” she said, with a wink at me. Then she showed us her travel umbrella. “Weatherman said there’s a forty percent chance of rain later this afternoon,” she said, waving it, then shoving it back into her large, black purse.

From the backseat, I heard her mutter, “And that idiot doctor says I’m forgetful.” My mom cleared her throat but didn’t respond. Then a song came on with a guy kind of yelling Ahhhhaaahhhhhhaaaa. Grandma reached out and turned the knob until it clicked off.

I heard Mom mutter, “Here we go.”

“What did you say, Susan?”

“Nothing, Mom, never mind. Why don’t you rest your eyes until we get there?”

“I don’t need to rest my eyes. I just got up,” Grandma said irritably, but she did settle back into her seat and stared out the window. After a few minutes, she pulled out her sandwich and ate it.

I tried to stay focused on my book, which was called Color Me Happy. It’s about using color to create mood. Like, for example, a red dining room stimulates people’s appetites. I’d already read the book several times, but it had great before-and-after pictures, which I loved staring at. I especially loved one of a boring, neutral den that was redone in blues and greens, the same colors Mrs. Abbott had chosen for the outer office redo. Plus, there were yellow accents, just like Olive and I had gotten at the Shoppe.

I was so caught up in the book that I didn’t realize we were at the assisted living facility until Grandma made a hmmf sound in her throat, and I looked up to see we were turning into a winding driveway next to a pond with some very angry-looking swans. I wondered how they got them to stay there, or if the swans were just temporarily passing through on their way to somewhere else. Maybe the assisted living people had done something to their wings so they couldn’t fly, and that was why they were so mad. Or maybe they were just lost.

We parked and walked up to the door of a newish brick building, Grandma hanging deliberately behind. Her mind might be slow sometimes, but her body usually wasn’t. I hung back with her while Mom pressed a buzzer and spoke into a little box when a voice asked for her name. Then there was a loud buzz and a click, and we entered.

I was immediately struck by a strong smell, like the stuff Mom put on me when I got a cut or scrape before she covered it with a Band-Aid. The woman who met us in the lobby had curly blond hair and a red blazer and introduced herself as Jasmine, which prompted Grandma to let out another hmmf. I saw my mom try to take Grandma’s hand, but