Page 5 of Changing Lanes

My mind flickers back to this morning at my new place, meeting the guys I’ll be living with for the foreseeable future. One was nice, in a distant, unreadable kind of way, which only adds to his insane hotness. I can’t wait to see him ride his bike—his custom red Ducati. Yeah, I checked it out. Bike first, man second. Always. A man’s bike says a lot about him. Marc’s Duc draws just enough attention for you to notice but not linger on. He likes to play under the radar, choosing when and where it’s time to be seen. The maker of his own rules and the breaker of others’.

I bet he’s a freak in the sheets. I wonder if I’ll ever hear it living down the hall or if he handles his business in private. Time will tell, I guess.

The other was a complete shithead. Beckett’s bike was showy and obnoxious, just like him. A Ninja as colorful as his conquests, if the bra he was holding this morning is any indication. An absurdly handsome face that could make you fall to your knees in gratitude is wasted on someone as uptight as Beckett. A long, strong body that probably handles like my CBR—rough start with a smooth, easy finish. Too bad I’m not interested in either after his piss poor introduction today. A shame considering Marc described our roommate as having an over-the-top personality with a dirty sense of humor—a solid endorsement for a girl with more brothers than she knows what to do with—but all I’ve seen is a huge man-child throwing his weight around for shits and giggles. Unfortunately for him, I don’t have an abundance of either these days. Avoidance, which shouldn’t be too hard considering our opposite schedules, will work just fine with a character like Beckett.

“Have you seen Dennis yet?” I ask Cynthia whose eyes are lined with too much concern for my liking. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a female caretaker and she comes nowhere near the original.

She shakes her head and, unable to say more, I leave to monitor the halls, triggering the sensored overhead lights as I go.

Rounding the corner, I spot movement in the cafeteria and push through the swinging door to find Dennis folding napkins in the dark. I flip the light switch and join him.

“Why, hello there. How’s it going?”

Without looking up from the fabric, Dennis says, “Bend over and I’ll show you.”

I pause along the aisle, scanning him for anything he could use as a weapon. With a press of the talk button on my walkie-talkie, I let Cynthia know where we are before grabbing a handful of napkins of my own and taking a seat at the table opposite him. Distance and caution is always the best approach when one of the residents is in a mood. Not many, but some, can grow violent and with the notes in Dennis’s chart already pointing toward aggression, I’m not taking any unnecessary risks.

“Dennis,” I tsk firmly. “You couldn’t sleep?”

My hands begin the familiar movements, folding, but my eyes stay trained on Dennis, ready to react should he try anything.

“Someone new is here,” he spits in disgust.

My fingers still.

“Not yet. But you’re right, someone new will be moving into room fourteen tomorrow. Is that okay with you? A new friend around here might be nice.”

“She stole my goddamn magazine.” His fingers freeze as he meets my eyes.

I shake my head, staying alert. “That’s impossible. She’s not even here yet. Do you want me to help you look for your magazine?”

There is no magazine. All the magazines are kept in the library and I’ve never seen Dennis bother with anything less than a full-length novel when he’s in there. Late night reading is like a double-edged sword—it sounds relaxing until you fall into the right storyline preventing you from putting it down, no matter how tired you become—and Dennis is notorious for picking up a novel after waking in the middle of the night. But if it helps ease his mind, I’ll walk around with him until he lets go of some of this hostility.

He picks up a perfectly folded napkin, shaking it at me. “Don’t you tell me. I know she took it. Devil woman, she is. Coming in here with her thieving ways. I won’t have it.” With that, the cloth is lobbed directly at me, making me flinch back. Thankfully, it falls to the floor halfway to my table.

I’ve had enough of people throwing shit at me today. First that overgrown toddler and now this.

“Dennis, you cannot throw things at me. I’ll have to report you to Rosie. I know you’re upset but let’s look at what you do have.”

“I have nothing!” he bursts, his face red and sweaty. “She’s going to take everything with her.”

While it’s not unheard of for some families to visit less and less due to the emotional toll it takes when their parent or spouse doesn’t remember them, Dennis’s wife died a few years back so he really doesn’t have anyone anymore. There’s always a possibility for a rare moment of lucidity and he may be having one now but as a memory flashback. It’s hard to tell sometimes and you can’t dismiss their feelings just because they won’t remember come morning. Remaining positive and calm has always been my best technique and Dennis usually responds well to it. To me. That’s why he’s one of my favorites. I’m not sure what’s setting him off tonight though.

“Hey, you have me. I’m here with you right now,” I try to soothe.

He drops his eyes to the pile in front of him then resumes folding. So soft I almost miss it, he says, “She’s going to steal you away and you don’t even know it.”

I focus on Dennis while he works, marveling at his steady hands folding the stiff fabric exactly the way the staff does it. This utterly useless skill has been engrained for retention but not his late wife’s name. How can memories of your own family, the people you love most, be ripped from your clutches while meaningless tasks rest idle awaiting random use? The unfairness of Alzheimer’s never ceases to piss me off.

My chest grows tight and I scoop up my abandoned pile before depositing it back to the bussing station.

“Would you like to go for a walk with me? Maybe you could help me find a cup of tea.”

I wring my hands behind my back. A late-night stroll and a challenge—what man could refuse that? Hopefully not this one.

Dennis’s hands still and I take a hesitant step back, unsure if his foul mood has passed or not.

“In this place? There’s only one spot that comes to mind and lucky for you, I know just where to go.”