Still Lake - Anne Stuart [62]
Sophie had just enough time to notice Doc’s stricken expression and Marty’s avid interest before she rose from the table. “No bed but my own, Ma,” she said firmly. In fact, it was the truth. She’d had sex on the floor, on a scratchy rug, and she had carpet burns on her butt to prove it.
“Too bad,” Grace murmured. “But I haven’t given up hope. Why don’t you go see what Mr. Smith is doing today? Maybe you could seduce him.”
“That’s enough, Grace,” Doc said gently. “You leave Sophie alone now.”
But he didn’t follow his own advice. Sophie escaped onto the porch with a mug of weak coffee, desperate for a few moments of peace to try to regain her usual calm, when Doc followed her out.
“Your mother’s getting worse,” he said, and Sophie almost felt relief. At least he wasn’t going to question her about her sex life. Now that, inexplicably, she seemed to have one.
“Yes,” Sophie said, rocking back on the padded glider. “You told me she’d deteriorate. I didn’t think it would be this fast.”
“Paranoia and hostility are key aspects of this stage of Alzheimer’s. She’s going to start accusing people of stealing things from her. Of trying to kill her. It’ll be a difficult time, and you’ll need patience. I’ll do all I can to help.”
She wanted to cry. “You’re so good to us, Doc,” she murmured. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
Doc sat down beside her on the glider. For all his seeming fragility he was a heavy man, but the glider was built to take it. “I just want to do what I can. Rima will help, too. She doesn’t leave the house much nowadays, but she loves it when Grace comes to visit. Maybe we could make it a regular thing. Bring her in for a few hours every day. Rima would enjoy the company and you wouldn’t have to worry about Grace getting into trouble.”
“I couldn’t ask that…”
“You’re not. I told you, Rima would love it.” He paused, as if trying to figure out how to broach a difficult subject, and Sophie braced herself for more questions about John Smith. Part of her wanted to tell Doc what happened, take advantage of his age and wisdom and calm good sense.
Maybe if he’d been a woman. The thought of telling Doc she’d had wanton sex on the floor of the old Whitten cottage with a man she barely knew, and then seeing the disappointment in his face, was unbearable.
But Doc didn’t want to talk about sex or John Smith. “Grace says someone’s been going through her room,” he said. “Stealing her clothes, stealing her books, stealing all sorts of things. I’m sure it’s just a fantasy on her part, but I thought I should warn you to be extra careful about her stuff. Even if you ask to borrow it she may not remember. If you take her clothes to be laundered she’ll probably feel threatened. The best bet is to make sure she sees what you’re doing and understands it. And if you find anything that worries you, don’t hesitate to come to me. I’m here to help you, Sophie. You know that.”
“I do know that, Doc,” she said. “Thank you.”
She should tell him about the knife. The stained, rusty hunting knife she’d found in Grace’s drawers, but she stopped at the last minute. She didn’t want anyone jumping to the conclusion that Grace was dangerous. Her mother must have found the knife somewhere and taken it, part of her magpie tendencies. Sophie was always finding strange things in Grace’s room—tiny rocks and dried flowers and chewing gum and odd bits of jewelry. The knife was just a piece of that fascination with garbage.
“Promise me you’ll tell me if you find something that worries you,” he said.
“I promise,” Sophie said. The knife didn’t worry her. Grace was harmless, and the knife meant nothing.
He rose, and the glider slid back violently. “What about your neighbor? Has he been any bother? I can go talk to him if you want. You don’t need your life complicated by sex at this point.”
Her eyes flew open in shock. “Doc!” she protested.
Doc chuckled. “Yes, I know, you think I’m an old fart, but I understand human nature, and the desire for sex is very normal