Edie Richter is Not Alone: A Novel by Rebecca Handler

Author:Rebecca Handler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Unnamed Press
Published: 2021-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

17

The handwritten sign on the door to the community center said ALZHEIMER’S SUPPORT AUSTRALIA SUPPORT GROUP. Two supports.

You’re nice and early, Craig said. Good on you. My mum used to say if you’re on time you’re late. Biscuit?

When he pointed at the paper plate piled with shortbread and chocolate cookies, I noticed his diamond pinkie ring. Craig did not look like a social worker, or at least in the way I was expecting. He was wearing jeans and work boots and a green collared shirt with the ASA logo. He looked too old to be named Craig and have a buzz cut, but I was in Australia so what did I know.

He asked if I lived nearby and if I was Canadian. We made small talk.

Once you said blocks I knew you were American. I’ve always enjoyed that. I live down the block, he said, attempting an American accent. Have a seat, we’ll start when we get a few more people.

I took one shortbread and a paper napkin and sat on one of the folding chairs set up in a circle. Balancing the cookie on my knee, I checked my phone. Abby texted, The more I think about it, I can’t even. I tried to remember what we had spoken about yesterday. I turned off my phone and slipped it into my backpack.

Two older men arrived together. They seemed comfortable, regulars I guessed. A woman walked in, about my age, her red cheeks spotted with acne, holding a tote bag that said UWA UPMARKET. Another woman with bad posture who walked carefully was accompanied by a young man in an oversized denim jacket.

Craig spoke to everyone before they sat down. Geraldine, no Anzac biscuits today, I’m afraid to tell you.

The woman with bad posture swatted Craig playfully on the arm. How dare you, she said, flirting. Her escort in denim said nothing and looked at the floor.

The room had dark brown carpet, black-and-white photographs of official-looking old people, and one large stained-glass panel depicting what looked like the Last Supper. Maybe this used to be a church.

This could have been a mistake.

Let’s all go around and introduce ourselves, said Craig. We have someone new here today.

I’m Geraldine. My husband has Alzheimer’s. This is my nephew Gerald. He was named after me.

Gerald removed his denim jacket and hung it on the back of his chair. I guess I don’t need an introduction, he mumbled.

The two older men were brothers. Their mother had dementia. We’re just trying to learn all we can.

Tote Bag had a name I couldn’t pronounce and immediately forgot. Plus, she spoke quietly, which didn’t help. A few others said their names and why they were here. I went last.

I’m Edie. I’m American. My father has Alzheimer’s. I paused. Had Alzheimer’s.

Did he pass? Craig asked. I nodded. I’m sorry, he said. Was it while you were living here? I shook my head. Well, it’s good you came, Edie. Welcome. Just so you know, I usually bring some sort of topic to the group, and sometimes we talk about that and sometimes we don’t.

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