Beautiful Scarlet Passion

Ed stood outside Room 225 until he heard the automatic lock on the door release, then he opened it and entered the room. Gracie sat in her stuffed chair by the window, staring outside, head resting on a pillow.

“Hi, Toots,” Ed smiled as he touched her arm. “How’s my dream girl today?”

Gracie kept staring out the window as if she didn’t hear him. She began twisting the yarn knots on her lap quilt. Ed reached out and cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. Her eyes, which had danced and sparkled for so many years whenever she saw him, now peered at him with childlike inquisition.

“Who are you?” She pushed his hands away. “My husband won’t like it if you’re here.”

“He knows I’m here, Gracie. He said it was okay. I brought your favorite muffin. Is that all right?”

Gracie ignored the question but seemed eager to see what was in the box. Ed produced the blueberry muffin and placed it on the tray by her chair. He spread out a napkin which she grabbed, wadded it up and put it in her robe pocket. She began picking the blueberries out of the muffin, lining them up on the tray, One by one she inspected them, as if she were sorting pearls. Then, she began poking them back into what was left of the muffin before finally popping pieces of it into her mouth.

“Do they taste good?” Ed asked as he watched her rubbing the crumbs between her fingers. He wiped her hand with another napkin, but she wrested it from his hand and added it to her pocket stash.

When she was finished eating, he wiped up the tray and cleaned her face with a wet washcloth. She let out a soft moan as the warm cloth pressed her cheek. She closed her eyes and smiled.

“Feels good, does it?” Ed brushed her hair with his lips.

“Shall we do a manicure or a pedicure today?” He asked. They were the two indulgences Gracie had allowed herself before she was moved to memory care. She had never been one for high fashion or jewelry or makeup. She treated herself to visits to the spa as she aged, reckoning she had tramped enough and scrubbed enough to have her hands and feet “bee-yoo-tee-fied” as she called it.

“So, Gracie, today is the day for making your hands and toes sparkle. O.K.?” Gracie didn’t speak, but she held her hands out and wiggled her fingers at him. Ed retrieved the basin, towel, and other supplies from the closet.

“Pick your color,” he said as he lined up bottles of varying shades of red.

She picked up a bottle with the name “Scarlet Passion” on it and handed it to him. She loved red in any form, but this was her favorite and Ed’s too. It was the same bright hue of the French passion wine lifted in a fitting toast on their wedding day. He wondered if by choosing it she was remembering the fiery passion it kindled in their whole beings that day.

He remembered. The passion changed as years went by, becoming a warm, steady glow that sustained and held them together in a deeper, constant, unfluctuating warmth, unfading, resilient.

He took her right hand in his, relishing the softness of it, remembering the electric pulse it had generated so long ago when they had held hands for the very first time. He stroked the now wrinkled, sun-blotched skin and pressed his lips to it.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. He set to work. He removed the old polish, then began trimming, filing, buffing, and painting, humming one of the songs from their wedding.

“Were you at the wedding?” Gracie asked. Her words startled him, radiating through him by her recognition of the song. He smiled.

“Oh, yes, Gracie. We were both there. It was the beginning,” he stopped to breathe. “It was the beginning of all our days.”

“I was there. It was nice. Was it last year?”

“It was last year and the year before and forty more beyond that.”

“I thought it was last year. I was there.”

“Yes, Gracie, you were there, and you were beautiful.”

“Bee-yoo-tee-ful!” Gracie wiggled her red-tipped fingers.

“Shall we do a pedicure, too?” Ed asked. She was in good spirits today, so he wanted to keep the moment alive.

Gracie pulled her right foot out of its slipper and held it up giving assent to his offer.

The pedicure was Ed’s favorite time with Gracie. Being on his knees, he was inclined to meditate on his blessings and to thank God for his life with her. She had faithfully been by his side through their marriage journey as wife, friend, soulmate. After she began this new journey taking her into the realm created by dementia, he wanted to do whatever he could to make the rest of her days as comfortable and pleasurable as possible.

During his breadwinning days, he was a slave to his career, yet Gracie never complained or begrudged him. He had a way with words, so he had showered her with poems and sweet notes of affection. When she first moved into memory care, he had left them there in her bedside drawer, thinking they might hold some meaning to her. But in time he found them crumpled and stuffed in her robe pockets, so he removed the few that were left.

After the ”Scarlet Passion” paint set on Gracie’s toes, Ed helped her into bed for her mid-morning nap.

“See you for lunch, Sweetheart.” He kissed her cheek. “I’ll be back when they bring it to you.”

Gracie turned on her side and held her hand out to Ed. She wiggled her shiny, red-tipped fingers at him, then laid her hand on the pillow. The “Scarlet Passion” paint stood stark against the white of the pillowcase. She gazed at the shiny, red-tipped fingers and patted the pillow. “Bee-yoo-tee-ful,” she murmured.

“Yes, beautiful,” Ed echoed as he shut the door. He paused for a second, closing his eyes, then exhaled at the sound of the automatic lock and walked away.