An Artificial Sun Read online

  Copyright © 2018 by Gina Shafer

  ISBN: 978-0-9981834-5-9

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Editing by Indie Solutions with Murphy Rae www.murphyrae.net

  Cover design & Formatting by Gina Shafer www.authorginashafer.com

  Created with Vellum

  For the man who never fails to remind me of my own strength. I love you, Eric.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Alzheimer’s & Dementia Resources

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Gina Shafer

  The sun is an asshole.

  Yes, that’s right. You’re not mistaken. I said the sun is an asshole. Why? Because no matter what the situation, in my darkest and dreariest moments, the sun has always shone brightly down on me when all I wanted was to be covered in rain. Deep, soul-drenching rain.

  When I found out I failed my chemistry test in ninth grade, it was a beautiful sunny day. That time my first boyfriend dumped me, yep, you guessed it—sunny and seventy-five. The day I fell out of the back of my dad’s old pickup and broke my arm, it was a hot sunny day in the middle of June.

  This day is no different. The sun shines mockingly through my parents’ beach house windows, setting beautifully on the horizon. It’s only fitting, considering the fastball thrown at me just now. It’s like I’m standing on home plate with no glove to catch the damn thing.

  This was supposed to be my year. I landed a new title: junior editor at a small publishing house. And I’m dating the senior partner at one of the biggest law firms in North Carolina. This was not what I was expecting.

  And before you call me out on my selfishness, believe me, I’m well aware I shouldn’t feel this way. My father is standing here, his back to me, staring out to sea, praying his wife will make it to next year.

  She was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s four years ago. I’ll be the first to admit I haven’t done much research on the subject. And I haven’t been what you would call the world’s greatest daughter during that time. I’ve visited them twice in four years. While time passed, my mother declined rapidly. The reality of that is what I liken to the fastball. I had no idea her health could deteriorate this much since the last time I saw them.

  Call me uninformed. Call me ignorant. It still guts me more than I care to admit.

  I peer at the expanse of ocean in front of us. That wretched ball of fire dances through colors like it wields the world’s greatest paintbrush.

  I could lose my mother. No, I’m going to lose my mother, and the sun has the audacity to set in blues, oranges, and purples. The richest, most beautiful colors I’ve ever seen. Might as well spit in my face next time. Suffice it to say, I hate summer. I hate the sun. I wish for perpetual winter. Though no matter how much I hate it, I have never been able to deny its beauty, its breathtaking swirl of colors that captivate and wound me all at once.

  “Dad, please can you just listen to me?” I rise from the white linen couch that I helped my mother pick out many years ago. Floor to ceiling windows stretch across the entire back of the house, inviting more sunlight in. My parents bought this house sight unseen and only told me so after it was finalized. Every time I visit now, I fight not to visibly scoff at the rays that leak in through the glass.

  I woke this morning to a frantic voicemail from Dad, telling me I need come and visit. His voice sounded off, and it was concerning enough to have me calling in sick to work and making the drive without a second thought.

  I live three hours away from my parents and still can’t get it together enough to make regular phone calls or visit on holidays. I’ve kept myself at a distance since learning that my mother was sick. I don’t even remember the last words she spoke to me before this disease ate its way through most of her brain.

  I know I just said I wasn’t the worlds greatest daughter, but the more I think about it, the more the title world’s worst daughter seems more fitting. I disgust myself so much that even my reflection in the widow makes me feel sick to my stomach.

  I step next to my Dad and place my hand gently on his shoulder, feeling the tremor that rocks through him. He’s crying.

  I’ve never seen my father do that.

  In all my twenty-seven years, I’ve never seen this man moved by any other emotion than joy—for me, for my mom. To see him like this now is heartbreaking. It takes my breath away in the worst way.

  As much as he hates to admit it, her care is becoming too much for him to handle. She can’t be left alone for long. She needs help to shower or use the bathroom. She wanders… gets lost. All the worry and pain I should have been feeling for them for the past four years hits me all at once.

  “Please, Dad, you have to consider the circumstances.” I speak softly, leaning my head on his shoulder. He wraps a strong arm around my middle. There’s never been a more comforting feeling than my father’s arms around me, and I’ve never been more thankful for them. I don’t deserve it, but I soak it in anyway.

  “What else am I supposed to do, Whitley-bean?” His endearment crushes me, and I lean into him again as we sway, still both facing the ridiculous windows. Still watching the tide.

  “You need help. You can’t continue caring for her in this house all by yourself.” I say.

  “What else do you expect? I can’t hire a stranger to come in. It’s not right.”

  Being this close to him, I can see how the past year has aged him. The fine lines around his lips are deeper, as are the circles under his eyes. He shouldn’t have to do this alone.

  What the hell have I been doing?

  “You don’t need to hire someone, Dad. I’ll come stay for a while.” I straighten, bracing for his reaction.

  “No, Whitley. You’ve worked so hard to get where you are. I can’t let you throw that all away to take care of your parents. When your mom was diagnosed, we promised each other it wouldn’t interfere with your life.” He moves around the meticulously decorated room. Tiny clay sailboats rest on the end tables, navy-blue and white painted anchors on stretched canvas hang on the walls.

  “Whatever I’ve been working for doesn’t matter to me as much as you do. It’s time you had someone to look after her and the house… to look after you. I haven’t done enough. Please let me do this?” I try not to let him see how worked up I’m getting.

  It’s true. Every word. After my mother was diagnosed, I shut myself out of their world. It’s like I couldn’t face how bad it would become. And my parents let me. They stopped expecting things from me, and they stopped holding me to that higher standard. I was no longer forced to be accountable, and that allowed me to grow indifferent to my own selfishness. What an unbearable let down I must be to them, unable to practice what they’ve strived to instill in me all my life.

  I pull away, crossing my arms. “I want you to be able to take a break if you need to. Go fishing, kick back. I want to he
lp.”

  “None of that matters if your mom is hurting, Whitley.” He sighs, rubs his temples, and plops down on the sand-colored recliner that quickly became “his” spot as soon as my parents moved into the house.

  “You have to think about yourself too, you know. You can’t care for her the way you should if you’re exhausted.” I sit on the edge of the whitewashed coffee table in front of him, imploring him to look into my eyes and see how important this is to me.

  “What about work, Whitley-bean? What about David?” He grabs my hands and squeezes, and I’m reminded of what it was like when he used to wrap his big hands around my tiny ones when I was a little girl.

  “You let me worry about that, okay? I can take a break from work, and David will have to understand. My lease is up at the end of the month anyway, so I can start moving my stuff first thing tomorrow.”

  “What about money?”

  “I have some savings. It’ll be fine as long as you don’t mind me squatting here?”

  “Of course not, Whit. I just want to make sure you’ll be okay. I don’t want you making any rash decisions.”

  Oh, but I am. I would leave my belongings in the Raleigh apartment if I had to, and I wouldn’t give a shit what happened to it. Because suddenly I realize that stuff careers and boyfriends and titles is worthless if you can’t face your own reflection without disgust.

  “I’m not making a rash decision.” The lie slips past my lips with ease first and then I tell the truth. “I’m just correcting a mistake I made four years ago. I should have been here all this time.”

  Dad shakes his head. “We don’t expect that from you. You don’t have to do this.”

  I stand and calmly offer an ultimatum. “Dad, you’re getting me or a home nurse. I know you said you’re not comfortable with someone you don’t know in the house, but I’m not leaving until I’m certain that you’re getting the help you need.”

  “All right, all right. But you’ll let me know if you need help too?” I offer a firm nod, even though I know I won’t be reaching out for help to anyone anytime soon.

  “I have a lot to do when I get back. If you’re okay for the night, I’ll just say bye to Mama.” I tell him.

  He pulls me into a tight hug and sends me on my way.

  The house is beautifully laid out. My parents found it quickly and didn’t have to change anything besides the décor. The front door opens into a modest foyer. A gray beachwood arch leads into the living room with the expansive windows. To the right a hallway leads to the bedrooms, four of them, ending with my parents’, the last door at the end of the hall.

  I knock twice, not wanting to startle Mom by barging in. We had lunch earlier, after I arrived. Dad made shrimp tacos on the grill, and we sat outside on the deck. Not long after, she got tired and wanted to lie down.

  She was confused and a little disoriented when she saw me, and I had the feeling she didn’t know who I was.

  Please remember me, I think as I open her door.

  Deep breath. “Hey, Mama,” I say as I glide around the room, sitting on the edge of her bed. As soon as my butt hits the mattress, the fluffy white down blanket swallows my hips.

  She’s touching up her lipstick in the bathroom mirror. The sight brings me up short. I haven’t seen her do her makeup in a long time.

  “Dad says you two have been struggling a bit recently,” I start, wanting to approach the subject carefully.

  “Okay,” she says. She stares at her reflection, pushing her lips in and out, studying her mouth.

  I keep going. “I thought it would be a good idea if I stayed here awhile to help out.” I shut my eyes, expecting a poor reaction, but she doesn’t say anything. When I open them again, she’s frozen for a moment and then she picks up the same lipstick and smears another coat on top of her lips.

  “Mom,” I say, and she jumps slightly. When she turns to face me, I note the blank look in her eyes, almost like she sees right through me. I would cry an entire river right now if I knew it wouldn’t easily upset her.

  “What did you say?” she asks, struggling to zip up the small, robin’s egg-blue leather bag on the countertop. I suddenly realize that I’m not able to have a conversation with her about this. I’m not about to have a conversation with her about anything anymore.

  I blink away the tears I refuse to let fall. “Nothing, Mama. I’m just going to be around a little more, if that’s okay with you,” I say gently. I can’t believe I’ve been so wrong. I move to the counter and pull a wipe from the container near the sink. I brush it across her lips, removing the color.

  “What’s that?” she asks.

  “Nothing.” I toss the wipe in the trash. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” I’m not sure why I feel it’s so important that she knows I’ll be here.

  “That’s fine, dear. I have to work late,” she says distractedly, walking to her side of the bed. She looks frail, like she can’t manage, so I rush over and help her onto the mattress. When she closes her eyes, I stand, unsure what to do. I never know what to do around her anymore; it’s one of the reasons why I stayed away so long. I’m suddenly uncomfortable in this room, and I need to leave immediately. I cross it in a couple of bounds and yank the door open, coming face to face with my father.

  He looks past me to where Mom is huddled under the blankets, and I follow him. She looks so small. Almost like a child, tucked in at night.

  I open my mouth to speak, but he stops me, shushing me and tilting his head to the hallway. I shut the door behind me.

  “She still thinks she works at the hospital?” I whisper to him as we move out of the hall. My mother used to be a nurse, one of the best, until the day of her diagnosis. Dad doesn’t stop moving until we’ve reached the foyer and then he spins to face me.

  “Some days, yes. Other days she believes she’s your age until she gets a look at herself in the mirror. That’s never fun. Sometimes she can’t remember anything, so her mind fills those gaps with nonsense. Things I can’t understand.”

  He looks me square in the eye. “Listen, Whitley. You need to think long and hard if this is how you want to see your mom during her last days. I don’t want to sugarcoat it, okay? And I wont be upset if you change your mind. We can find a nurse if need be. I’m not too stubborn for that. We would love to have you around, but I wont force you.” He wraps his arms tightly around me, squeezing hard, then finally lets go and walks into the living room, falling into his favorite chair.

  The damn sun makes its final goodbye and slips below the horizon. I have to stop myself from flipping it the bird before going out to my car and heading off for the drive back to Raleigh to completely shatter my life.

  My parents need me, and if I’m honest with myself, I need them too.

  I’m deep into the third Sublime song blasting on the radio before the muffled ringing of my cellphone interrupts. Groaning, I dig into the bottom of my purse with one hand on the wheel, fishing around for the thing. It’s difficult, and I probably shouldn’t be doing it, but I don’t want to miss a call from my parents if something is wrong. I finally find it wedged in my favorite book with a gum wrapper stuck to the back of it. I guess my New Year’s resolution to be tidier is officially busted.

  I glance the name on the screen and fight back a sigh.

  Damn it. I didn’t want to explain all of this to David before I got back. I click ignore at the last second, sending his call to voicemail. I know he won’t like that, and he’ll worry, but I’m just not ready to tell him I’m basically putting our life on hold and moving in with my parents. That’s not going to go over well.

  Part of me doesn’t want to tell him because I know he won’t offer to come with me.

  David and I have been dating for the last two years, and our relationship has managed to move at a snail’s pace during that time. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t hate our relationship, but I was hoping that when the lease ended on my shit apartment last year, he would invite me to live with him. I must have dropped at leas
t a thousand hints, but he never caught on. Instead I’m renting a ridiculously expensive studio apartment in the middle of the city.

  I’ve been scraping by, praying I’ll be able to make rent every month on my junior editor salary, without chipping away at my savings. I was lucky to have saved a lot during my college years and slowly put money away when I had it. My best friend Maggie let me live with her in the house her parents rented, and it really helped. But now that I’ve finally been able to get my foot in the door at the career I’ve dedicated years to, I’ve got to tell them I’m leaving.

  My cellphone pings an alert, telling me David left a voicemail. I open it right away, pressing speaker and setting the phone in the cup holder so I can concentrate on driving. As soon as his deep, slightly harsh voice fills the car, I get a feeling in my stomach that I used to consider butterflies. Lately I’ve been imagining them more like little spiders, spinning their webs.

  “Whitley, baby, where are you? You were supposed to be back by now. I’m assuming you’re driving, and that’s why you aren’t answering. Great way to be safe, hon. Anyway, a couple of guys from college are in town, so I’m heading out to have a few beers. I’ll probably be too shitfaced to swing by your place tonight, so don’t wait up. See ya.”

  I hear people laughing in the background before he ends the call and roll my eyes. So not something I want to entertain right now.

  I wasn’t prepared to see my mother today. Seeing her, so distressed… the memory of it sends a shiver down my back. I have to crank up the heat to fight the cold that suddenly overtakes me.

  I glance at myself in the rearview mirror while stopped at a red light, and I’m angry at what I see. I look stupid. I feel stupid. How could I not have taken this seriously? I lost out on so much time with her because I was too selfish to think about what they might need. They withdrew, and I fucking let them.