She sighed, a peaceful smile upon her lips. “There’s simply not enough room in our brain box. It prunes and makes way for stronger connections, more recent memories. Come sit and eat some sushi.” Eyebrows raised, she said, “It cost me hundreds, but my ladies group last night barely touched it. Sushi is too exotic for them, I guess.”

“Does Cliff live here?”

“He’s here, but I’m afraid he can’t help you. He’s recently had a mental decline. Dementia usually doesn’t come on so fast. Or perhaps we just didn’t realize,” she said and shrugged. She sat and pointed to the chair beside me. I sat. “He’s sleeping now. He sleeps a lot. It’s alright. We’re retired.” She laughed and reached out, brushing her hand against my arm. “When he’s awake, he works on crosswords. He doesn’t get but one or two words the whole day, but he likes the feel of the paper in one hand, the pencil in the other. He likes to preserve the ritual, I think.”

She gazed past me. “He was a brilliant man once upon a time. He is owed dignity in his decline,” she said, her voice resolute. “I’ll keep him here as long as I’m able to. We had some good years, and I’m hanging on. In sickness and in health! I’m sorry, I’m rambling. So, tell me. How did you end up here at my house?”

She forked a veggie roll, dipped it in neon green wasabi, and set it on her plate, slicing it into smaller pieces with a knife.

“Father Greg told me where you lived. He told me Cliff was my mom’s doctor.”

“Wait. Wait. Let me guess.” She lifted her palms and her eyebrows, a skeptical comedian. “He told you he did an exorcism on your mom.”

I nodded.

“He’s a bit…” she looked up, searching for a word, “eccentric.” Forked a piece into her mouth. “Eat. Please.”

I wasn’t hungry, but it looked delicious. Colors brilliant as Play-Doh. So much more appealing than my macaroni and cheese dinners. I used my fingers, grabbing a spicy tuna roll, skipped my plate, and stuffed it into my mouth.

“Greg means well. He’s a kind man. Oblivious, but so many men are. And priests can be…” She paused, sipping her tea, searching for the right words. “Greg saw what he wanted to see. We’re all guilty of that sometimes.”

I sipped my tea. Too sweet. “Why did he get involved then?”