“Forgetful?” he says with a quick shake of his head. “As in she doesn’t remember things? But the doctor cleared her. He said it was a vitamin deficiency.”

“She never really went to the doctor. It was a friend who pretended to be one.” I hang my head and stare at the dark shadows playing across the street. Guilt slices through my bones and guts me. “I’ve done research, and if it is Alzheimer’s, then she’s still in the early stages. Each case is different, though, so she may have episodes like this, but it doesn’t mean she needs to be in a home. She can still function.”

Everything I’ve been afraid of is happening. Will he send Gram away for this?

“Lulu, sweetie, Gram doesn’t have Alzheimer’s. I think I would notice if her memory was that bad.”

“Not if I covered for her.” I say the words like they are slivers of glass in my mouth.

35. Saltatory Conduction

The word “saltatory” means to jump. The nerve gets the signal, the signal hops from node to node, and the signal arrives at its destination.

Saltatory conduction helps nerve impulses travel faster and take up less space. This helps us think and act faster. Right now I need to think and act fast—I need to make Dad understand how important Gram is to our family.

Dad stares at me as if I’m someone he doesn’t know. “What do you mean you covered for her?”

“I was afraid of losing her,” I explain. “I didn’t want her to go to a retirement home, so I didn’t tell you when she got lost or couldn’t remember something. I was trying to find a way to fix her. I thought if I could find out about her past, I could help her.”

He shakes his head. “Who said anything about a retirement home?”

“I found the brochure in your office.”

He looks at me, his brow furrowed. “Gram gave me that. She said she wanted her own space.”

The flashlight shines on the sidewalk. I think about how the cracks fanning out in the concrete are what my heart feels like. “When did she say that?” I ask slowly.

“About a month ago. I noticed she didn’t seem herself, so I suggested she see a doctor. She came to me with the brochure and said this might be something we should look at, and I told her not to be ridiculous. When she said she went to the doctor, I believed her. She just said he told her to rest a little more.”

He starts walking, sweeping the flashlight back and forth as he searches. “Mom,” he calls out. “Where are you?”

I hurry to catch up to him. There’s movement down on the street corner. I point. “Over there.”

Dad trains the flashlight to where I’ve pointed. He exhales in relief. “There she is.”