“Hank’s grandson had been living nearby and visiting a few times each week, which Hank really looked forward to. But he’s just moved away, and I think this will give Hank something else to look forward to.”

“I hope so. As I’m sure you know, changes in schedules can be quite disruptive. How has Hank taken the news about his grandson’s move?”

“They’ve always been very close, and in moments of clarity, which are few and far between these days, he’s quite distraught over it. I guess in a way, where this is concerned, his waning cognition is a blessing in disguise.”

“Well, maybe I can help. Puppetry can help bring out and deal with emotions that are hard to communicate.”

“I sure hope so.”

“I have some paperwork that I ask caregivers to fill out.” She withdrew the documents from her bag and handed them to Elsa. “It’s helpful for me to have a list of names of people he might bring up from the past or present, their relationships to him, and if you know anything about familial pets, childhood stories, or events, good or bad, that might come up during our sessions, that information will help me to decide which puppets to bring.”

“Sure. Why don’t I introduce you to Hank, and I’ll get started on the paperwork while you two get to know each other.” Elsa lowered her voice. “He’s having a rather difficult day.”

“I understand.”

“He might snap at you.”

Madigan nodded. “I’m used to it. Alzheimer’s can steal the warmth from the sweetest of people and enhance it in others. We’ll be just fine.”

Elsa let out a relieved breath and led her into the living room, where Hank was pacing by the patio doors. “Hank? You have a visitor.”

Hank Pettazzoni turned, angry eyes moving between Elsa and Madigan. He had wispy white hair, heavy jowls, his skin mapped with wrinkles and age spots. Before Elsa could introduce her, Hank smiled, and in the space of a few beautiful seconds, the smile reached his eyes, washing away the anger. “Carrie, do Nonno a favor, will you, please? Bring me my guitar.” He pointed past Madigan to a guitar leaning against the wall.

“He thinks you’re his granddaughter,” Elsa said softly. “Nonno is what his grandchildren call him.”

“No problem.” Madigan retrieved the guitar and handed it to him. “Here you are, Nonno. Will you play me a song?”

“Only if you’ll sing with me.” He sat on the couch and patted the cushion beside him.

Madigan sat down. “I’d be happy to if I know the words.”

He settled the guitar on his leg and leaned closer to her, lowering his voice. “If you forget, Toby will remind you when he gets home from the store with your daddy.”

Madigan’s pulse quickened as the names registered and “Tobias?” slipped out like a hopeful secret.