Remember Me: Music For The Heart: Book 4 Read online

  With a few hip twists, my heartbeat settled. Seymour moved on to a female resident and I moved on to dance with Morris to the song “Strangers in Paradise,” a favorite of mine by Tony Bennett and Andrea Bocelli. I had been exposed to many wonderful oldies since I’d started working at the center.

  Shit!

  I spun around to catch the guilty party who had grabbed my ass.

  Seymour for a change.

  “Behave, Seymour.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” He wiggled his brows and flashed me a sardonic grin. “Let’s dance again, shall we?” He gripped my hips, sneaking one hand around to my rear.

  Oh dear Lord.

  The man was too much. I promptly withdrew his hand. “I’m dancing with Morris right now. You are free to join us.”

  “I’d rather have you all to myself.”

  I’m sure you would.

  “Let’s not be selfish. That wouldn’t be fair to Morris.”

  I continued to sway. Seymour muttered something to himself, glowered, and waltzed over to the closest female. I only hoped he didn’t try to grope her too.

  After the song finished, a few of the aides brought over mini cups of ice cream. We helped feed those who required assistance. Even though feeding residents wasn’t my job, I considered it doing my part to help the poor souls.

  My favorite resident, Mimi, was napping comfortably on the couch. There was a reason she was my favorite. She was my grandmother. Not many staff members knew we were related other than the director and head nurse. It was a hush-hush thing between me and the key figures at the center.

  Mimi seemed peaceful enough, so I didn’t wake her. Some of the others were napping as well. I must’ve pushed them too hard and exhausted them.

  Morris hurled his cup of ice cream on the floor. “Goddammit! I can’t eat that garbage!”

  Ryan leaped off the couch, his jaw falling open. Shock had overtaken his handsome features. As in, his chiseled jaw, John Travolta dimples, freshly shaved skin, and crystalline blue eyes. I could drown in them. Not that I was staring or anything.

  It was clear he had never seen his grandfather throw one of his temper tantrums.

  Springing into action, I shoved Ryan aside and out of striking distance. You never knew when you were going to get clobbered—kicked or punched—especially when the residents got agitated.

  Leaning down, I picked up the cup of spilled and melting ice cream, mindfully keeping ample distance from Morris.

  “Go away!” He tried to kick me but couldn’t reach.

  Ryan stepped closer. “Gramps, that’s no way to speak to or treat a lady.”

  He would have to learn that logic wouldn’t work. His grandpa needed a break from all the stimulation going on around him. With Morris, I had discovered that the best plan of action when he got worked up over something was to leave him alone. He hated being touched when he was upset.

  “You shut up!” Morris pointed a firm finger at Ryan, rage fueling the old man’s face. Poor Ryan looked stunned. I put my hand up to signal for him to let me handle it.

  One of the other aides dashed over to assist Morris by offering him more ice cream—a stupid move on her part. He had specifically said it tasted like garbage. Why would he want more of it? The result: Morris tried to kick her too. I hated to admit it, but she deserved his wrath for being so ignorant.

  “Fuck,” Ryan muttered under his breath.

  Tabitha, the head nurse, intervened by approaching Morris.

  “Get away from me! I’m leaving this God-awful place. Where’s Carol?” He went to rise unsteadily.

  Carol was his deceased wife.

  “She just called. She’ll be here soon.” Tabitha encouraged him to sit again, keeping her hands to herself.

  He did so without complaint.

  “Go call her and tell her to come this instant!”

  “Will do. While I make the call, please stay put and wait for her. Okay?”

  “Tell her to come now.” His finger trembled as he pointed it at Tabitha.

  “I’m on it.”

  Tabitha left for the nurse’s station. She sat at her desk and resumed going through medical charts.

  Ryan stood in front of his grandfather, scratching his cheek, then rubbing his chin. The guy was lost. I signaled for him to follow me. I led him to a quiet corner by the piano. When he noticed it, his eyes lit up. He glided his hand across the chipped walnut top of the old Yamaha upright that had been generously donated by a resident’s family. It had seen better days. Ryan tapped a few keys.

  “Do you play?”

  “I do.”

  He showed me by playing a few chords.

  His fingers glided over the keys with ease. A lightbulb clicked on in my head.

  “Maybe you could play for us during one of your visits? I’m sure the residents would more than appreciate it. As you saw before, they love music.” I did too and totally wanted to hear more from Ryan.

  “Yeah, sure.” He withdrew his hand and popped it into his pocket. His eyes met mine. “Let me ask you a question, does my grandpa behave like that a lot?” He swallowed hard.

  “Yes, but it’s nothing to worry about, and definitely nothing out of the ordinary. At this time of the day, most of them go through what we refer to as sundowning.”

  “Sundowning?”

  “It’s something that happens in the late afternoon hours and can go well into the night. It depends on the person. Basically, it’s when we’ll see more emotional and physical outbursts, agitation, restlessness, even crying, from the residents.”

  “Damn.”

  “It’s part of the process.” I shrugged, not having a better or more comforting response to give him.

  “My poor grandfather.” His eyes briefly closed. When he opened them, sadness filled them. “What the hell happened to him?” He shook his head gently and let his gaze fall to the floor.

  “Is this your first time seeing him in this condition?”

  He gave me his full attention. “I’m not in town often. My mother has kept me informed about the progression of his disease, but in my wildest dreams, I never pictured this. It’s hard to bear.”

  “We do have support groups here at the center to help family members struggling to cope with the changes taking place in their loved ones who reside here.”

  His hand sprang up. “No, thanks. There will be no support groups for me. I’ll deal with this on my own.”

  Good luck with that.

  “Suit yourself. Sometimes it helps to speak with others going through the same thing.”

  “I’m sure it does, but I’ve got a tight support system. I tend to keep my personal life private. But thanks for the info.”

  “No problem. If you change your mind, the groups are bi-weekly and free of charge.”

  He nodded in acknowledgment. Somehow I knew he wouldn’t be taking me up on the offer, though.

  “You’re so patient with them. Kudos to you.”

  “It’s what I do.” I hiked up a shoulder.

  “Well, I respect the hell out of it.”

  His intonation surprised me. I was used to getting verbally attacked. Rarely did I hear compliments at work.

  “Thank you. That’s nice of you to say.”

  “It’s the truth. I wouldn’t be able to work in this type of atmosphere.”

  Many days I felt the same way. The stress of my job was getting to me, wearing me down. But similar to Ryan, I chose to keep my personal life private. At least he had a good support system. Mine kind of sucked, other than my two girlfriends who I chose not to share everything with.

  “Which is why we all choose different professions.” Yet, I hadn’t chosen this profession. It had somehow been thrust upon me.

  “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “So how long will you be in town?”

  “Are you asking for personal reasons?” He stood taller, puffing his chest out.

  This Ryan character was mighty cocky. Too bad I was fond of cocky things
, especially when they weren’t good for me.

  “I was asking for your grandpa.” A burning sensation filled my cheeks.

  He tipped his chin at me. “Sure you were.”

  “A bit egotistical, are we?” The warmth spread down my neck. I hadn’t done the flirting thing with a guy I found attractive in forever.

  He held his thumb and pointer about an inch apart and closed one eye. “A little bit.”

  “I can see that.”

  We both smiled, and a comfortable ease settled between us.

  “I’ll be in town for a few weeks.”

  “I encourage you to make the most out of your visits with your grandpa. Alzheimer’s changes rapidly for some, slowly for others. One never knows how it’s going to play out. Cherish the time you have together, even if he doesn’t remember it.”

  “And what happens when he doesn’t know who I am?”

  “I believe there is recognition. Not sure if it’s true or not. It’s something I sense when the residents see their loved ones. Anyway, at that point, you will be visiting more for yourself than for him. You’ll also be supporting him through this horrific period in his life.”

  “It’s horrific alright, and an awful way to go. This disease royally sucks.”

  “That it does.”

  One of the aides signaled for me.

  “If you’ll please excuse me, I have to get back to work. It was nice meeting you. I hope to see you again.” As in, soon.

  “Oh, you will,” he assured.

  Yay! I couldn’t wait.

  3

  Ryan

  “Take it from the top.” The intro to the song sounded off. Something was missing. “Mason, why don’t you lead us in?”

  Our band’s drummer nodded and tapped a few beats on his kit. That was all it took for the rest of us to join in and create the perfect sound.

  “Better.” Jonas set his guitar on its stand and chugged down a bottle of water. He tossed the empty bottle across the room, missing the trash can. “Dammit.”

  “Good shot,” our bassist, Nick, teased.

  “Let’s see you do better,” Jonas challenged.

  “Get me the bottle and I will.”

  “Can we please forget about bottle basketball and work on the song?” Mason huffed. “You can play toss the bottle in the trash later.”

  “To be honest, I could use a break. We’ve been going at it for hours.” I rolled the kink out of my neck.

  “It’s too early to go to a strip club. How ‘bout we get a pizza, watch a movie, and then head to one,” Jonas suggested. “Now that we’ve got the melody down, we can finish working on the song tomorrow.”

  “First, I want to prove you wrong. Hand me the bottle.” Nick stuck his hand out.

  “You have legs. Walk over and get it yourself.”

  Mason and I exchanged glances. Nick and Jonas were something. What? We weren’t sure.

  Nick grunted but retrieved the bottle. He positioned himself to toss it.

  “You’re standing too close. You have to throw it from over here,” Jonas instructed, standing a few feet back from Nick.

  Nick sighed and did as told. He chucked the bottle across the room.

  Hole in one.

  The smug bastard’s lips revealed his satisfaction with himself. “That’s how you do it, my friend.” He patted Jonas on the back.

  Jonas shrugged him off. “Screw you.”

  “In your dreams.” Nick chuckled.

  “Try nightmares.”

  “Children,” I admonished. “My stomach is screaming. I’m game for a za.”

  The guys and I had a ritual on the bus of watching classic movies at least once a week during extended road trips. By classics, I meant 80s films. Not the black and whites they probably played at my grandfather’s center.

  Nick was on board because he got busy zipping his gig bag after tucking his bass safely inside it. Jonas packed his guitar with the same gentle care.

  “Meet at my house. I’ll call and order the za.”

  Mason had a huge-ass television in his living room. With that being the case, we usually hung out there.

  We left our instruments in our makeshift practice room. The same one we had used back in high school when we played our very first song together as a band. It now had a few improvements, such as air conditioning and soundproofed walls.

  My parents complained that I should build a practice room in my apartment, but the guys and I were all in agreement that we couldn’t or wouldn’t do that, to my mother’s dismay. One would think she’d be pleased with the success me and the guys had found. Nope. She hated me traveling around the country. I understood her rationale, but the past was behind us. She couldn’t keep me on a leash forever. I could only imagine how overbearing she’d become once we began world-wide tours. The band hadn’t gained that kind of fame yet but was well on its way if things continued to progress as they were.

  We were also superstitious. We had written all of our songs in my garage and had become successful. We didn’t know if the two were related, but we weren’t about to change our method of creating music when the end result had been phenomenal so far.

  Nick, Jonas, and I followed Mason to his place. Well, me and Jonas did. Nick didn’t have the patience for our “slow” driving, so was the first to arrive there.

  “Pizza will be here in thirty. Anyone want a beer?” Mason tugged a few out of the mini-fridge behind the bar and lined them up on the granite countertop.

  We all grabbed one.

  “What should we watch?” Jonas tapped his lip with the top of his bottle, contemplating.

  “Fast Times at Ridgemont High?”

  “Nah, not tonight.” As much as I loved the flick, I wasn’t in the mood for Jeff Spicoli.

  “‘People on ‘ludes should not drive,’” Nick spat out.

  We always repeated famous lines. An inside joke, if you will.

  The four of us dropped onto the sofa with beers in hand.

  “How ‘bout Less Than Zero?” Jonas asked. “‘This is not recess. Everyone is accountable.’”

  “It’s too depressing. Pick something more upbeat. And how the hell do you know a line from it?” Nick’s face scrunched up.

  “Photographic memory.” Jonas now tapped the side of his head with the tip of his bottle.

  “You’re so full of shit.” Mason tossed the decorative pillow he was leaning against at Jonas, who in turn ducked. The small fluffy pillow landed on the floor. Nick snagged it and leaned against it. “It’s because you think Jami Gertz is hot.”

  Jonas nodded. “For once you’re right, Mason. Don’t know how she looks now but I’d still do her. In keeping with the Jami Gertz theme, hot ‘bout Lost Boys? She’s in that one too.”

  Mason replied, “I’m game since we didn’t order Chinese food. ‘They're only noodles, Michael.’ I haven’t eaten lo mein since.”

  We all got a good laugh at that line.

  “You’re fucked up, bro. It was a movie.” The fuzzy bitter taste of my beer slid down my throat. I settled the bottle between my thighs and rolled my fingers over the rim of it.

  “Yeah? Well, the image of maggots squirming around in that container still gives me the creeps.” Mason shivered.

  I understood how he felt. The thought creeped me out as well. I kept it to myself, though.

  “‘Maggots, Michael. You're eating maggots. How do they taste?’”

  “Shut up, Jonas.” Mason cringed. “I don’t want to picture it. And have you memorized the lines from every movie we’ve ever watched? I mean, what the fuck? Were you a bored and lonely child?”

  “Like I said, photographic memory.” Again, he tapped the side of his head.

  “Why don’t we watch your life story, Ryan, Revenge of the Nerds?”

  “You’re funny, Jonas. And you know what else? I dig that movie, so it’s a yes from me,” I replied.

  “Of course it’s a winner in your book. You can relate.” He snickered.

 
; “If I can recall correctly, the nerd got the hottie, and he had skills. ‘Oh, Ryan. You were wonderful. You did things to me you've never done before.’”

  “His name was Stan, dickhead. Not Ryan,” Jonas corrected.

  “Yeah, but when I’m in bed with a woman she moans my name. Not sure if you’ve experienced such a thing before. Have to say, you’re missing out.” I embraced my cleverness.

  “Oh, don’t worry about me. Women scream my name when I fuck them.” Jonas did a pelvic thrust and pumped his arms into his sides. “Ah,” he grunted in a sexual tone.

  “No need to get defensive,” I joked, holding my hand up.

  Jonas shot me a bird.

  “Hey, Ryan, you just admitted to being a nerd.” Nick laughed.

  A delayed response to my earlier comment.

  “I’ll take it since I too am consumed with thoughts about sex.” I raised my brows.

  “Bam!” Mason hooted. “He told you.” His gaze shot to Nick’s.

  The doorbell rang.

  “Yes! The zas are here. Now please pick a movie and let’s get to it.” Mason pulled some cash out of his wallet and jetted for the door.

  “Nerds?” I asked for confirmation.

  “Nerds it is, but the first one.” Jonas held up a finger. As if I didn’t understand what he meant, the dipshit.

  “Maybe you’ll be able to pick up some tips,” I said to him.

  He shot me another bird.

  Mason brought the boxes of pizza to the living room and set them on the table between the beer bottles. It was showtime.

  We ate, drank, laughed, teased, and got plenty merry.

  After the movie finished, Nick rose. “Gentlemen, Jonas, ready for some strip club action? I, for one, am stoked to see some muff.”

  “You prefer ‘em hairy, do you?” Jonas quipped.

  “I prefer ‘em any way: hair pie, shaved, bush. Pussy is pussy, my brothers.”

  “Bush and hair pie are the same thing, you idiot,” Jonas responded.

  Nick threw his hands up. “Don’t care. To-may-to, to-mah-to. Now please get your asses off the couch so we can go see some.”

  “Which club?” Jonas finished off his beer and set the bottle on the table.