Page 31 of Sinful Betrayal
The moment I walk into her living area, I know she’s had a bad day from the way she’s just staring at the TV even though it’s not on. Annie, her night nurse, comes straight over to greet me by the door.
“How is she?”
Annie grimaces.
“When I took over from Jen at four, she said she'd been very agitated all day. She could barely get her to eat or do much of anything. She hasn’t spoken a word to me in the two hours I’ve been here.” Annie glances over her shoulder at my mother. “She keeps asking for Nikolai.”
I grind my teeth at the mention of my brother.
“Thank you, Annie.” I force a smile. “Why don’t you go and take a break, and I’ll fix her some dinner.”
Annie nods and disappears into her room that adjoins my mother’s. She’s been her night nurse for almost a year and despite her only being in her early twenties, she’s extremely mature and reliable, and I’ve grown to trust her immensely. She has a very calming presence that I know is good for my mother.
“Hi,Mamulichka.” I come to sit beside her on the couch. “What do you fancy for dinner?’
She turns to look at me and frowns.
“Who are you? What are you doing in my house?”
“Mamulichka, it’s me, Anton. Your son.”
She shakes her head again.
“Nikolai is my son.” She gets to her feet. “Nikolai is my son.”
The look of devastation on my mother’s face as she paces around the room, clearly confused and disorientated, has my heart feeling like it’s being cracked open.
I hate that Nikolai is the reason behind it.
“Why don’t I make us some pelmeni?” It’s a traditional Russian dish she always used to make for my brother and I all the time when we were kids, and I hope it can bring her some comfort.
Despite her worsening condition, her memory from before my father died is pretty much intact, though she’s starting to have episodes where she remembers almost nothing.
“No.”
Her gray hair is loose and all messy around her shoulders.
I can only imagine the fight Jen had to have with her just to get her dressed, let alone putting a brush through her hair.
My mother could be a stubborn woman before the Alzheimer’s, and now she’s even worse.
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Annie says you haven’t eaten all day.”
“Annie is a liar!” She picks up the potted plant off the coffee table, launching it across the room where it smashes against the wall.
I take a deep breath, not wanting to react to the outburst.
“I’m going to make us some dinner.” I walk into the kitchen area.
As I’m pulling ingredients for the dumplings out of the fridge, my mother’s footsteps approach. I keep my head down as I get to work slicing some mushrooms for the filling.
“Are you the chef?”
I turn to look at her over my shoulder and see no recognition in her eyes.
“Yes.” I try to ignore the growing pit in my stomach.