She eyed me up and down. “Are you on the visitor’s list?”
“I am,” I confirmed, sliding her my identification.
“Please give me a moment to confirm.”
Me:You’re taking time off from work? The world must be coming to an end.
Grant:Don’t piss me off, Kiyah.
“Ma’am, can you please sign the visitor’s log?”
“Sure,” I replied, heart hanging heavy in my chest.
I signed my name and filled in the time, my relation, and who I intended to see before receiving my visitor’s sticker. I slapped it on my chest and entered the belly of the beast.
I took the familiar route to the memory care unit, turning right at the massive water fountain in the atrium, past a large sitting room where a few residents conversed or huddled in the corner with coffee from the cafe and a good book. I nodded to some of the staff I was familiar with, stopped to chat with one of Grandma’s friends, Ms. Beverly, who said I looked so beautiful without all the metal in my face. I smiled at her graciously and accepted a feeble hug before I was put on notice that she’d alert Grandma of my arrival.
I arrived at the memory care unit, pressed the security button that looked like a Ring doorbell, and waited patiently for an employee to buzz me in. Some would be annoyed by the security measures, but I was grateful for them. The night Granddad wandered out of the house and was lost for hours was a fucking nightmare. Dad eventually found him a mile away from the country club—barefoot and in his pajamas—wheeling his golf clubs behind him at 4:00 in the morning.
If Granddad has to be locked up to ensure his safety, then so be it.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” the social worker behind the desk exclaimed as I entered.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Marley,” I replied with a sweet-as-pie smile.
“Uh-huh. You’re not fooling me, Kiyah Baker. I need you front and center for a pat down.”
I gasped and placed a hand on my chest. “What are you hinting at?”
“I’m hinting that you’ve brought contraband into this facility. The new receptionist at the front desk doesn’t know about you, but I do,” she said, rounding the desk. “You have anything on you that you’re not supposed to?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Are you lying?” the older Southern woman asked.
“Probably.”
Marley sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. “No cigarettes and no cigars. Do you hear me?”
“I understand. How has he been?”
She sighed. “He has his good and bad days—more bad than good.”
“What about today?”
“It’s a good day today. He’s out in the garden.”
“Good. I’m going to visit him before Grandma finds us and he starts pretending he doesn’t know who we are again to avoid her,” I said jokingly.
“Good idea. It’s good to see you, Kiyah. Don’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t be,” I replied with a wave of my hand.
I won’t be.
* * *
As soon as I passed through the veranda doors, I found Granddad under his favorite Live Oak tree in his usual spot. He was hunched over his walker, balancing his forearms against the padded arms. He wore black joggers, a plain white shirt, andblack house slippers. I knew if he was lucid, he’d be pitching a fit. He never left the house without looking his absolute best—a pressed suit, silk tie, Italian designer shoes, a flashy watch, and cufflinks with diamonds so clear and bright that you could see them from space. He instilled the importance of first impressions in us and said, “If you look like a bum, they’ll treat you like a bum.”