The Brilliant Fall of Gianna Z. (14 page)

“Francesca?” Dr. Hebert raises his eyebrows at Nonna. “Do you know what floor of the building we’re on?”

Nonna shakes her head. That’s dumb. Of course she knows what floor we’re on. The fifth floor. She pushed the elevator button herself.

“But, Nonna . . .” Dr. Hebert holds up a hand to silence me. I frown at my math book. He ought to just give her a minute to think.

“Spell the word ‘world,’ ” he says, and Nonna spells it.
See?
She knows.

“Now spell it backward, please.”

There’s another long pause. I look at Nonna, and she’s squinting at the empty white door of the examination room, as if there are letters there that she can’t quite make out. Finally, she shakes her head. He makes a mark on his paper.

“What are the three objects that I asked you to remember before?” Nonna’s quiet again. Again, she looks hard at the door. The words aren’t there.

Come on, Nonna.

Ball, car, man.

Ball, car, man.

I stare at her and think the words as hard as I can so she’ll remember, but it doesn’t work.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Dr. Hebert makes another mark on his paper. He should have given her more time or given her a hint or something. That was a while ago, and they talked about other things in between. I can’t see how this is proving anything.

Next, Dr. Know-It-All holds up his hand and points to his shiny gold Rolex. “What is this called?”

“It’s a clock,” Nonna says. Dr. Hebert makes yet another mark on his paper.

“She got that one right!” I drop my math book to the floor and lean over to point at his clipboard. “She got that one!”

“Gianna, please . . . I’d be happy to talk with you about this screening later, but right now, we need to finish.”

I was wrong. Dr. Hebert is no silver maple. He’s more like a hawthorn, those nasty, two-faced trees I just read about in my leaf guide. They look just great until you go to get a leaf and then you get stabbed with a big, pointy thorn.

I sit down on the rolling chair and push off, away toward the window. I look out. Where is Mom? She’d never let this go on so long.

Dr. Hebert holds up a pencil. “What is this called?”

“A pencil.” Nonna breathes out a long breath, like all this is tiring her out. At least she got credit for that one. I’m surprised he didn’t mark her down because she didn’t say it was a yellow number-two pencil. I pick up my own pencil and start a drawing on the back of my science paper. I try to sketch St. Mary’s Church across the street, one of the oldest buildings in town. It has cool arches, and I try to get the lines and shadows just right. It helps a little, but not so much that I can ignore the longer and longer silences that follow Dr. Hebert’s questions. Finally, he puts down the clipboard and folds his hands in front of him.

“Francesca, I’d like to talk with Angela about your results, I think. If she’s on her way, then perhaps—”

“I don’t know where Angela is, and I’m quite able to talk with my own doctor, thank you.” Nonna’s voice is quiet, but firm.

Doctor Hebert looks at me. “Yes, well, perhaps Gianna should—”

“She can stay.” Nonna folds her arms and fixes Dr. Hebert with a look.

“Very well, then.” He flips a page on his clipboard. “Francesca, you scored eighteen points on the Standardized Mini-Mental State Examination. That’s out of thirty.”

“That’s pretty good,” I say from the window. Dr. Hebert frowns at me, so I go back to outlining shingles on the church roof.

“There are thirty possible points, and anything over twenty-six is considered normal for a senior citizen. Scores between eighteen and twenty-six show mild but significant cognitive impairment, and anything below that suggests a moderate to severe loss of ability to reason.”

Nonna is still looking at him, confused. Like she’s not here right now.

I put down my books and scoot my chair over between them. “What does ‘significant cognitive impairment’ mean?”

This time, Dr. Hebert doesn’t frown, but he still looks serious. “What it means is that for whatever reason, it’s getting much harder for your grandmother to think and remember, to do the things that have always been easy for her. She’s going to need your help at home.”

“She’s already my big helper.” Nonna’s back. She takes a deep breath and reaches out for my hand.

I pull it back and point at Dr. Hebert’s clipboard. “Fine. I’ll help at home. But you haven’t said what all this proves—your little checklist here. Why does it matter that she can’t remember three words you made up?”

“It’s an indicator, Gianna. That’s something that—”

“I know what an indicator is!” I feel Nonna’s hand on mine again. “I know what an indicator is,” I say in a quieter voice. “An indicator of what? What is it and what can you do to help her? Isn’t that why we’re here?” I try to keep my voice down, but it’s hard.

“Yes and no,” Dr. Hebert says. How does someone get through medical school and get to be a doctor when he can’t choose one answer for a stupid yes or no question? He holds up his checklist. “This test helps us to figure out the extent of your grandmother’s problem. But it may be a long time before we know what’s causing the changes in her brain. We might never know exactly. But what we do know is that she’s going to need some extra help.”

“Gianna, Dr. Hebert isn’t telling you anything new.” Her eyes are shiny with tears. She’s right.

“So what happens now?”

“The next step is for us to go ahead with some blood work, which I think we already have scheduled for . . .” Dr. Hebert flips through his papers.

“Next week.” Nonna pulls her flowered calendar book from her purse. “The fifteenth.” She puts her book away and elbows me in the ribs. “See? Remembered that one.”

Dr. Hebert smiles. “I’m going to be honest with you both. This is tough on families. You’re probably in for some difficult times. Humor helps. And I know you have a good dose of that in your house.” He winks at Nonna and puts a hand on her shoulder. “You’re going to have a lot of questions about how to handle things, and your daughter will want to talk with me as well. I know you’ve probably thought about the possibility of Alzheimer’s disease?”

Nonna takes a deep breath and nods. “I have a living will already, and my papers are all in order.”

“A living will?” I turn to Nonna. “You have a living will?”

She nods. “It’s a document that explains what my wishes are in case I’m not—”

“I know what it is.” There was an old guy who had one on an episode of
Critical Care
. His family kept arguing over whether to take him off life support or not, and they ended up having to follow the orders in his living will but they fought about it the whole hour. “How long have you had a living will?”

Nonna takes a deep breath. “Your mother helped me get it together a few months ago.”

Now I can’t stop the tears. “Mom knows too? And it was
months
ago? How come nobody told me?”

“Because you should be creating your art and running through the mud and catching leaves,” she says.

“Well I’m not, am I? I’m here in this stupid office listening to him ask you stupid questions, and my leaf project isn’t done, and Mom is off at some meeting with a bunch of ladies while we talk about what happens when you . . .” I can’t say the word. I can’t. I start sobbing just thinking about what it will be like to lose Nonna.

“I’m not going anywhere just yet.” She gets off the examination table and bends down to hug me. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you had to go through this with me today.” She holds me for a long time.

Finally, Dr. Hebert clears his throat. I’d forgotten he was here. “Uh . . . I think we should probably talk more when Angela is available. For now, you can call if you think of any questions, and otherwise, we’ll see you for that blood work next week.” Dr. Hebert holds the door open for us. Neither of us talks as we walk through the spider plants and paintings in the waiting room to the elevator. Nonna pushes the button marked
G
for Ground, and I wonder if she’s figured out yet which floor we were on. When we step out, Mom is rushing down the hall toward us, teetering dangerously on her high heels and dripping petals from the mini carnation corsage on her gray suit.

“I am so sorry to be running late, but the Junior League gave me the fund-raiser of the season award and the press was there for pictures, so I had to stay, and then that nice Bobby Costanza from the paper wanted to do an interview and I thought it would be great publicity for the funeral home, so I . . .” She looks past us at the empty hallway. “Where’s Dad?”

“Pickup,” I say. Nonna and I walk past Mom and out the sliding glass doors. We both need some fresh air.

CHAPTER 16

E
ven Ian senses trouble. When we pick him up at his friend Finn’s house, he looks from me to Mom to Nonna, then looks down and plays with his jacket zipper the whole way home while Mom talks about her big meeting.

“Rebecca Gardner had on the prettiest long purple dress. You’d think that would make her look like a big grape, but it really was lovely.” She forces a laugh—too high-pitched and too long.

Nonna looks out the window.

I stare at the back of Mom’s head.

Ian stares at his zipper.

Two blocks from home, Mom finally asks about Nonna’s appointment.

“Well,” Nonna takes a deep breath. “The test showed what he called . . . let’s see . . .” She looks at me for help.

“He said it showed significant impairment of Nonna’s thinking,” I tell Mom.

“Sounds like a fancy doctor phrase for getting a little forgetful.” She reaches down to turn up the radio.

I raise my voice. “Mom, it’s more than that. It’s too early to say for sure, but Nonna’s still going in to have more tests on the fifteenth.”

“So, more blood work next week, Mom, but in the meantime, everything’s A-okay?” She looks at Nonna for a second and then switches the radio station again. I want to scream at her, but I don’t say anything. I’m so angry I’m afraid of what will come out if I open my mouth at all.

Garth Brooks starts singing “Friends in Low Places” and Mom taps her fingers on the steering wheel until Nonna turns off the radio.

“Angela, let’s talk at dinner. I’m a little tired out.”

At home, Mom goes straight to the kitchen and puts on a pot of water for the spaghetti.

“Let’s see, pasta’s nice and quick. We all need our carbs! Whole wheat, of course. Gotta have that fiber!” She whips Nonna’s sauce from last night out of the fridge and puts that on the stove, too. She unloads the dishwasher so fast I’m afraid she’s going to break the coffee mugs. The whole time, she’s humming a song I don’t recognize. I’m not sure it’s even a real song.

Dad finally comes up from his office and just stares. Mom whips dinner plates onto the table like those dealers you see on the TV poker games. I’m amazed they don’t go flying across onto the floor.

Nonna pulls Dad aside and talks to him quietly. They stand in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining area, watching Mom rip apart a head of iceberg lettuce. He whispers something to Nonna, and she nods.

Mom drops the lettuce on the floor. “Angela . . . Can I do anything to help?” Dad asks.

“Nope, all set. Dinner, Gianna!” Mom yells even though I’m about five feet away from her. She scoops up what’s left of the lettuce, thrusts the salad tongs into the bowl, and heads for the table. Dad flattens himself against the wall to get out of her way.

By the time I finish washing my hands and sit down, Mom has dished up my pasta, smothered it in sauce, and sprinkled cheese on top the way I like it.

“Thanks.” I help myself to some salad and pass it to Dad.

“You need your energy.” Mom smiles brightly. “Especially with all the schoolwork you have to do. Somebody needs to finish up a leaf collection.” She wags a finger at me.

Is she kidding? I spent the afternoon in a doctor’s office listening to Nonna flunk her test, question after hideous question, while Mom schmoozed with the Junior League ladies and took notes on their outfits. And she wants to talk about leaves?

“I was supposed to go with Zig today, but I had to . . .”

“That’s not an excuse.” The fun voice is gone. “You’ve had weeks to work on this, and it looks like you’ve spent all your time coloring.” She flings a hand toward the counter, where I see my leaf pictures, the color experiments with my pencils, in a messy stack.

“Those are just—I was just looking at the colors. And I have leaves! At least I had some before they got thrown out. I can’t believe you’re doing this now! You haven’t even asked about the doctor. Why are you harassing me?”

“Just because we have some family issues going on this week doesn’t mean you can drop everything.”

I slam my fork down on the table. “You sure didn’t drop everything,” I say. “You didn’t drop
anything
in
your
schedule today.”

“That was an important meeting, Gianna. I’m sorry I was a bit late, but—”

“A
bit
late? You call meeting us in the parking lot after the appointment’s completely over a
bit
late?”

Mom picks up her fork and starts moving cucumbers around her plate. “I’m sorry about that,” she says quietly. “I really thought Dad would be there.” She takes a deep breath. “And I guess part of me didn’t want to hear what Dr. Hebert was going to say.”