Vane smiled tenderly at his elderly bride. “I just don’t want anything to spoil this trip for you, dear.”
Her smile in response was more a twitch than a smile.
“I’m sure we can remedy the situation,” Swayze told them, in his practiced, calm tone. It was what he said to everyone who came to see him, to put them at ease. He gestured toward his inner office.
Once inside, with the couple seated in front of him, Swayze sat behind his desk as Vane handed the doctor a folded sheet of paper.
“It’s a letter from our doctor,” the man explained. “Just in case something like this might happen. You can give him a call if you like.”
Swayze read the note regarding the woman’s medication, which was written on stationery from a Fifth Avenue doctor in New York. Fifth Avenue doctors didn’t seem to have any better penmanship than anyone else in the medical fraternity
“This will be fine,” Swayze told them. “I’ll just make a photocopy and return it to you.” He looked at the wife, fidgeting in her chair. “And I’ll need to ask you a few questions...” He consulted the letter again. “...uh, Margaret?”
Her reply was a mouse-like squeak: “Yes.”
He gave her his best bland, meaningless physician’s smile. “How long have you been taking this anti-depressant, Margaret?”
The woman peered sideways at her husband as if asking permission to answer. He nodded reassuringly.
“About a year now.”
“And you feel it’s helping your depression?”
Again she looked at her husband, who again nodded.
“I think it is,” she said.
Swayze didn’t. He thought this bundle of nerves needed something a whole lot stronger, and soon. But it wasn’t his job aboard ship to fix a gaping wound, just slap a Band-Aid on it.
He wrote on his prescription pad. “This should be sufficient to carry you through the cruise... Then you’ll need to see your own physician as soon as you get back, understand?”
The woman smiled, relieved. “I will, and thank you doctor.”
“Don’t hesitate to come see me again if you have any more trouble,” he told them, as he told everyone when they left.
The third person who came to see him the morning the ship sailed for Nassau required a bit more of his time; but he didn’t mind — he had plenty of it to spare. And besides, she was attractive, and (he soon discovered) single.
Wearing navy slacks and a red top decorated with little gold anchors, the thirty-something blonde with shoulder-length hair sat across from his desk, her poise undermined by hazel eyes that hinted that not all was well, and in fact carried a look of controlled hysteria.
“Thank you for your time, doctor,” she said. Her voice was a melodic alto. “You’re probably very busy.”
Swayze half-smiled, saying, “Whatever your problem is. I’m sure we can remedy it,” then wondered if he’d sounded too openly flirtatious.
She shifted in her seat. “I wish you could,” she said sadly, “but I don’t think you’ll be able to... I don’t think anyone would be.”
He frowned.
“My name is Jennifer Kafer,” she explained. “I’m on the cruise with my mother, Cora Hazen, and I have reason to believe she’s in the early stages of Alzheimer’s.”
Swayze leaned forward in his chair. “I am sorry,” he said. “You haven’t seen a doctor at home, then?”
“No, this is a problem that has accelerated rather rapidly, I’m afraid,” Jennifer said, and went on to explain. “After my father died last year, I had Mother move in with me and my six-year old daughter, Lisa, who’s staying with her father while Mother and I take this trip... We’ve been divorced for several years.”
He managed not to smile at this good news, keeping a professionally concerned expression in place; and he was concerned, even if his musings about this pretty passenger were somewhat less than professional.
“Anyway,” Jennifer Kafer continued, “Mother seems fine most of the time — I would have canceled the trip, if she weren’t — but every now and then, more and more often, Mother just isn’t herself. She’s almost like a child. Last week, I came home and found her playing with my daughter’s Barbie dolls... She looked at me like she didn’t know who I was. But then, a few hours later, she was back to her old self again.”
Swayze leaned on his elbows and made a tent with his hands. “Has your mother shown any violent tendencies?”
Jennifer shook her head. “No, she’s always quite cheerful.” She paused, then added, “I guess I should be thankful for that. My girlfriend, Susan, her mother has Alzheimer’s... and Susan’s mother has turned very mean. Last year, when Susan bought a new television, her mother smashed it with a baseball bat and cursed her for buying a TV that played commercials. Her mother became so abusive she finally had to be institutionalized.”
Swayze sat back in his chair and heaved a sympathetic sigh. “It’s quite typical, people suffering with Alzheimer’s venting their anger and frustration on family members. But if your mother remains cheerful, and content, as the disease progresses, you will indeed be lucky... at least as lucky as a caretaker of a loved one with Alzheimer’s could ever hope to be.”
Jennifer nodded in agreement, then dug into her purse. “I’d like to give you this picture of her,” she said. “Even though I’ll be with her every moment on the ship, well... Sometimes small children can wander away, if you know what I mean.” She placed the photo on his desk. “It could be helpful in finding her.”
Swayze looked at the photo. “Is this a recent photo?”
“Just a year ago, before any signs had become apparent.”
Cora Hazen was a vibrant older woman with short red hair, a dazzling smile and intelligent bright eyes that in time, he knew, would be dimmed by the insidious disease, robbing the poor woman, and her family, of the last years of her life.
“I could arrange to sit at your table during meals,” the doctor offered.
Jennifer’s face lighted up like fireworks off the starboard bow. “Oh, that’s very generous, doctor!”
And it was a generous offer, but then, the lovely woman seated in front of him would be enjoyable company, and he’d grown tired of eating at the staff table.
“That is,” he said, “if you think my observations might help, or at least give you some peace of mind.”
“Oh they would, and I hope I can find some way to repay you, doctor,” she said, her expression radiant.
He said, “No thanks are necessary,” thinking that he hoped she would find a way, adding, “And of course, don’t hesitate to come see me again if you have any more trouble.”
When the woman had gone, Dr. Swayze put the picture of Cora Hazen aside, filed away his thoughts for a promising shipboard romance, and settled back in his chair for yet another uneventful cruise.
The ship’s enormous Celebration dining room, located in the middle of the Atlantic Deck, was decorated as if every night were a party: carpet like colorful confetti, tables aglow with candles, streamers hanging from the ceiling, and everyone dressed to the nines; the whole place looked like a big birthday cake with all its candles glowing, ready for a wish.
Anthony wished he was on the boat with one of his several current, younger love interests, and not his stupid older wife. But, then, the three women he was having affairs with did not have Margaret’s money. Margaret had Margaret’s money — and for him to have to access to that tidy fortune, he had to put up with having Margaret.
It was the first evening meal of the cruise, and they were dining near the center of the room at one of the round, white-linen-sheathed tables that seated eight. He didn’t know the others at his table (nor did he want to); they were just strangers thrown uncomfortably together for a few days. But by the end of the cruise, Margaret would know all of them intimately and add the whole boring bunch to their Christmas card list.