such kindness. She didn’t look up or acknowledge their presence. Treha locked on to the woman as if she were the only person on the planet.
Ardeth slipped a hand on top of Treha’s. Then she did the same with the other and squeezed. The husband caught up asArdeth’s tongue slipped forward. She struggled, squeezing her eyes shut, and spoke with the force of a bursting dam.
“Hoooo . . . mmmm.” The word came out in multiple syllables, and when she finished, she sucked in air like she hadn’t breathed in days.
“She spoke,” the daughter gasped. She leaned closer. “What did you say, Mom?”
The woman looked up at her daughter, then back at Treha. It looked like the circulation was cut off to Treha’s hands.
“That’s right,” Treha said. “You are home.”
“Yesssssssss,” Ardeth said, nodding. “Hoooommmme. Hoomme.” She sat back, a look of confidence spreading. And then instead of many syllables, it was just one.
“Home.”
The two ladies turned from their puzzle, their hands together, faces beaming. Dr. Crenshaw chuckled and shook his head and thumped his Bible on one knee. Behind him, the sun broke through the cloud cover.
“This feels like . . . home to me,” Ardeth said, punctuating the words by raising and lowering Treha’s hand. She laughed.
“I can’t believe it,” the man whispered. “I thought she’d never talk again.”
“It’s remarkable, isn’t it?” Miriam said.
The daughter stepped forward to look at Treha. Miriam searched the girl’s face for any hint of joy or sadness or longing, but there was only a blank stare.
“Treha, how did you do that?”
“How did I do what?” She said it sincerely.
“What you did. The breakthrough. You reached her.”
Treha looked at Ardeth, then back to the daughter. “I just spoke to her. I showed her I would listen.”
Ardeth held on to Treha’s hands and studied her through glistening eyes. “You’re a nice girl. Such a sweet face. You look like my granddaughter.” She glanced up. “Celeste, she looks a little like Tiffany, don’t you think?”
The daughter patted her mother’s arm. Overwhelmed, overcome. “Yes, Mom. You’re right —she does look like Tiff.”
“Such a beautiful girl.”
The husband touched Miriam’s arm and the two retreated. “Does she work here full-time? Would she be seeing my mother-in-law regularly?”
Miriam smiled. “Treha is in high demand. She spends time with a number of people. I’m sure she would visit Ardeth.”
The man looked back at the three, his wife now kneeling by the wheelchair. “Does it work like that for everyone? I mean, if she can break through to Ardeth . . .”
“It depends. I’ve seen people with mild dementia come alive, like today. I’ve seen Alzheimer’s patients connect for a time. Even the most severely affected have some kind of response.”
“How long does it last? She could go right back into herself at sundown, right?”
Miriam studied the scene, taking in the unity that had replaced the discord. Three separate individuals, in pain, uniting around the words of an old woman.
“It’s not really up to us,” Miriam said. “Or Treha, for that matter. It’s up to the person she’s reaching. You have to want to be reached. To respond.”
The man’s eyes searched the room for nothing in particular. “I’d like to see the contract, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Streams from Desert Gardens
scene 6
Wide shot of security guard Buck Davis in uniform, arms crossed, leaning back in his chair.
The day Mrs. Howard began was the same day I was hired. I told her she’d never regret it. I like to say she never would have made it this long if I hadn’t come along. Been here every step of the way. We’ve grown up together. Not grown old, mind you, just grown up.
You learn a lot of things working at a place like this, if you’ll let it teach you. It’s just like anything in life —you have to open your mind. Have to see what’s not