My Delirium, My Love

By Alea Rose

Jade McCabe performs her duties caring for older adults with mental illness with a passion that earned the respect of everyone who knows her. For Jade, it's personal. She lost the only family member she knew to Alzheimer's disease. But Jade's life is missing the one thing her dear grandmother wanted her to find - true love. When the most irresistible man she's ever met appears, Jade knows he's too good to be true. When reality crashes down around her, Jade struggles to put the pieces of her life back together and discovers that maybe reality is better than a fleeting dream.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alea Rose
• Release date: May 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311490131

Alea Rose

Alea writes historical, contemporary and sci-fi romances, some with more erotic content. Her stories always revolve around intrigue, mystery or a psychological plot.Alea lives in the Southeast United States, within a stone's throw of the Atlantic Ocean. She happily writes books full-time. When she isn't writing, she enjoys travel, spending time with family and friends and relaxing with a nice glass of wine.Coupons for discounts on books through Smashwords can be found by sending friend requests to Alea Rose on Facebook.

Book preview

Chapter 1

In my ultra sensitive ears, there was no worse sound than that of knuckles cracking intentionally. I tried it once and didn't like it. My patients often get carried away. They latch onto whatever they can grab, and like a python at dinnertime, are intent on squeezing the life out of whatever has the misfortune of enduring the clench. Today it was my hand—and my knuckles crunched so loud I winced more from the sound than the pain that shot up my arm.

Blanche Harrison was no different. She hit the unit this morning shrieking. Sometimes they come to us that way. Imagine being in a strange place. People are speaking to you, but their words are nonsensical. They're poking and prodding—and in some darned private areas. Better yet—you speak English only—and the people doing this to you are all speaking French. Not hard enough? O.K., they're speaking Japanese. Now the picture comes into focus a little bit better. It's scary.

That's how people with dementia interpret data. It's overwhelming and overstimulating. Unfortunately for my left hand, it resulted in bruises with my new admission. She gripped my fingers and looked up at me with enormous wet blue eyes and said, Honey, you've got to save me! They're trying to kill me.

I could've done like some of my coworkers and yanked my hand away and gone through the steps of reality orientation. I have never done that. Blanche will never regain her lost cognitive abilities. Instead of trying to force her back into my reality, I let the fingers of my left hand stroke her forehead. Shh… I'm right here. I won't let anyone hurt you.

A little sincerity goes a long way with the terrified. The vice turning my fingers purple relaxed. Tingling pain rushed in with blood all the way to my throbbing nails. She had a really good grip for someone so tiny. I think the typical way of describing those of Blanche's stature is petite. In nursing, I'd write something like cachexic, frail female appearing older than her documented age. Blanche is only sixty two. Her hair is white. Her skin sags away from her cheeks to form dainty little lady-jowls. The bed scale put her weight at 81 pounds.

Blanche has Alzheimer's disease.

I've seen this so often that I don't need anyone to tell me why she's here. It's an all too familiar scenario. She's stopped eating and drinking—which I can see from her lab values that show me how dehydrated and malnourished she is. Then again, I'm not blind either. She looks like she's been in a concentration camp circa 1944, not a nursing home.

Her fingers hooked my wrist and squeezed with Herculean strength. Think a little old lady can't be strong? Blanche was sent to us because she broke a nurse's arm during the night while resisting personal care.

Don't leave me, darling! I'm scared. Her soft raspy voice broke my heart. Blanche's darting eyes and dilated pupils betrayed every horrifying ounce of dread in her heart.

I won't leave you. It's all right. You're safe here.

You're such a good daughter. I love you so much.

My fingers danced over the back of the hand strangling my arm. Blanche's hands reminded me of a topographic map. Valleys dipped between the mountainous knuckles. Blood pulsed through underground venous rivers. The tremors would've registered a three on the Richter scale. I won't leave you, sweetheart.

She relaxed her grip, and I about jumped out of my skin when a low voice murmured from behind me.

I'm sorry. Mom doesn't have a daughter. Did she hurt you?

I turned my head and met his soul-eating sapphire eyes.

Do you think you can help her, doctor? her son asked.

Huh? It was an absolutely intelligent response, I know, but you see, I turned toward the voice that had murmured a painful admission into my ear, and just as sure as the sun rises in the east every morning, every ounce of professional wisdom I possess chose that moment to wrap itself right around my tongue as it fled my brain.

His hair was jet black, and his height topped mine by a good six inches—which is saying something, because I haven't been short since kindergarten. He needed a shave—the five o'clock shadow manifested about six hours early. In the center of his chin was a cleft that I had an uncontrollable urge to lick.

His smile was achingly sad. I asked if you think you can help her. I'm sorry… Did I startle you? It's a bad habit of mine, sneaking up behind people and assuming they won't be threatened by it. He pointed to the white collar he wore.

Then he smiled and stuck out his hand. My mother—Blanche. I'm her son Adam Harrison.

I gripped his hand, and for all of a millisecond regained my composure. Blanche must've really irritated my nerves because another electrical jolt shot up my arm. Jade McCabe. I'm her nurse. I mean, I'm the admitting nurse. I think Jodi will be her nurse for the remainder of the shift.

He pumped my hand slowly and smiled. She likes you.

Uh-huh. My eyes finally saw more than his face. Black suit… white collar… it finally registered. Ah, hell. "Father Harrison? I heard the stunned question echoing in my head. Damn… what a waste."

Pastor, he corrected, eyebrows scrunching together into a spectacular forehead frown.

It picked that moment—reason, professionalism, or common decency, whatever you want to call it—to unwrap from my tongue and return to my head. Did I really just say damn, what a waste to a minister? I am so sorry, Pastor Harrison! I—you—I'm so sorry. I rose to my full height, making sure that when he marched down to our unit director's office to file a complaint that he had my name, rank and serial number. Jade McCabe, RN, charge nurse.

The frown relaxed, and he finally let go of my hand. I wished in that moment that I was a mind reader—or more aptly, that I believed clairvoyance was possible at all, because any old soothsayer would do the trick. His stunning blue eyes filled with kindness and understanding. His lips parted and revealed two rows of perfectly straight, righteously white teeth. It made him look less holy and more impish, and thank God my faculties had returned, because the urge to flirt outrageously was a smidgen away from kicking into high gear.

Call me Adam, he said. The nursing home called me to tell me she had been admitted to the hospital, and I was working. I didn't change clothes, just rushed over here to make sure Mom is okay. Do you think the doctors will be able to help her?

I nodded sagely, trying not to imagine what my reaction to this gorgeous creature would've been if I stumbled upon him in public, out of his frock, maybe… no, certainly I wouldn't tempt him to break his godly vows. Did ministers take vows? I wouldn't know.

You'd think that someone who deals with life and death would have an opinion on the afterlife. In my case, it's not a popular opinion. I lean very far over the line into disbelief. The broken minds and suffering I see—well it's hard for me to believe that a benevolent creator could allow such a thing to happen to creatures he allegedly loves.

As such, I have no God, no Buddha, no Ganesha, no Allah, not even a single Flying Spaghetti Monster. Although I do like the notion of a beer volcano and a stripper factory in Heaven.

I was staring again and not answering his question. At least, my responses weren't the verbal kind that tended to qualify a nod and render it wise and not something that silently said, this woman is a moron without the first clue about what she's supposed to be doing. The psychiatrists will see her daily, Reverend, monitor her progress, and adjust her medications if that's what needs to happen. She'll also be treated by an internal medicine physician. Right now, your mother has some pending laboratory testing that will tell us whether or not she has an infection or vitamin deficiencies that could contribute to her change in behavior.

Vitamin deficiencies? he echoed. Like what kind?

I watched his arms fold over his broad chest, mentally stripping away the purity of his hallowed attire when biceps rippled against the black fabric. He seemed half determined to keep me acting like an idiot. I turned away from him, finding that my focus on Blanche kept me grounded to the job. Reason started doing its fantastic dance through my brain. I would've never laid eyes on the stunning Pastor Adam Harrison if it hadn't been for his ill mother. I didn't check out the church basement on Bingo Night, nor did I darken the consecrated doorways of a church on Sunday morning.

B12, I said, "sometimes it's a deficiency in older adults. It affects the blood's ability to form heme, which is the part of blood that carries oxygen."

Ah, he murmured, like hemoglobin.

Exactly. We also look at other vitamin levels. A number of current research studies have linked vitamin D deficiencies to multiple health problems beyond osteoporosis.

She had a bone density test a couple of months ago. Did the nursing home send a copy of her chart?

Just the basics, I told him. Current medication list and her recent behavior change, basically. Any other pertinent information will be requested by the doctors. I could have you sign a release of information form later on. Right now, I'd like to ask you some questions about your mother's history.

Adam moved to the other side of the bed and leaned over, kissing her forehead. Hi Mom. I'm here… it's Adam. When she met his greeting with a blank stare, he sighed and nodded. What would you like to know, Miss McCabe?

How long ago was Mrs. Harrison diagnosed with dementia? She's been a resident of Sunset Acres Rest Home for five years, correct?

Two years before that, so seven years ago. She was fifty-five when we noticed the change in her memory. It was little things at first, losing her car keys, forgetting appointments even though she had a date book with her daily lists recorded. Things like that. When she forgot to turn off the stove one morning and left the house for three hours, we took her to the doctor.

We? My eyes immediately zoomed in on his left hand, third finger. No ring. No tan line. I was a fool for even letting myself go there, and I knew it. This man was good. I was… well, me. I'm not a bad person, just not good in the religious sense of the word.

My cousin and I noticed the changes. He's been more like a brother to me since we were kids, both being only children and all, we sort of adopted one another. Anyway, Zeke suggested that we take her to a specialist. Dr. Barachman specializes in—

Neurology, I interrupted. Barachman did consultations for patients on our unit. He can tell the psychiatrist about your mom's medical history. What about her life?

Adam ran five fingers through his thick black hair. Well, I'm sure you've guessed that we're a religious family. My father founded First United Church of Christ.

The big place over off of West Hampden? I'd seen it. Magnificent edifice.

He smiled again, which distracted me and eroded my professional resolve a little bit, but not equal to the strength of my pragmatism. Adam Harrison was still a minister for crying out loud. That's the one. Have you ever attended a service there?

Never, I said. It was automatic and ingrained, which I'm pretty sure sounded like a refusal of an invitation before it could be made. My neighborhood attracted proselytizers from a number of different religious groups—primarily Mormon and Jehovah's Witness. I went out of my way to discourage them from visiting me. Even if I were religious, I'd have found that door to door stuff intrusive and disrespectful.

I'm not surprised, he said, but his smile didn't waver. There are many people who attend our services regularly, but this is a big city, and I have never discouraged people from being loyal to their home churches.

I don't have one. At this point, I was pretty sure that I'd begun losing my faculties as well, although our lead psychiatrist Mara likes to tell me that it's my defense mechanism. But it's good to know that Mrs. Harrison is a religious woman. Do you think she'd like to have the chaplain visit her while she's in the hospital?

"I kind of thought that… well, since I'm actually her pastor and her son… "

My face grew very warm. I'm sorry, I said. You must think I'm an idiot.

Not at all, he chuckled. Like I said, ordinarily you'd never know I'm a pastor. But if it doesn't violate any hospital rules, I'd like to be the one to minister to Mom's spiritual needs.

I never understood the meaning of that phrase—minister to spiritual needs. Did people really believe that sort of nonsense? It baffled me. Life is complicated enough without making up strange mythologies about things that can't be proven. That was how I always felt about it anyway. It's not against the rules, I said. But if there's ever an instance that you're not able to be here, would you mind if the chaplain visited with her until you can arrive?

I have no problem with that, he smiled again.

It was so toothy, yet warm and not with an ounce of the pretention I'd always associated with members of the clergy that it disconcerted me the more I saw it. I cleared my throat and grabbed the clipboard with my admission assessment paperwork on it from Blanche's bedside stand. Does she prefer being called Blanche or Mrs. Harrison?

"I think she prefers that you call her Mother," he said softly.

How could eyes really be that blue? I only glanced up from my paperwork for a second, and I know it sounds cheesy and corny as hell, but I really felt like I was lost. Lost in his eyes. I'm groaning over the admission.

I suppose everyone else should call her Blanche though. Mom has never stood on formality.

What was her occupation?

He laughed. My belly fluttered at the warm, rich sound. She was a pastor's wife. Are you from Denver, Miss McCabe?

Not originally.

My father died some years ago in an accident. It was very well known locally at least, but I don't suppose you would've heard about it. It happened about twelve years ago, and I'd imagine you were probably still in high school then.

I grinned. I wish, Reverend Harrison. I've been in Denver for ten years, moved here straight after college. But I'm afraid I don't follow the local news so carefully. I guess I'm one of those hated Colorado transplants who remain loyal to their hometown newspapers.

Can I ask where that hometown is?

My swallow sounded loud, and I would've sworn he must've heard it, because he immediately rescinded his request.

I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry. I'm here to answer your questions, not the other way around. What else can I tell you about Mother?

I kept my eyes pinned to my clipboard and finished asking questions. Whatever had possessed me to start acting girly was gone. I was thankful for that, because as I concluded the interview, the door to Blanche's room flew open, and Christine Lent rushed into the room.

"Pastor Adam, I just heard they brought your mother here! I'm so glad you picked my hospital for her treatment! I promise you, she'll get better care than anyone else."

I could feel the frost clinging to my eyelashes as I stared at her pudgy fingers' clutching grip on Pastor Adam's arm. There was no point in responding to Christine's promise that her mother would get extra special care from the staff. I was sure it was true—particularly if Christine was on duty. Instead of ordering her to leave, which I could've done, since I was technically in charge of her too, I reached out and offered Pastor Harrison a business card. I'm here all day Monday through Friday. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to call me or stop by my office.

Sorry I couldn't stop her in time, Jodi grinned.

Liar, I laughed.

Seriously, Jade. I was on the phone with Mara verifying admission orders on Mrs. Harrison when Christine came tearing through here. I knew she'd show up, the second I put two and two together.

Jodi, enough math. Just spit it out, I said.

"Okay… you're not an old warhorse out here. I recognized who Blanche Harrison was after her son showed up wearing his minister's collar. He's hot, by the way, and don't tell me you didn't notice. Anyway, I figured Christine would show up sooner rather than later. It's her church."

I groaned and palmed my forehead. "It's that church?" Christine Lent was one of those kinds of religious folks. Whacko—so far right the far left is in poking distance from the opposite side.

They're not content quietly doing good works, being kind to others, charitable, et cetera. No, Christine's brand of religion determined with absolute authority who was heaven-bound or… well, headed for the hot place. She sits on an ivory tower, wagging her head and clicking her tongue at the poor, wretched sinners in the world and doesn't lift a finger to help a man up from the gutter. She's the kind who looks at our patients trying to figure out what they did to warrant God's punishment by inflicting illness on them.

I felt a little bile bubbling in my stomach that a devastatingly handsome face had momentarily distracted me from one of the major reasons I disliked religion in the first place. It's never been a big secret to anyone who meets me that I don't believe in God. I never have and I never will. Seriously. Look at what I do for a living. I take care of people that nobody wants—either they're mentally ill or demented. They're all aging. You can't find two more neglected populations in this country. Nobody has time for aging grandma, mom, dad, Uncle Joe or anybody else who isn't young. I don't like it, but society sets the standards for our behavior as a culture, not little old me.

In the case of Christine Lent, God offers her a perfect excuse to be a judgmental ass to everyone around her. That's how I feel about her. By proxy, those feelings soon spilled over onto the right Reverend Adam Harrison.

I didn't realize how very unfair that snap judgment really was.

Chapter 2

Come here, Jodi's grin spoke volumes louder than her whispered words. She depressed a button on the call light monitor and lifted the receiver to her ear.

I rolled my eyes and laughed softly. You're incorrigible, Jo. Anybody ever tell you that?

Jade! He's asking about you!

I didn't need to ask. Who?

Pastor Drop-Dead-Gorgeous, of course, she hissed, crooking her index finger at me. He asked Christine what she thinks of you.

I wasn't particularly interested in his question, but Christine's answer concerned me. She made no secret of her desire to usurp my authority on the unit to all of her peers. Not only that, she often tried to convince them that she was my second-in-command. Jodi turned into the flame, and I was a moth, drawn to her involuntarily. My head nestled close to Jodi's ear, to the phone that eavesdropped on Reverend Adam's question.

Well, Christine said, I've only worked with her for a couple of years, Pastor Adam. She's a competent nurse.

I think she's more than competent, Adam said. I watched her with Mother for a moment before she knew I was here. She seems very compassionate too. Am I reading her wrong?

Oh, no, nothing like that. Well, sometimes she's like… bad cop to my good cop.

I'm gonna kill her, I growled. Did you hear what she told him?

Shh! Jodi hissed me to silence.

She said she doesn't have a church home, Christine. Do you think she'd mind if I personally invited her to a service?

Christine laughed, like he'd made the most hysterical suggestion she'd ever heard. Oh Pastor Adam, you are such a good man! You could try… but I'm warning you right now about that one.

Warning me?

She's an atheist. Christine whispered the word, but in that it's no secret loud way that annoyed everyone who knew her.

I see, Adam said softly. Then I suppose she needs God more than anyone else, doesn't she?

I—I didn't mean… I mean, I've tried to interest her in talking about God, Pastor Adam. She's very, well, let's just say that Jade doesn't respond well to that sort of thing. I wouldn't want you to think I haven't testified to her in all this time. I have—more than once. She isn't willing to listen to the Holy Spirit.

Damn, Jodi murmured. She reached down and released the button on the call light system's master control console again. I'm sorry, Jade. I shouldn't have done that.

Why not? Did Christine say anything that wasn't the truth? He asked for her opinion, and she gave it. If Harrison invites me to his church, I'll politely decline, simple as that.

I can tell it bothered you to hear her say that, Jodi said. I'm serious, Jade. You should tell her that it isn't appropriate to share information with visitors about the staff, no matter what kinds of questions they have.

I'll mention that, I said. Jodi was right. What Christine said about me stung. I didn't judge people for being religious. All of my friends are religious people. We love and respect each other enough to never let it be an issue. They know how I feel, and vice versa. We might argue and have the occasional tiff from time to time—usually when I refuse all invitations for Christmas parties—but religion has never become a serious rift with my close friends.

I grabbed my stethoscope. Never would be an appropriate time for me to allow the staff to see even one tiny crack in my armor—or the vulnerabilities that lived beneath my tough shell.

Jade?

I need to finish the admission, Jo. We'll talk later over cocktails, I added with a wink. Would you do me a favor and call Mara back and remind her that she's meeting us for drinks at six?

I knocked at the door to room four and entered again. I hate to interrupt, but I need to perform a physical examination now. Could I have you step outside the room and wait until I'm finished? I was careful to direct my comments to Adam Harrison. I wanted Christine to stay, even though she was off duty, if only for the time it would take for me to reprimand her discussion of my beliefs with the family member of one of our patients. But she started to follow him.

Not you, Christine. Not just yet, at least. My smile was tight, wouldn't have reached my eyes for all the money in the world, truth be told. I was not happy with her, and I've never been much of a liar. I'm pretty sure that Pastor Adam got the message as clearly as Christine did.

She paled and nodded. Her eyes darted to the floor while her friend slipped out of the room and closed the door behind him.

You heard our conversation, didn't you? Christine went on the offensive.

I did, Christine. I don't have to tell you how inappropriate it was for you to share anything of a personal nature about any member of our staff the way you did. I'm very disappointed in you.

Christine looked up, eyes wide, lower lip trembling. But he asked… That whining voice grated against my already frayed nerves.

And you could've told him that it isn't appropriate for you to discuss your co-workers. If Mr. Harrison has concerns about the care I would provide his mother, he can talk to me, Christine. If he isn't comfortable doing that, he should talk to Joy. She's my boss, not you.

But he's a friend, and that wasn't why he was asking—

His reasons aren't important. Your responses are. Have I made myself clear?

She nodded. I'm sorry. I didn't think about it that way, Jade. He's a really nice, caring person and I think he's worried about everybody's—

If you finish that sentence right now, I can promise you, you will not like what happens next, Christine. It's your day off. I have an admission to complete. If Mr. Harrison wants to give permission for you to visit when you're off duty, that's his decision. Right now, he's the only one I've authorized to be here. Since it's not visiting hours anyway, you should probably go home. With any other nurse, I'd have never thrown the rules down like a gauntlet, but with Christine, a firm hand would be necessary. She'd probably try to camp out at Blanche Harrison's bedside otherwise.

I understand.

I expected that while she did understand the message, she had no intention of following the rules. I pulled my BlackBerry from my pocket and sent a quick text to Joy, letting her know there was a staff issue we needed to discuss and quickly completed my assessment.

Adam Harrison was waiting for me in the hallway when I left the room.

I'm sorry that I got Christine into trouble.

My jaw clenched tightly. Whatever gave you that impression, Reverend Harrison? Christine—that was what, or rather who gave him the notion.

Your body language, he said. I can tell you're upset. You must've heard me asking Christine about you. I don't want you to think that her opinion changes mine.

Excuse me?

I don't care what you believe—or don't believe, Miss McCabe. I trust you to take excellent care of my mother. The same excellent care you obviously oversee is given to all these other people here. Whether you believe in God or not, what you do… well, I wish I could figure out a way to inspire this kind of charity from my parishioners.

Please don't take this the wrong way, Reverend Harrison. What I do isn't charity. This is my job, the career that I've chosen. I take pride in profession and work very hard to see to it that these patients have everything they need, whether they have the insight to recognize that I'm acting in their best interests or not. It irritated me in ways I couldn't begin to examine that he thought nurses engaged in charity… like we were the virginal model of nursing originally conceived by Florence Nightingale. Nursing had come eons since its inception, recognized as a profession of stature, capable of significant contributions to the system of health care—whether it was through bedside care or research or education.

I know, he said softly. But just because you're paid to hold a position which you accomplish with absolute professionalism doesn't mean there isn't charity in your heart, Miss McCabe. That's what I'm talking about. If Mother's nurses at Sunset Acres had been with her this morning when she was so confused, they'd have told her that she isn't their mother, and she'd have been terribly upset by it. When you didn't argue, just reassured her… well, she fell asleep. They told me she hasn't slept in days.

You can go back and sit with her for awhile, I said. Maybe he made his point. At least I understood he wasn't belittling my profession. Ordinarily, I wouldn't let you stay. We have very strict visiting hours.

Admissions gave me a packet with the policies when I arrived. I don't mind following the rules, Miss McCabe, and I certainly don't expect preferential treatment. I'll be back to visit Mother at seven this evening. He paused and held my gaze so long I forgot to breathe. I don't suppose you'll be on duty, will you?

My shift ends at three-thirty, I said.

Oh… well, I guess I won't see you until lunchtime Monday. You will call me if anything happens with Mother, won't you?

Certainly. Why couldn't I stop bristling every time he said something related to my job? He wasn't trying to make me feel incompetent; he didn't understand what to expect. It's our policy to notify any patient's medical power of attorney for changes in condition or—

That's not me, he interrupted.

It isn't?

My cousin Zeke—Ezekiel Harrison. After Dad's accident, Mother decided that she didn't want the burden of making decisions of life and death left on my shoulders, so she named Zeke instead. I'm not sure I'd have the strength of character to… to…

Did your mother sign an advance directive? I asked, recognizing the pain in his voice instantly. He nodded, swallowed once and stared at the floor.

She doesn't want any extraordinary measures. At least not from men.

I don't know what that means, I said frankly. I didn't. What was the woman hoping for, a miracle? Again, I felt an urge to smack myself in the head.

He smiled. "I guess it's my personal failing, wanting to put my trust in the hands of doctors instead of letting God's will be done. Mother understood that. She was very wise before this disease