Then I walked downstairs.
Julian and Chloe were seated at the dining table.
Three plates had been arranged beneath the chandelier. A bottle of red wine stood open between them. Julian had removed his jacket and rolled his sleeves to the elbows, presenting the image of a tired caretaker trying to enjoy a peaceful family meal.
Chloe smiled without warmth.
“How is she?”
“Exhausted.”
“She has difficult evenings,” Julian said. “The doctor calls it sundowning.”
“Which doctor?”
His fork paused.
“Dr. Halpern.”
I had met Dr. Halpern once. He was Mother’s cardiologist, not a neurologist.
“When did he diagnose her with dementia?”
Julian leaned back.
“I didn’t say dementia.”
“You said sundowning.”
“It’s a symptom.”
“Of what?”
Chloe placed her wineglass down.
“This is exactly why your visits are disruptive. You arrive without warning, interrogate everyone, and upset your mother.”
“I asked one question.”
“You’ve been upstairs nearly an hour.”
