7: The Old Folks At Home

Gilmer's Garden was nestled in the foothills of the Shenandoahs. It was composed of a series of Victorian-style buildings, looking more like the campus of a private college than a home for the elderly.

But that's what it was, as the sign indicated at the gate set into the four-foot-high stone wall that surrounded the property. Barry had to speak into an intercom to get the gate opened. Not very Deaf-friendly, Decker thought. Surely there were Deaf residents, but the arrangement suggested the management had never considered that any of the residents' children might also be Deaf.

He could send a strongly-worded letter or even sue, of course, under the Americans With Disabilities Act. Many of his cases were, in fact, such lawsuits. But it was like playing Whack-A-Mole at the carnival. For every business forced by a lawsuit to open themselves to access by all, two more thoughtless companies popped up. Decker could file lawsuits from now till he died, and still not have made a dent in the issue.

There was a paved parking lot just behind the largest of the buildings, containing just a handful of cars, enough for the staff, Decker guessed. Barry parked next to a limousine, which was almost certainly not used by staff. Sure enough, as Barry switched off the ignition, the driver of the limousine got out and opened the read door, from which emerged the Reverend Hardesty Stone, suit, rings, and all.

Decker was suddenly embarrassed he'd ridden in the back seat. True, he'd gotten a lot of work done during the two-hour drive; but now it looked as if he'd arrived in a poor man's limo. Decker quickly opened his own door before Barry could get it, to minimize the appearance of Barry's being his driver.

Decker needn't have worried. Stone shook hands with Barry before shaking hands with him. The reverend still hadn't quite grasped the relationship of lawyer and interpreter.

"Mother is in a wheelchair," Stone warned, as Barry translated. "She doesn't seem to recognize anyone."

Stone's driver remained with the limousine as the other three men strolled into the courtyard past several residents sitting on benches or in wheelchairs, and into the main building. There was a receptionist in the lobby. It appeared she was expecting Stone; she smiled guardedly and Stone said, "They'll have Mother out shortly."

Decker nodded and chose a seat among the comfortable overstuffed chairs, sofas and love seats scattered around the room. He noticed two women in wheelchairs, chatting animatedly. A nurse came up behind one and, saying nothing, pushed the wheelchair to the door and outside, leaving the other woman in apparent mid-sentence.

The nurse returned shortly from the yard pushing another wheelchair. Decker saw Stone stiffen as the nurse wheeled the newcomer to him.

The woman was certainly old and frail. Her white hair was wispy and didn't succeed in hiding her scalp. Her skin was covered with irregular liver spots; her face was free of makeup—most older women try to look as good as they can; that this one did not was a sign she might, indeed, be incompetent as Stone believed.

A moment later, a man in his mid-thirties joined them. His white coat and stethoscope announced who he was before Barry could. "Decker, this is Doctor Thaddeus Martin. Doctor, this is Decker Goodman, Attorney at Law."

The men shook hands. Unlike Stone, Martin seemed to understand Barry's function and kept his eyes on Decker's. "I'm glad to know you, sir. I understand you are here to see Mrs. Stone."

"That's right," Decker replied, and indicated the woman with a gesture. "Her son tells me she is suffering from late stage Alzheimer's."

"I can't say that categorically," the doctor hedged. "She hasn't been in my care for long, so I haven't personally observed the progression of the disease. But I've seen many cases, and she certainly has the symptoms—the mood swings, the inability to recognize people she knows—-notice that she doesn't seem to have noticed our presence, or the presence of her son—and she doesn't respond to even the simplest requests."

"Is it possible she has simply lost her hearing?" Decker asked, and waited for Barry to translate.

"She does respond to loud sounds, such as thunder. And she watches television avidly. Some of her outbursts have been related to her being removed from the TV room for meals or her bath."

"Have tests been done to determine the degree of plaque in her brain?" Decker loved dropping that question, as doctors always treated him with more respect once they realized he had done his homework.

"We haven't been able to run them," Martin replied, "due to her age. She's 92, you know. She's much too frail to survive a brain biopsy."

"How about getting a CT scan or MRI?"

"We don't have that kind of equipment on the premises," the doctor explained. "This facility isn't intended to be a hospital. Since Mrs. Stone's symptoms are classic, there seems to be little benefit in determining exactly how advanced her Alzheimer's is, balancing that against the stress of a long ambulance ride that, in the end, wouldn't give us any way of relieving her condition."

Decker nodded, and squatted in front of the old woman. No one had bothered to introduce her to anyone. She'd been ignored as if she were a piece of mobile furniture that had been brought out for assessment. He smiled at her, but her eyes steadily gazed past him. He patted her on the hand, but she remained unaffected. Decker returned to his feet.

"Thanks for letting us meet your mother, Reverend Stone. And thank you for your time, Doctor."

"My pleasure, counselor."

As they returned to the parking lot, Stone asked, "So, what about now? When can we file for power of attorney or whatever it is?"

"There are a few other steps to take," Decker replied. "My office will contact you shortly, probably by mid-week."

Stone wasn't happy with the delay, and Decker stifled laughter. "The court system moves slowly, Reverend Stone," Decker reminded him. "I'll do what I can to see this situation is resolved as quickly as possible, but it isn't going to happen today or tomorrow."

Stone reddened. "You led me to believe all you had to do was meet my mother! Which  I set up for you, and even took time out to be here to meet you! Now you want more time?"

"If you believe another attorney could act more quickly, you are more than welcome to hire someone else," Decker assured him. "Perhaps that would be best."

Stone stopped moving, his chest heaving as he regained control. "No," said, finally. "That won't be necessary. My concern is that we need the money to pay our employees. Mother controlled it all. I tried to explain to her why that was a bad idea when she was lucid, but she was adamant. And now we're on the verge of insolvency. It's very distressing."

What Decker found distressing, though he said nothing, was Stone's body language with regards to the woman in the wheelchair. He had noticed that Stone had shown no emotion at the sight of her: Not regret, not sadness, not even annoyance.

Decker certainly understood that one's relationship with one's mother was generally not a simple one. But there should be something.

It was almost impossible to lie to a Deaf man.

Back at the Lexus, Barry asked Decker whether he wanted to return to the office or simply be dropped off at home, given the hour.

"Neither," Decker replied. "Leave the premises, stop at the Starbuck's drive-through in that little town we passed, make sure Stone's limo passes by, then drive back here."

"Back here?" Barry asked in surprise.

"That's right," Decker answered. "I want to see what Mrs. Stone is like when her doctor and son aren't around."